Disclaimer: All of the foregoing is commentary for informational purposes only. The information presented has been obtained from sources believed to be reliable but its accuracy is not guaranteed. Estimates, assumptions and other reflective information are subject to the limits of living one life. Party going involves substantial risk and is only appropriate for those who have risk capital to partake.
They gather into their small collective. Vodka, lime and water in one hand and their 5th iPhone of the year clutched firmly in the other. Patiently it waits for the inevitable Instagram story or algorithm-friendly reel of some DJ playing an undoubtedly underwhelming trap set. His chunky dad sneakers, Dickies and dangly pearl earring perfectly complement her Euphoria-inspired ensemble purchased straight off of Shein. Let’s not forget the on-trend platform boots, curtain bangs and a terrible hand-poked tattoo done by a “friend” on a particularly debaucherous night out.
Awkwardly and in silence they dance, while glancing over their shoulders, scouting for the attention they so desperately desire, tirelessly waiting to flaunt their social capital because remember, “I’m Insta-famous honey.”
Welcome to modern party culture where that perfect pic for the ‘gram, complete with whatever new trend the Kardashians are setting, spikes those serotonin levels about as hard as the copious amounts of cocaine being snorted up in the bathrooms of these establishments.
I feel it’s important to give a bit of personal background around this point, as many of you might be asking, “who does this prick think he is?” For starters, I’m happy to announce that the dig at the boy in Dickies and a dangly earring is practically a dig aimed at myself. See, I am under no illusion that I am somehow above all the shit I am about to state here. On the contrary, I’m right in the thick of it. Think stereotypical up-and-coming, privileged writer sitting alone at a bar with whiskey on the rocks and a lit Lucky Strike in his mouth – before they were rudely discontinued.
Having had the pleasure of experiencing both the Joburg and Cape Town party scenes as both a student and in adulthood – with no other intent than to destroy my liver – allowed me the incredible opportunity to put myself in spaces with a diverse cast of characters from all walks of life; all unique in their own way and most with some, if not a whole range of self-destructive vices. Vices such as the mind-bending psychedelics, bong hits at 4 am and parties where I pushed myself to the brink of alcohol poisoning one too many times.
Undoubtedly party culture and the creative industry have a somewhat toxic relationship not only in South Africa but across the globe. When one takes a step back from the shithousery that both the Joburg and Cape Town scenes have to offer, it is becoming concerningly hard to figure out if we are going out for the party itself or the possible social clout of being seen at certain events and around certain people. That is something I find particularly prevalent since we’ve escaped the mask mandates and curfews imposed during the Covid-19 pandemic.
Sure the networking opportunities at these esteemed parties benefit creatives; it is, at the end of the day, a chance to meet like-minded people, and talk about like-minded things. However, that could also be done in a space where the person dancing next to you isn’t whacked out of their mind from the mountain of coke they cut with their Clicks Club Card in the bathroom just 15 minutes ago.
Observing people at parties and places I frequent has become even more interesting in a post-Covid climate. You’d think the pandemic’s economic impact on many people would, if anything, pave the way for a party experience where the crowd is a little more frugal, but the opposite seems to be happening. The air somehow ever thickens with egos ready to flex their bottle service at dingy dive bars while documenting the “moment” for all of social media to see every single time they hit the top of their overpriced bottle of Clase Azul tequila.
Maybe we’re just enjoying the freedoms afforded in a post-Covid party landscape or are we simply overcompensating, exaggerating in an effort to not only maintain but enhance the social status we worked so hard to meticulously construct? A decree to the world, both in a physical and online sense, that not only did we survive what was undeniably an absolutely crazy two-year stretch but that we’re thriving and doing better than ever.
I love partying – the social aspect of it all and the way in which there is an air of unpredictability whenever you meet friends for a beer, that inevitably turns into more. However, I do think questions need to be asked when nights out closely resemble an episode of Real Housewives more than of a group of friends enjoying each other’s company.
You’d think after experiencing a period that stripped away our ability to see our friends and families, that the humanistic, social side of partying would be what we missed most. If anything, it seems that party culture has devolved into far more of an individualistic expression of perceived power and social status than an opportunity to spend quality time with friends.
Now just to clear it up, the sour taste left in my mouth is, if nothing else, hypocritical. I also engage in this exact same behaviour, flaunting my social status (or lack thereof), dressed in my best outfits while parading drunkenly around some of Cape Town’s most trendy bars and clubs. I too engage in conversations from the ludicrous to back and forth little ego battles that sound more like I’m trying to sell the idea of me as a brand and a writer than as a person that exists outside that world.
I think it’s also important to highlight the amazing work being done to bring us fun and creative events. Parties like Vogue Nights or Death of Glitter have been monumental in creating safe spaces for the LGBTQI+ community. Huge internationally broadcast events like The Lab and Boiler Room are an invaluable tool in helping up-and-coming DJs and performers grow their profiles around the globe. There are also cute curated events that mix food, drinks and partying like Homie.Lover.Friends and so much more.
Unfortunately, the experience at these events, fuck even normal nights out get tainted by well…
Us.
We’ve all been to a gig where some twat is filming the entire performance, not present in the actual moment, just so they can flex the “experience” to their social media following. Or that Saturday night out where you just want a piss, but you’re getting held up by some dickhead who thinks all artists need to be these tortured souls snorting Ket in a bathroom stall somewhere in the underbelly of Melville.
These are some thoughts from a binge drinking writer and observer that’s as part of the problem as the people I’m writing about throughout this article. Let’s not take my word as gospel but rather see it as the rantings and ravings of just another carefully constructed online figure. It’s just a bit of satire, but a bit of satire to remind us all to try and stay present. Or as present as we can be away from our fabulously fabricated lives on Instagram.
