Field notes from the club
When I started clubbing, I was freshly 18 and had also started taking my first sociology and psychology class. My brain exploded. I remember being in the club and thinking “why does nobody study the club??”. It was such a fascinating petri dish of human interaction to me.
I was seeing insidious dynamics of power in play. Gender roles are being forced down your throat. The rush of dopamine you can only get when your frontal cortex isn’t fully developed. The inhibiting effects of alcohol.
I also, more fundamentally, realized I liked dancing, I loved the neon lights, I loved the ringing of the eardrums at the end of a long night (I now wear Loop earplugs so worry not, this is not an issue anymore). But it would be foolish to pretend that dancing like nobodie’s watching was my main appeal of clubbing.
In the club, I finally saw how my femininity could be used to get what I wanted (a drink, a shot, a glug from your lit-up bottle, please). It seemed so easy to use men’s thirst and desire to my advantage.
At the same time, I was crippingly aware of what this marchandisation was doing to my soul. Pretending to care about some guy across the room. Nodding and smiling to them, screaming in my ear while Pitbull is being blasted in the club.
It’s easier to go on the search for my next victim than to become one against my will. Let a girl claim some agency!
My youth also seemed to take on a weird importance. People insisted on commenting on it, either wanting to care for it, take it away or… both?
I have never had more attention on me at the club than when I was freshly 18. I don’t think many are surprised by that.
Once, doing my usual shenanigans, I got my friends and I in the VIP section of the club. These men were so much older than us, but not yet in the category of older zaddy DILFY men with grey hair. Rather, the category where they were old but not enough for them to rebecome valuable in our eyes.
They seemed kind of bored, but looked like they wanted to spend money. Say less. They offered us a drink of champagne, chit-chatting over the blaring music. They asked us what we studied and nodded along at our answers (engineer, psychologist, commerce and lawyer): “I’d be super happy if my daughter studied one of those”. I told him I wanted to be an immigration lawyer, and he replied that he was actually an immigration agent at Lacolle. No freakin way. It must be known that Lacolle was famously an illegal road frequently used by migrants from the US to Canada to ask for asylum. This is the type of shit I’m interested in. He told me about the state some of the people would cross in the middle of winter, with barely a coat on and just some sneakers, how happy they were to see Canadian immigration agents because it meant they made it. Unaware that they were about to fall into a bureaucratic hell hole, forever waiting. YUUUH SOULJA BOY TELL ‘EM.
Let it not be forgotten that we’re still in the club right now. The champagne just kept on coming and when I get up to go to the bathroom with my friends, I realized I am drunk : goal achieved. We laughed at the absurdity of the situation : I tell my friends what type of inappropriate (but not like, in that way) conversation we’re having, for where we are. Let’s go back dancing. So we tell them bye, nice meeting ya, ciao.
Because in the end, it’s about the dancing.
That’s what I have retained now, 4 years older and still a pretty avid going out fan. Still to this day, I have a habit of getting dragged behind the DJ booth but always end up going back on the dance floor because that’s where the real fun is.
I’ve sort of weaned off typical St-Laurent clubs because, at a certain point, the whole Savana style of hunting down for a mate in the club became too icky for me. I’ve become a snob, what can I say? Seeing big groups of frat boys making mosh pits without a thought for how cramped the club is is not fun to me anymore. Unwarranted attention or grabbing from men doesn’t entice me anymore. Seeing people who clearly are not enjoying the music and just came here to find someone for the night, and are evidently not having any success, just annoys me. “Why can’t you enjoy the MUSIC, stop being so self-aware”, I want to yell at them. With time, I’ve started preferring going out to places with a special genre of music, like techno or Latin music. I’ve found that these less mainstream events will have everything I’m looking for: good music and people here to dance.
I love raves because they start late, so there’s more time for the pre drink which, let's be honest, is a big part of the fun. You can dance for longer, with usually no line to get in and, when you get out to get back home, you can hop on the first metros as people are commuting to… work.
I am here to dance, I am here to get sweaty, I am here to wait in a line full of drunk people for a 3am burger, I am here to take a shitty night bus at the end of the night with my friends and walk or bike to sober up.