As a queer woman, I’ve been to my fair share of Pride events. From the sprawling crowds that engulf central London to being able to jump on and off the parade in Norwich, they’re a regular fixture of my year. The thing that unifies them all though? A trip to the supermarket for tinnies.

Ever since my first Pride in 2016, the experience has involved alcohol. Perhaps it’s something to do with the party atmosphere, but whether I’m marching in the parade or relaxing in the park, there are always a few G&Ts being shared around.

I’ve undoubtedly loved the experience — there’s a reason I keep going back — but I have often wondered if and where queer spaces exist without alcohol; if there’s a place to find the same feeling of liberation without the expectation of drinking throughout the day.

It’s a question Polly Schute asked herself too. As the founder of both Pride Swim and Out and Wild festival, she’s embarked on a mission to create more sober LGBTQ+ events. “As much as I love Prides – and I do love Prides – I don’t feel that they’re the right environment for your mental health,” she explains to Strong Women.

“The research we did said that they’re very noisy, they’re very alcohol-fuelled, they can feel very crowded, and it’s a bit overwhelming. I just believe that, with the festival and with Pride Swim, there’s a different space that people want to celebrate in.”

So, Pride Swim offers something different. “One of the key things about the Pride Swims is they’re alcohol-free,” she continues, “so there’s not the need to get drunk; your connection doesn’t come from, as we sometimes do, having a swift drink to give you courage.”

After a sell-out event at London’s Royal Victoria Docks last year, Schute ramped things up for 2024, with events up and down the country. Half of this year’s Pride Swims have been family-focused events in collaboration with leisure provider Everyone Active. The rest have and will take place in outdoor pools and open-water venues.

But the lack of booze isn’t the only thing that makes these swims unique. The focus on the outdoors is intentional; plunging into cold water can increase energy levels, reduce fatigue, and give a buzzy afterglow. 

It’s something Schute saw first-hand at Out and Wild Festival; while she admits she isn’t a huge swimmer, she was inspired by how swimming connected the women she saw take to the water and was baffled to discover that while there were official running and cycling events for the LGBTQ+ community, nothing similar existed for swimming.

This felt particularly important given how many members of the community have negative associations with swimming. Research from both the University of Bournemouth and Mermaids found many trans and non-binary people associated public pools with feelings of fear, anxiety and dysphoria. Meanwhile, Schute has had numerous conversations about how pools can feel a vulnerable place while discovering your identity. 

In a way, Pride Swim is about reclaiming the water and the electric pink swim caps we’re given as we arrive almost feel like a physical manifestation of this. As I arrive at Canary Wharf, it’s a sticky London evening; the heatwave has broken into pelting rain. But, as the thunder clears and we’re allowed into the water, the bright caps and neon tow floats cut through the gloom.

Swimming, for me, is often a self-care activity. I use it as a way to slow down, to sort out my thoughts and work through problems. Far away from the incessant pinging of my phone, it feels like the water cools my brain as well as well as body. And, as I swim my first lap of the course, it strikes me how different the event is from any other Pride or swim event I’ve been to.

For a start, it’s much smaller and feels a world away from the crowded pavements that flank our parades or the clamour of the lido on a hot summer’s day. Ahead of me, two people swim breaststroke while chatting; that would never happen at a swim race. 

And that’s partly because the event isn’t a race. There is an optional 400-metre race to kick things off, but the main focus is the social swim: a three-hour slot where you can swim for as long or as little as you like. As someone who is firmly in the uncompetitive camp, I spend 45 minutes gliding through the clear water.

When I eventually return to land and am given my medal, I’m directed to the bar for canapés and hot chocolates. I’m relieved by the smaller crowd; it makes the task of chatting to strangers seem much less daunting. In just a few hours, I chat with more new people than I’ve ever managed across my years of attending Pride parades. We cover everything from swimming through the winter to our pet cats.

Chantel Rose is one of the volunteers at the event and feels similarly: “It’s been really nice just to talk to people, without it being like they think that you’re hitting on them. It’s just been a chance to socialise and make friends with people that actually live around the corner. There’s someone here who climbs at the same place as me, so it’s been cool to just find people who do similar things in a different venue.”

As I leave the waterside, I’m aware I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on how different it’s been from other LGBTQ+ or swimming events. Yet, the feelings of liberation, safety, and community I’m left with feel the same – minus the booze and crowds. It’s not an either-or, but perhaps it’s time to take Pride further than just the parade.

Images: Jem Collins