There’s going out in London — and then there’s going out-out in London’s queer scene. If you know, you know. And at the heart of it all, pulsing under the arches near Charing Cross, is Heaven — a legendary gay superclub that’s been serving chaos, euphoria, and shirtless dance floors since the ’70s.
On the right night, Heaven is more than a club — it’s a rite of passage. And if you happen to catch Strip Night, buckle up. Things are about to get sweaty, sparkly, and slightly unhinged (in the best way possible).
Strip Night at Heaven: Where the Boys Take It Off, and the Energy Goes Up
There’s something undeniably iconic about watching a line of greased-up guys strut across a stage in thongs while Whitney Houston blasts and the crowd screams like it’s Eurovision finals. Strip Night at Heaven doesn’t take itself too seriously — and that’s what makes it so much fun.
The vibe?
Think go-go dancers, pole work, dollar bills (in British pounds), and audience members pulled up onstage to absolutely lose it. It’s cheeky, it’s camp, and no, it’s not subtle — but that’s kind of the point.
You don’t go to Strip Night for quiet drinks. You go for chaos, glitter, and the moment the shirtless DJ drops Britney and the whole room sings like a drunk choir.
But There’s More Than One Way to Party in Heaven
While Strip Night is a main event, Heaven has layers — and you can easily bounce between moods as the night unfolds:
- Main Room: Big pop anthems, flashing lights, and drag queens hyping the crowd from the stage. You’ll sweat, dance, and scream lyrics you forgot you knew.
- G-A-Y Late Vibes: Sometimes the music leans more indie-pop, electro, or throwback. One minute it’s Charli XCX, the next it’s ABBA deep cuts.
- The Smoking Area: More social than smoky — you’ll meet everyone here. Old hookups. New flings. Tourists on their first gay night out. Queer elders telling stories. It’s a scene in itself.
My Night at Heaven: A Glittery Blur and a McFlurry
The last time I went to Heaven with my friends, it was supposed to be “just one drink.” (It never is.)
We caught the tail end of Strip Night — walked in just as a guy in a fireman outfit was tearing his pants off to Rihanna’s “Work.” My friend screamed. I dropped my drink. We were home.
We danced for hours, lost track of each other, found each other again, took selfies that will never see daylight, made new friends, shouted at strangers about who deserved to win Drag Race, and laughed so hard we cried.
At 4 a.m., when the lights came up and glitter was stuck to places glitter doesn’t belong, we spilled out onto the street — exhausted, messy, absolutely buzzing.
The tube wasn’t running yet. We weren’t sober. But we were starving. So we did what every queer Londoner does: walked to the 24-hour McDonald’s near Leicester Square, still half-covered in body glitter and clutching our heels.
There’s something beautiful about eating nuggets with your chosen family while waiting for the first train. Everything slows down. The streets are almost empty. You swap stories from the night and realize — even in the haze — that these are the moments that matter.
Final Word: Heaven Is a State of Mind
Heaven isn’t just a club. It’s a time capsule. A queer sanctuary. A place where you can dance like no one’s watching and somehow still make five new friends. It’s loud, it’s camp, it’s chaotic — and sometimes, it ends with a hash brown at dawn.
So if you’re in London and need a proper queer night out, don’t hesitate. Put on something a little too sparkly, gather your crew, and make your way to Heaven. Stay ‘til the end. Get the McFlurry. Catch the first tube home. And carry that buzz with you all week.
Antonio P Argueta 
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