In Nightlife, the Product Is the Women. Sure the Music and the Venue
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http://postmasculine.com/nightclubs-part-1 Exposing the Nightclub Industry, Part 1: Velvet Ropes On October 26, 2011 By Mark Manson · 22 Comments Guest post by Xander. “Everyone is either trying to preserve or disprove who they were in high school.” - Alec Sulkin, TV Writer I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time in nightclubs. More than I care to admit or consider. I remember when DJ’s played entire songs and bottle service was something that happened at recycling plants. Things have changed in the 10+ years I’ve been going out in Hollywood but as the saying goes the more they change the more they stay the same. The faces change, the venues close, remodel, and reopen, and the drinks get poured and consumed but the basic spectacle of the human mating dance and its peculiarities remains the same. In this first of three articles, I’m going to be giving a peek behind the velvet rope. I’ve spent considerable time on each side of its cruel velour as both patron and promoter and will offer you a view of the landscape with an insider’s eye. Club Life Nightclubs have a daunting economic reality. There are huge start-up costs including liquor licenses, leases, furniture and décor, and yet clubs have very short life spans. Good clubs are good for less than a year and hope to hold on for an additional 2 to 3 years before closing down and starting over. This means that while the club has its run the owners have to milk it for everything its got. They do this, ironically, by denying entrance to as many people as possible. At least as many men as possible. In nightlife, the product is the women. Sure the music and the venue matter but chubby Persian guys aren’t paying $1000 for a pair of $40 bottles of Grey Goose to watch some trust fund kid play his iPod. They are there to (try to) hook up (have sex) with beautiful women. The proprietors of these places would call it “selling an experience” but "what they are really selling is sex and self-esteem". Because as soon as you put a rope in front of something – anything really – and say no to people, basic human nature dictates that they will do almost anything to make those resurfaced feelings of awkward teenage angst disappear. Even billionaires crumble under the weight of their own insecurities. This is the business model of a nightclub. Clubs seek out the “right” crowds via promoters. Rather than the club itself finding attractive men and women and guys willing to spring for bottle service, owners and general managers contact promoters they know can deliver an abundance of attractive women to serve as bait for hopeful and spendthrift men. Promoters work independently and often in hierarchical structures not dissimilar to the Mafia, with high level promoters outsourcing grunt work to lower level sub-promoters and everyone skimming from everyone else. In the movie of my life, I hope Ray Liotta plays me. The women, of course, frequent these places to feel cool, to feel better than other women, and to meet guys. The clubs perceived “exclusivity” is a boon for women who would rather compete for a few high status guys than have hordes of drunk, horny undesirables pawing at them all night. Plato’s Cave Image is everything in nightlife. The women spend hours looking their best and the clubs create false demand by keeping lines outside of empty venues. The patrons often are looking for validation either by gaining entrance or gaining the affections of attractive strangers. Once inside the basic message that people often try to convey when they are in the club is “I’m having more fun than you.” It’s conspicuous consumption at its finest. But look a little closer and you’ll see that the emperor has no clothes. While it seems that a bunch of great looking people got together to celebrate some occasion that you wish you were a part of, in fact club goers often only get together to club. Thus, the relationships in nightlife are often very tenuous. Girls that go out together are less friends than they are coworkers of sort, going-out partners looking to maximize their dwindling shelf- lives, Promoters may seem to be great friends (or more) with the girls at their tables but it’s often a symbiotic relationship that enables each to fulfill their role. The girls get to feel like they are in the “in” crowd, get free drinks and are allowed to rest their tired, stilettoed feet at the promoters table while the promoters fulfill their mandate to bring attractive girls to the club. But the reality is that the promoter has 4000-5000 phone numbers in his Blackberry, with girls grouped by rating (on a 1-10 scale of course) so the promoter knows which girls to invite to which events. Even worse, the promoter will group girls of the same first name together so when he sends out his mass texts on Saturday afternoon they look personalized (e.g “Hey Jenny, {paste generic “come to X club tonight.”}) Lovely, isn’t it? This objectification of human interaction permeates the club experience and, combined with the virtual anonymity offered in such large gatherings, engenders superficial and transactional interactions among participants. Frequent club-goers often become jaded and disengaged. Rather than having a good time with their “friends” you’ll often see people standing on the couches texting people who actually care about them. Facebook Me Comedian Dave Attell hosted a show from 2001 – 2004 called Insomnaic where he traveled city to city hanging out late night, getting drunk, and rabble-rousing. In a recent interview he offered the following, “I don’t think I could do that show now. Those late night scenes just aren’t there anymore. A lot of these kids I think are more content just to be on Facebook and the computer than they are to actually go out. They just really want to get a picture to post to their buddies wall, and that’s about it.” There’s a lot of truth to this. Facebook has changed the game as promoters craft their images via their profiles (lame private jet profile picture anyone?), recruit and filter customers, and even fire out mass invites via Facebook events. Much of the social competition that women engage in also has moved out of the club and online, as funny and provocative pictures garner much more validation with much less effort than a night on the town. Even before the rise of social media, nightclubs were taking a hit. I was surprised to hear a general manager tell me that he thought business had declined 20% because of the rise of internet dating. Although the nightlife scene is sometimes referred to as a bubble, it seems as though it is not immune to the trends that are affecting the rest of the world. If the goal is simple P in V sexual relations, nightclubs can seem anachronistic in a world of world of online dating, Facebook, Twitter, and Foursquare. Last Call At its best, nightlife is an extravaganza of the senses. The aesthetic and architecture of a well made venue, the aural pulsing of the speakers emanating deep-bassed drumbeats and of course the parade of beautiful women in short miniskirts and their painstakingly crafted illusions inciting feelings in men that hearken back to stolen kisses beneath playground swing sets. The clubs and "the promoters" do much of the legwork for a single man. They scour the city for the most attractive women, house them in one place, engage them with alcohol and near seizure- inducing sights and sounds, and pit them against each other in a skin-to-win competition for the attention of men. Under the right circumstances and with the right people, nightlife can truly be a fun and exceptional experience. At their worst, clubs exploit human frailty. Insecurity can manifest itself in fights (men) or eating disorders (women). Addictions can be enabled. And people can confront a great chasm between what they seek and what actually makes them happy. If lived in too long, club life becomes the social equivalent of junk food. Sweet and satisfying at the beginning but ultimately leaves you feeling empty. Exposing the Nightclub Industry Part 2: Club Girls On November 2, 2011 By Mark Manson · 32 Comments Guest post by Xander. “How the hell could you front on me? There’s a thousand you’s, there’s only one of me” – Kanye West Consider this thought experiment. Imagine a beautiful woman. She grew up in a mid-sized town in Minnesota where she was always the prettiest girl in school. Prom queen, cheerleader, even her biology teacher turned into a bumbling baffoon around her. Her whole life people told her she was gorgeous, ascribed qualities to her (some real, some imagined) that made her feel exceptional, and generally made the world cotton for her perfectly manicured toes to walk on. Maybe she went to college where she enjoyed sorority life and dated the bartender at the local post-game spot. In her early twenties she decides she’s outgrown the town and moves to the big city to pursue her dream of being an actress (LA), model (NY) or kept woman (Miami). Mostly she’s looking for fun and adventure and fulfilling the destiny that she was meant for something more than getting married after school and settling down with her on-again, off-again ex-boyfriend.