As a social experiment, I decided to take my friend up on her offer to sit with her in a rope protected area of the club where a celebrity would or would not be sitting. I’d never had the experience of sitting in VIP and don’t really understand the hype of it, but like most things in life it is best to experience it before you judge it.
What I found was a stunt-ery at unparalleled levels, immeasurable levels of delusions of grandeur and a false sense of power. I never knew that males could be groupies for other men to the degree that these men were. I never knew that just because a man allowed for you to sit in a secluded area he had free reign to put his hands anywhere he felt like it. I cannot lie; I did enjoy the $1000 glass of champagne with the firecrackers spraying from the cork. I did enjoy being away from the sweaty, elbow bumping crowd and the freedom of dancing on top of the couch. However, I was alone in this freedom.
Everyone surrounding me was more concerned with impressing their peers than abandoning their stale, erect stance for more loose movement. Why are we so obsessed with looking cool when the obsession with that only turns into being boring? If I had suppressed my inner self that wanted to dance, drink and be merry I would look like the people surrounding me. More occupied with looking cool than going to the club to do what going to the club entails: having fun.
Most of the people seated in this VIP section were not even celebrities; they were promoters for the club that doubled as groupies once in the presence of the celebrity host. I always thought that being ‘cool’ meant not turning into a 10 year old Belieber when in the presence of celebrities, but these men had no shame in their quaint obsession. They conveniently placed themselves in front of the lens that photographed the rapper gripping the microphone yelling obscenities. The photo-op was just so once the photo went viral they could post it on Instagram accompanied with the caption: “(Insert popular club name here) with my boy (Insert celebrity that stood in front of him and had no idea he was there).”
It was hilarious to watch, but deep down inside I felt bad for all of them. Much like anything built on superficiality, it doesn’t last forever mainly because it’s not meant to. The feeling of power that doesn’t lend itself useful outside of the club will leave just as fast as the DJ cuts his music on. The lights come on and the bartenders and bouncers quickly evade the area. The promoters, managers and clinger-on’s return to their one bedroom apartment they share with two other roommates awaiting the day they can return to the club again and live a false life.
There is truly no pride in clinging on to a life to the point of obsession that holds no true value or weight in your life. These people put their self-respect and caution to the wind just to have a façade that only lasts as long as the music doesn’t stop. I enjoyed my time in the club, in “VIP,” but I know enough to life means so much more than being so high you forget to see the ground.