I will never understand those who hate celebrating their birthdays — age is no longer an excuse when you know how to lie. Why would anyone want to deprive themselves of a moment officially dedicated to their person? A national holiday unknown to the rest of the people, it is the only day of the year when my cruel need for attention can be expressed without my roommates throwing what they have at hand. I spend months thinking about my outfit, my accessories, the theme of the party… I turn into into this character of an afternoon TV movie on Lifetime, with his mood boards and idea folder. Anyway, I probably watched My Sweet Sixteen too much in secret from my mother when I was a kid.
Within two weeks, my friend Elsa (whom I have already mentioned for her talents as a cultural critic) will blow out a new candle. If I am a fan of parties in my apartment full of people — few other places would accept me in my costume — she decided to settle for a rave. I mean, it spares her the cleaning.
Elsa and I met at a warehouse party, her choice therefore does not surprise me in any way. However, I personally find it difficult to choose my outfit. Don’t get me wrong, it’s quite an exercise to shine in the dark without stealing the spotlight from your super girl friend…
In any case, raves are among the few places where you can display yourself in just about every outfit without troubles. In this context, where everyone embarks on an ephemeral journey to freedom, the clothes say a lot about the one hiding below. Please let me give you some insight into the stylistic customs of abandoned garages…
As soon as you enter, you will become aware of the plurality of registers. Like this guy with pink fairy wings, waiting to relieve his bladder in a plastic cabin. When taking the slope leading to the heart of the festivities, don’t pay attention to this girl taped to her iPhone X. Judging by her Gucci Dionysos bag in beige suede, it’s her first time. None of her followers want to see her sweaty, with a shaggy fringe. She will come home disappointed not to be able to post anything on Instagram…
As you walk through the crowd to the cloakroom, try to spot the guys wearing cargos. In the multiple pockets of their shapeless pants, bought the price of two pints, are hidden the parachutes that will land half of the partyers in another dimension. Some will do so simply to finance their own consumption, others to pay for their engineering studies. Contributing to education should be tax deductible.
Don’t be afraid of the neo-goth gang hanging out aroung the coats, they like the confined spaces of the corridors. Despite their looks of great villains under acid, they are as tender as lambs. Maybe they’re just The Crow enthusiasts, maybe they took our article on next winter’s trends a little too seriously… The same can’t be said of the alter-globalists, for whom any hope of fashion salvation is destined to fail.
No need to linger at the bar once your drink is served, no underpaid staff member will sleep with you. By the way, avoid crossing the eyes of the 50-year-old in a fluorescent orange t-shirt on your left, he has a strange face. The same goes for the Janis Joplin’s look-alike in the middle of an epileptic seizure under the strobes.
How could you miss the shirtless guy? A specimen that can move in groups, the heat caused by the rise of ecstasy no longer allows him to support the slightest layer of fabric — social conventions force it to keep his pants on. His face riveted to the sound, his whole body drips with sweat. Either he’s fit and gay, either he’s fat and straight.
Chances are you will come across his female counterpart, displaying her chest barely hidden by her black DIM bra. The most daring will even opt for nippies… which should not be taken as an invitation: sexual harassment is wrong. Yes, even in the midst of a string of walking trash.
So close your eyes and let yourself be overwhelmed by the music. As for the weirdo you’ll see when you open them, the one twerking on a wall as if it were Josh Hartnett, it will probably be me… •