I’ve never understood the point of bars or night life. Most people seem to go to bars and night clubs to meet their friends, get drunk and possibly get laid. I don’t drink, from a very early age I’ve been in steady relationships with vigorous women, I see my friends on-line or at our respective kitchen tables, and I get really sleepy around midnight. So night life has nothing to offer me.
I was once single for eight months, which meant that I did have to do something to get laid. But what took care of that certainly wasn’t my exploration of clubs: I hooked up with women everywhere except in clubs. Though I did visit them: I chatted amicably with a lot of clubbing ladies, and my male friends were happy to bring someone as gregarious as myself along, but nookie was not forthcoming. I probably simply got fed up and went home before anybody entered mating mode. Or maybe I seemed scary because I was sober. Anyway, my general impression was that in night clubs, women are largely defensive, even hostile toward men, clearly not feeling relaxed and happy. I recommend all men with similar experiences to crash more private parties or try the checkout line at the grocery store instead.
So night life is alien to me. Expensive, ostentatious upscale night life doubly so. There are few places I’d feel more out of place than around 2 am at Stockholm’s night-club ground zero, the little square of Stureplan. Here you’ll see stock brokers and hardened criminals snorting coke and drinking champagne with scantily clad 18-y-o blondes in the wee hours. Drop me off there and see me run as fast as I can toward the southern part of town, where workers and leftie academics go out, and where more importantly the terminal of my commute train is (at the Sluice).
There’s an absurd little media affair going on in Stockholm right now. A 26-y-o journalist specialising in celebrities, fashion and night life has been permanently chucked out of a number of clubs at Stureplan. And now this person strikes back, telling the country’s main newspaper that “Stureplan is a brutish and cold meat market. You need to know the codes, to know and talk to the right people to achieve maximum visibility”. At this point the interviewer poses the big question: “You’ve been part of it yourself, why?”.
To me, the reply is actually a valuable piece of information. It’s an opportunity to learn something about the minds of those incomprehensible space aliens queuing at the doors of Stureplan’s bars on Saturday nights, long after I’ve gone to sleep. Why are they there? What do they seek?
“Everybody knows that Stureplan is where the celebrities and the expensive designer handbags are. It’s the place where champagne records are broken, and where sports stars mingle with royalty.”
Celebrities. Designer handbags. Champagne. Sports stars. Royalty. I just want to say one thing to these people: “You mindless vapid boring distasteful morons”.