Opening Night
The Klaw Den
East Street
New Haven
March 11, 2026
Ari moved bills out of the way with one razor-sharp stiletto and twisted her body around a metal pole with the grace of a figure skater. Italy may have the Olympics; on Wednesday New Haven had opening night festivities for the Klaw Den.
It’s a new queer social club set to feature burlesque, pole, and strip dancers four nights a week (Sundays through Wednesdays) starting at 8 p.m. on East Street in the post-industrial Mill River area of New Haven. The other three nights of the week, longtime strip club Catwalk will run its regular hours of operation. The two clubs will share space but are not affiliated with each other.
The energy at Klaw Den’s opening night Wednesday was scandalous, freaky, and fun. Encouragements from the crowd were heartfelt, and the performance was steamy.
Her hand secured in a short strap, Ari swung her body in a fast, gravity-defying circle around the pole, to the gasps of the crowd. Her drag mother Tiana Maxim, watching from the audience, pounded the banister.
The role Maxim plays as mother, a term that took on a new meaning in trans Black-led Ballroom culture of the ’80s and ’90s, is one of mentorship and family. Her children perform with her, learn from her, and stay close even off the stage. The family name is Maxim, though “the kids don’t have to say that.”
The two met a year ago, when Ari, who had been working as an exotic dancer for seven years, started to explore the drag scene.
“Her essence fit my essence,” Maxim said. “The bond was almost immediate.”
The Maxims weren’t the only drag family in attendance. Lex Grotesque, founder and producer of the House of Grotesque, said multiple members from their own house were in the room.
“It’s a family affair!” I said.
“It’s always a family affair,” Grotesque replied.
They are currently preparing for a Pride afterparty event in Northampton, Mass., called Euphoria Unbound. Their house is a family on the rise — it’s a “growing interactive queer theater arts company,” Grotesque said.
Ari ended her set, and her face broke into an open smile. Throughout the night, genuine smiles from the audience and performers alike stood out to me as one of the biggest differences between a club like this and a more hetero-oriented space. Attendees expressed their attraction not with the “duh” face of being awestruck, commanded by a libido they just couldn’t help, but with a sweet smile or an open-mouth look of excitement. At the queer club, sexuality was something to play with, actively. There was effort behind it. And behind the effort, care.
Maxim gazed at Ari, beaming.
At a previous club, Maxim was “on the DL” (the down-low, meaning she had to hide her trans identity). She told me she’s been rejected by clubs before for her “aesthetic.”
Here at the Klaw Den, she was excited to be in a place “where my aesthetic is, like, praised.”
“It’s really cool to be open,” another trans dancer, Dahlia, told me, “because we’re hot, and we have our own unique beauty.” Like Maxim, she was not out at her previous club. Trans women are, Dahlia said, “overrepresented in every other branch of sex work, except the club.”
Min, who has been dancing for six years in the New England area, noted the focus on safety at the Klaw Den. Attendees had to pass an online quiz, with questions about respect, consent, and tips, in order to get the entrance password.
“I’ve never heard of that before, never,” Min said. “I really like that we’ve implemented those safety precautions.”
Amber Chisolm, Klaw Den’s creator, said she is “very big on safety.” In addition to the quiz and password, the club has security and a metal detector. The space is only open to queer people and trusted allies. And after this first opening, the Klaw Den’s Instagram page will be private, showing only a link in the bio for the quiz.
When Chisolm was younger, she used to throw house parties. The new queer social club is her latest iteration of that. As the club grows, Chisolm hopes to add events like a Mystical Monday with an astrologer and tarot card readings. She’s a Taurus. She asked my sign — Gemini, though people have read me as a Cancer.
“You might have a lot of Cancer placements,” Chisolm said.
Her dream is to establish the Klaw Den as a “real space for the community.” She would like it to become a consistent go-to spot.
“As a trans woman, I’m really excited to have a consistent thing,” said Dahlia. Outside of L.A., and Portland, Oregon, she explained, that’s unheard of.
“All the trans strippers, we follow each other on Instagram, we know each other,” she said. It’s a small community, so they form tight bonds.
Dahlia’s plan for the night? To “shake some ass and make some fuckin’ money!”
Ruby, a burlesque feather fan dancer from West Haven, said of the show, “I couldn’t have missed it.” She moved to the U.S. from Russia 15 years ago and now volunteers using her taste for vintage style — “Not the culture, I like the style,” she clarified.
Her kid-friendly performance outlet is the East Haven Trolley Museum. For adults, she models in a pin-up girl calendar that raises money for veteran suicide prevention.
Outside of her character work, Ruby works in corporate finance. “It’s perfect, because I have this numbers job during the day, and at night I can let my creative flag fly,” she said.
Maxim lip-synced her heart out during her set, in a fishnet leotard, red knee-highs and demure red heels. She ended with a big smile, waving off the fanfare. A hand appeared by the side of the stage to help her down the stairs. It belonged to Maxim’s daughter, Ari, glittering with, well, glitter, and pride.
