Stephene Tully

Stephene Tully’s Femme Fatales begins with the unmistakable sound of a Harley-Davidson engine coming to life. In Sydney during WorldPride 2023, she is preparing to join the Dykes on Bikes at the front of the Mardi Gras parade. 

Surrounded by hundreds of motorcycles, leather, camouflage, fetish gear, flags, music, and thousands of spectators, she captures the sheer exhilaration of being part of something unapologetically queer.

Stephene describes the 300 riders around her with affection and humor. Ducati, Honda, Kawasaki, Triumph, BMW, mopeds, and trikes form two long rows of what she calls “steel horses.” 

The women themselves are just as diverse—wearing fetish black, brown leather, camo green, and whatever else expresses who they are. The motorcycles become more than transportation. For Stephene, riding represents a physical experience of freedom.

But the spectacle also raises a question: Do the people watching understand what this actually means?

Behind the celebration is a history of resistance. Stephene recalls that in the late 1980s, it was not the police who patrolled Sydney’s gay quarter looking out for people who might attack gay men. It was the Dykes—women on motorcycles carrying walkie-talkies, watching over their community. Their presence was not simply flamboyant; it was protective.

Dykes on Bikes was established in 1988 and has proudly led Sydney’s Mardi Gras parade since 1991. What began as a group of women on motorcycles became an enduring part of Sydney’s Pride tradition. 

Stephene’s story connects that history of community protection with the celebration that followed: a two-week festival of identity, gender, and visibility.

As the parade prepares to move, Stephene notices the flags ahead: rainbow, trans, lesbian, and gay pride flags. Each represents a community, and each is valued. Together they create a moving landscape in which, as Stephene puts it, everybody is seen.

Then the engines roar.

Stephene pulls in the clutch and gives the throttle a twist. The motorcycles surge to life, the crowd erupts, and the riders prepare to move forward. But Stephene deliberately chooses different words for what happens next.

They don’t step.

They don’t march.

They roll out.

And they do so at the front.

For Stephene, that position is more than tradition. It carries the history of women who protected their community, the courage of people who refused to hide, and the freedom of being visibly and unapologetically yourself. 

The final words, “At the front. Where we’ve always been. Where we belong,” turn the motorcycle ride into a statement about place, visibility, and belonging.