I just got back from a few hours of partying at the Griffin Lounge and the Martini Ranch, and besides the pleasure of making sociological observations about today's metropolitan youth, I've come to realize that it's just not for me. As I get older, clubbing and partaking in the weekend warrior lifestyle becomes less appealing. I don't need my confidence and self-worth to be reiterated by guys hitting on me and buying me drinks. I don't have the need to constantly size myself up against other girls, especially those I can never compete with. I might have not have money, a tight body, blonde hair, and silcon (or saline) boobs, but I like myself and I don't need to put myself out there in a degrading manner to boost my self-worth.
Let's face it, if you are a hot chick, clubbing makes your life easier...or at least it seems that way. Bouncers, bartenders, and super horny patrons put you on a pedestal and treat you as if your self-worth is summed up by how hot you are. While it might be fun at 21, one day the party will stop. You will grow older, wiser, more mature, and younger, hotter meat will be willing to go further than you did to gain the status you once had. I recently read an Op-ed in the Huffington Post by former supermodel Paulina Porkizkova about beauty and aging. She said it best when she said:
Beauty, unlike the rest of the gifts handed out at birth, does not require dedication, patience and hard work to pay off. But it's also the only gift that does NOT keep on giving. It usually blossoms at an age where you're least equipped to handle its benefits and rewards and instead take it all for granted, and by the time you start understanding the value of it, it slowly trickles away. How's that for revenge of the ugly ones?
On the other end of the sex and gender spectrum, you have the men. You see, no matter what their income is, what they look like, or how old they are, every man in the Chicago nightlife scene thinks he is a VIP. Maybe it really can be attributed to confidence or maybe it's really overcompensation, but 95% of these men dress like cast members of the "Jersey Shore", act like they have the sex appeal of Matthew Mcconaughey, and spend money like Bill Gates at Christmas. While they don't require the sex appeal of their female counterparts, keeping up a facade and an image of machismo is probably as equally daunting.
It's possible that the whole appeal of clubbing is the endless opportunities to pretend to be someone you are not. I guess those Vegas ads about what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas can be applied to any nightlife scene. In this situation, I can't necessarily point fingers and throw stones since I can be accused of doing the same thing. Maybe for one night, or two, or every Saturday, we all desire to play the role of someone who wish we were, but can never be. We can put ourselves on our own pedestal and never disappoint. For a few hours, our fantasies come close to being our realities.
Regardless, I personally choose to come back down to earth and the face the reality of who I am. And you know what, I'm not disappointed or distraught. I accept myself and who I have the potential to be. While the rest of you club-goers continune your life in fantasy and delusion, I choose to confront myself and embrace both the imperfections and the flaws. I like who I am, and no one can take that from me. With that, I quote the late Ed Murrow, goodnight and good luck.
I'm drinking from a handle of Smirnoff's Tuscan Lemonade. When I bought it awhile ago, it initially tasted like cough medicine to me. Now, it tastes like sweet lemonade at a baseball game. I think I might have to up my classification from buzzed to drunk. Afterall, I am feeling especially sexy!