Nightlife in New York is more intense than nightlife anywhere. Although it is not as intense as it was, say, ten years ago - when seven-foot-tall bouncers manned hordes of shouting stiletto-shoed and blonde-highlighted women from behind velvet ropes all over Manhattan, while inside the clubs said females and men on the prowl milled about with twelve-dollar martinis in hand, eyeing the competition - it is still more high-octane than nightlife almost anywhere else except for maybe Dubai... or so I’ve heard.
In my early twenties, I was a nightlife denizen. Or at least I was if I still qualified to be so even though I basically only went to one lounge every weekend. It was called Baraza, and it was between East 8th Street and East 9th Street on Avenue C in the East Village. It was a Brazilian bar/lounge/even club (if you wanted to stretch the truth a little) which was in reality the size of a Brooklyn bodega. Hipsters and yuppies crammed into the dark space like it was Mercury Lounge and Radiohead was playing. Most Friday and Saturday nights, it took five minutes to travel the twenty meters from the back of the club to the bar, where they were one of the only bars in New York then to serve caipirinhas.
The DJ was one of the best I’ve ever heard, a maestro in complete command of his craft whose range spanned from little-known salsa classics which were difficult to forget once heard, to hip-hop and reggae songs which were never once predictable, to bhangra and samba beats which tickled the fascination of us underexposed Americans. I danced so much and so hard in that club that I developed a reputation. I remember once an old Latino man marched up to me while I was dancing, stood in front of me until I noticed him, and then, with a huge grin on his face, took my face in both hands, planted a gigantic kiss on my forehead and walked away without a word. My best memory ever.
In my mid-twenties, I mostly went out to meet guys. But I had what I perceived to be a big problem, and that was my weight. In my early twenties, I was underweight, and I attracted a lot of attention. But by my mid-twenties, I had developed a weight problem, and I was noticing that men didn’t really seem as interested in me anymore. New York has a reputation for being a city of skinny people (well, the yuppies, anyway...), and one thing you notice when you go out to clubs and lounges is that most of the people there tend to be... well, skinny. You also notice that it tends to be the skinny girls who get approached.
It was a tough thing for me to transition through. I wanted to go out, and to enjoy the nightlife like everyone else, but it was difficult for me to accept the fact that some people were going to get a lot of attention and some people were going to be ignored. It was especially difficult because I was finding it so hard to link up with a romantic partner, and the suspense was killing me. I found myself getting angry. Why was I having such a hard time? Why were people being so one-sided? It didn’t seem fair or right.
In the end, it took a serious reality check for me to be able to put it all in perspective... a reality check that I think many of us have to make, skinny or fat, comely or homely. I had to face the fact that I was looking for a real relationship, not just a one-night stand and not just something superficial. Consequently, I had to approach the courtship process as someone who was looking for something substantial; I didn’t have the luxury of waltzing in with my strapless top and strappy sandals and giggling my way into a relationship.
If I wanted to take advantage of New York nightlife and try to meet someone, I would have to put my focus on conversing meaningfully with those I found appealing and trying to make meaningful connections. And, yes, in a venue in which the focus was on celebrating youth and beauty, I might have to resign myself to striking out more than a few times, especially with the guys who are really just looking for giggling girls in strappy sandals. In reality, this is a lesson that many girls have to learn; many skinny girls and pretty girls don’t get approached regularly in nightlife situations either, as quiet as it’s kept. I know I didn’t, and I used to get mistaken for a model sometimes.
At the end of the day, what’s the most important lesson I learned? If you don’t like the excitement of the pumping music, mood lighting, milling crowds, and chatting up of strangers of the nightlife environment, stay home. If you’re looking for substance, you’re better off doing stuff you like. If you’re looking for excitement? Get thee to the nearest nightclub, and enjoy. Even if it takes you a while to meet someone, at least you’ll be having a blast while you’re at it.
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