Last week my girlfriends dragged me to a popular club in the area so that we could catch up over drinks. I hate going to this particular establishment because I think it’s the most high-end thirst trap venue in D.C. Despite trying to get out of having to go, I showed up and immediately regretted simply not standing my friends up. As we sipped our drinks and rocked to the DJ’s 90s set, I decided to make the best of it and ended up having a great time catching up with them. But as I people watched, I made an unscientific observation of the following crowd of characters in the room:
The Undistinguished Gentleman: He walks through the door wearing his semi-tailored suit. He presupposes that every woman likes a man in a suit. But he wasn’t expecting that so many guys would have the same approach as he did–most of the men are wearing suits. The color of his pocket square is the only distinguishable feature he possess from the other suit-wearing men in the crowd. He now wishes he wore his bow tie instead. Disappointed at this realization, but undeterred, he remembers that his sock game is always on point. So he finds and leans against the nearest chair causing a slight elevation in the foot of his pants, enabling him to show off his well-coordinated socks. He hopes his look says that he is a classy man with a decent job and style. As he leans against the chair surveying the crowd, his power suit gives him confidence to find a lady to strike up conversation and buy a drink. He gets lucky with the first woman he approaches; she engages him in conversation and he is hoping to get her entire life story. He doesn’t hesitate to give his usual elevator speech of his background. She doesn’t hesitate to give him her number. Tonight will be a great night for him.
The Groupies: Unlike men, women oftentimes don’t go to a club/bar by themselves (I do it and I think women should do it more often). They tend to arrive in a group of 4 or more. Each of them is hoping to draw some attention to herself but with such a large group, a guy doesn’t feel like he has an in. Walking into the group would be like offering himself up to a firing squad while hoping no one will shoot him down. The women talk and dance amongst themselves never creating an aperture sufficient enough for a man to approach any of them. They dance and laugh seemingly having a great time, but each of them is secretly hoping that one of the men in the club will take notice and ask her to dance or strike up a conversation. She thinks, if he’s really a gentleman, he’ll offer to buy drinks for her friends as well. And as they prepare to leave for the night, a guy stops one of them on their way out. Her friends, annoyed that they received no attention tonight hurry her to leave because they have spotted a cab waiting outside. She leaves with her friends never exchanging numbers with her new friend.
Mr. Rabble Rouser: As soon as he steps through the door of the establishment, you know he has arrived. His voice is one octave higher than the music that is blaring through the speakers. He waves and kisses the waitresses as they pass by, he gives a handshake to the bouncers and bartender as he strolls to his usual spot—a table behind the makeshift velvet rope. The table, which contains a bucket of ice and a carafe of orange juice and cranberry juice, is perched 3 feet higher than where most of the crowd is standing. He sits down alone at his table, wishing they would convert the establishment into a cigar bar so that he can smoke the Cuban in his jacket pocket. A few minutes later his 8 friends arrive making their way behind the velvet rope. Their two waitresses make their way toward their table holding bottles of Moet, Belvedere and D’usse with sparklers around them. The Rabble Rouser leads his boys as they scream “turn up” in unison. Using the shackle grab, they begin pulling ladies up from the dance floor to join them at their overly crowded table. Most of the ladies happily oblige and within minutes, they have a drink in their hand. They are now all ready to turn up for the night.
Ms. Spotlight Grabber: It’s happy hour and most people are arriving directly from work, yet she is dressed as if her day job is working at a gentleman’s club. Her sequenced dress reaches about mid-thigh; but with the 5 inch platform heels, the dress fits like she last wore it when she was eight-years-old. Whenever the DJ plays a song, she goes wild as if it’s her favorite. Until the next song is played and she gets hype all over again. With each song and each drink, she gyrates her back and waist with extreme emphasis and bends over slightly in hopes that one of the men will come over and match her rhythm. It will be a disappointing night for her if her attention-grabbing outfit and Kama Sutra dance movements don’t grab a man’s attention. The men smile awaiting the right opportunity to approach her while the women stare at her with disdain. She’s used to smiles and stares—nothing can ruin her night.
The Pusher Man: Like every other weekend, he has his game plan down. He buys drinks for himself and every beautiful lady that he meets. Most of the time, he walks away once he hands her the drink. He doesn’t want to come across as the guy purchasing drinks to get a woman’s attention–even though that is exactly his intent. He surveys the crowd and finds the ones who look like his type. He hands drinks to three different women throughout the night and none of them seem to have taken the bait–the second woman refused the drink. When he brings a glass of wine over to the fourth woman, he adds, “I hate to see a beautiful woman standing around with an empty glass.” He gets a smile. As he walks back over to where he was standing she’s well on his heels. She taps his shoulder and says, “thanks for the drink, are you from here?” With a smile that says, ‘time to reel her in’, he responds, while thinking, “fourth time is always the charm.”
Ms. Cold Shoulder: She walks into the room prepared to break every man’s ego. She constantly gives men eye contact and flashes her beautiful smile to lure them into her web. Men misread her stares as “come hither.” And before they know it, they are met with her scornful reproach as they attempt to strike up a conversation with her. None of them are ever good enough to be worth her time. But the reality is, to avoid future disappointments, she convinces herself that none of her suitors are nice enough to date. Idris Elba could walk through the door and he wouldn’t make her cut. She has dealt with a few fade away types so she tries to ensure her attitude is a turnoff. As one man walks over, she prepares her screw face which causes him to divert his path and walk past her. As the next man strikes up a conversation with her, she implements the belly button rule (when a person speaks to you, notice where their belly button is facing. If it isn’t facing you, he/she’s not interested). She has no doubt in her mind that the men who didn’t pay her any attention must be gay. She leaves the club always disappointed that she never meets anyone that she likes. Nevertheless, she’ll be back next week to try again.
As Oscar Wilde once said, “be your [best] self, everyone else is already taken.” I am sure these crowd of characters that I oftentimes notice in the club are beautiful people who have a lot to offer. However, when they walk into the matrix, that is the club, all bets are off and they lose the essence of who they truly are. Wait! Who am I kidding? Sadly, these people are probably just as self-centered, insecure and rude in their daily lives. Let’s just say, next time I go out with my girlfriends, I’ll be choosing the location.