Three buffed men in black

Berghain panorama bar; a famous, legendary, freaky techno club in Berlin for the young, hot and hip. I need to find the best outfit or they won’t let me in. I haven’t had eye shadow on my face in years but I’ve got to bring it all tonight or they won’t let me in. “Let’s play the gay-card, they might let us in for sure!”Unfortunately, the 2ndmale-player to actually play the gay-card has a date with a Russian girl so he’s out of the picture. “If they don’t let us in, flash your boobs!” “Maybe you should flash them anyway and they might let us in for sure!”

One hour, one make-up and dressing session and half a liter of beer later, we are on the way. The building is not impressive, but the three buffed men in black at the entrance sure are. In line we talk more tactics but I just say: “well, we can’t really change anything about it anyway, so we’ll see”, but you can see every brain waiting in line calculating their chances. It’s time. We’re up next. One of the guys looks us up and down and asks “zwei?”,we: “nein, drei”… “no, step out of line.”

As we walk the short distance back to the taxi I hear my fellow party people arguing about why we didn’t get in. I wait for the feeling of rejection to kick in, for a door in the back of my mind to open a can of unknown insecurities but as I’m standing there in my party outfit and a summer jacket, I actually just feel cold. Next stop: Watergate. Same game, different club. This time, after rejecting the people in front of us, we get in.

As we stand in line to buy our tickets and get frisked, I wait for the feeling of victory to kick in but all I feel is the frustration of having to pay € 12,- entrance for the party. After ordering a beer for € 4,- (!) we immerge ourselves to the dance floor. The DJ is ugly with an ‘80’s mustache but he’s good and I’m surrounded by young, hot and hip people. At least, I think so because it’s so dark I can’t recognize any features of my fellow young, hot and hip people standing further away than half a meter.

After an hour an a half of expensive drinks, dancing to techno and hurting my ears to the loud repetitive beat I think ‘fuck it’ and go home. Some people might argue that I should’ve stayed to ‘get my moneys worth’ but why waste my time in a place where I’m not enjoying myself? The only time I’ll pay €12,- to get in without blinking, is at the cinema. I’m not saying I don’t like dancing in clubs, and going out in anything other than a bar but the whole ‘being a young, hot and hip person in a young, hot and hip club in Berlin’ -game has been wasted on me from the start. For me, going out is a way to have fun and blow off steam, no matter what you look like or how much money you can spend. Because it doesn’t matter what clothes you wear or how much make-up you put on your face because the next day – hung over as hell in sweatpants and laziness – we’re all the same.

I should’ve told the DJ I loved his moustache.

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