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I have never been a huge fan of establishments that categorize themselves on Yelp! as “clubs.” The vibe in those places makes my skin crawl and the price of one mixed drink sets me back anywhere from fourteen to twenty dollars.
A night out at a club in Manhattan will quite literally set you back one month’s worth of rent unless, of course, you’re a girl dressed in scantily clad clothing and are able to flirt your way to free drinks all night.
The dress code is less than democratic. No hats, no Birkenstocks (which is obviously a huge point of contention for me), and definitely no other type of clothing that would deviate from the button-down and jeans combo that you all seem to be so fond of.
Your group isn’t at least 50% made up of attractive women? Sorry, but you probably won’t be able to get in without slipping one of the guys at the front door with the walkie talkie on his belt a crisp Ben Franklin.
Maybe said door guy is having a bad day, in which case the chances of an average joe like you or me getting in is going to drop significantly. Basically, you’re at the discretion of the doormen at these places. And most of the time they’re not the nicest people in the world. Those guys put up with a lot of bullshit on a nightly basis so I can’t really blame them.
Suffice it to say, I find that clubs are generally more trouble than they’re worth. I’d rather hit a seedy dive bar where a vodka-soda in a plastic, see-through cup will only run me four or five bucks.
There are, however, occasions where I have to break my own rules. A dear friend of mine had a birthday party at a club in downtown Chicago last Saturday, and while I don’t think it’s necessary to be celebrating a twenty-fifth birthday on this large of a scale, I went anyway.
I hadn’t seen this particular friend in a few months and on top of that the bill had already been picked up by his girlfriend.
We had a table on the roof of a pretty swanky nightclub from about 3:00 p.m. all the way to 9:00 p.m. Two tables were roped off from the general population, I got into the club despite wearing Birkenstocks because my friend’s girlfriend had paid at least a thousand dollars for the privilege of sitting at these tables, and everyone had a grand old time.
Objectively speaking, these places are fun. They’re just very expensive, and no matter how much fun you’re having it’s hard not to hear that little voice in the back of your head that continuously says, “You can’t afford this place. Get out now.”
We danced on top of the padded booths with drinks in our hands and watched the commoners mingle below us. We even saw Brody Jenner having a drink before his DJ set at the bar next door.
But as I stood there pulling off terrible dance moves and alternating between vodka-cranberries and tequila-sodas that I wasn’t paying for, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t really belong. One question lingered in my mind all night – how can anyone afford to do this on a regular basis?
All of the other booths that had been roped off were full of dudes with bad haircuts and worse pickup lines.
If you’re not at some birthday party where the bill has already been taken care of like I was last Saturday night, who is footing the bill for these tables that get bottle service? Is it finance bros? Is it oil barons? Are there just a lot more 35,000-dollar millionaires out there in the world than I’d care to think about?
Would I go back to this club again under my own volition fully aware that I’d have to pay through the nose to get me and my friends drinks? Absolutely fucking not.
I’m not a betting man but I’ve got to think I’m in the majority here. How can you justify going to these places? I would get physically ill if I got stuck with a tab for fifteen to twenty people at a hip club in a downtown area of some sprawling metropolis.
These places are fun when money is no object, but for whom is that really true before the age of 30? No one at the club I was at looked like they were Scrooge McDuck, and there had to be more than a few guys who woke up that next morning absolutely terrified to look at their bank statement from the night prior.
I’m probably preaching to the choir at this point, but why does anyone go to the club? Why aren’t we all just buying bottles from the grocery store and hosting people? Is it for the Instagram? Is it so you can snap all of your friends who never left your hometown and show them how cultured you are? What the hell is the point of all of this?
At one point during the night I actually pulled a waitress aside and asked her how much a table of guys who looked to be in their forties had just paid for four bottles of champagne brought over to them by waitresses waving sparklers around and dancing suggestively.
She laughed, looked at me for a moment, and simply said “You don’t want to know, honey.” I walked away with a smirk on my face and thought, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” .
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jduda@grandex.co
A girl I dated when I was abroad broke up with me when we returned to NYC because she knew I couldn’t take her to The Standard. In hindsight, that was the nicest thing she ever did.
Le Bain? The Beer Garden is much better anyway.
Must suck to be poor
The dudes in their forties are probably single and childless, which, combined with regular raises for the past 15-20 years, is how they can afford to spend so much money to try to impress 22 year old girls.
And they’re more than likely bald, a little overweight, wearing washed jeans, black dress shoes (God knows why men pair jeans w/black shoes) and a white button down shirt (or those multicolored ones with the off colored cuffs/designs) with the cuffs rolled and 1 button too deep undone.
Worst ways to live.
Or best ways to live.
Or you can be like me, who can afford to go to these places every night because my family has been on the list of the world’s richest for five generations
So which family would that be? Just curious if you’re going to give a fake name you googled. (Spoiler:you will)
Night Clubs are the worst. You stand in line for 30 mins at a spot called “The (insert color here) room”. You overpay for drinks and stand next to a lot of sweaty folks in deep v neck tees.
Give me a pub with a dart board and domestic beers on tap all day.
The worst part is they’re too loud. If you want to talk to someone, you have to yell in their ear. River North sucks.
The music usually isn’t even good enough to justify it being so loud, too.
For me it’s not just the $15 drinks but it’s the noise. I cannot stand having a conversation with someone right next to me that requires yelling and lowering my ear to hear what they are saying.
“When they do make the whip you like, ya chips ain’t right. By the time you can afford it, the car ain’t important.”- Nas.
Replace “whip” and “car” with “bottle” and “club”.
I can’t wrap my mind around how anyone can be such a loser
You would drink cosmopolitans at a club.
I got a Campari Soda at a dive bar last weekend and it somehow hit the spot. I’m torn on how I should feel and still processing this experience.
If a dive bar gave you a Campari soda, that wasn’t really a dive bar. That’s a total strive bar move.
Most refreshing cocktail in the game.
^ if it’s a cocktail that deFries would enjoy, you should feel like your manhood took a hit.
Used to think this way but I just got back from some time in Positano and it turned me on to Aperol Spritz as the clear summer drink choice. Blows everything else out of the water.
Besides being overprice and way too loud, I’ve found the ultimate reason I don’t want to go to a club is the clientele. The guys they attract are either creepy, hyper douchey or just way too old and then the kind of women that those guys attract are just as bad (generally speaking).
Aside from the money, I always feel like an asshole because I don’t have the right clothes for these places. I end up getting drunk and forgetting about it, but that first hour or so is a nightmare.
Can’t wait for the lazily-written Business Insider “Millenials are Killing the Nighclub industry” article after this.. totally agree with you though, fuck these places