Too Hip For Me
My friend l0qii and his girlfriend came down from Connecticut for the weekend. Even better, a couple other friends of mine who've been traveling a lot were actually in town, too. This gave me the rare opportunity to get together with a bunch of people I haven't had a chance to spend time with in a while.
We hit dinner and then headed down into DC to see if we could get into The 18th Street Lounge (more here). The place is supposed to have a pretty strict dress code and get pretty full pretty quick.
Well, they let me in with my leather jacket and beat up old hiking hat. OK, so there were more than a couple of odd looks from the guys working the door, but I got in. I guess the place can't be that exclusive. Or maybe I'm just lucky. Or maybe they thought I was someone else.
After passing through the unmarked door and ascending the first set of stairs, we could tell we were in a pretty hip place. It's pretty nice. Lots of couches. Lots of bar space. Kind of oddly shaped in places, but, hey, it's in the city. The outdoor deck was closed. When we got there, it wasn't too crowded but most of the couches were filled.
I, of course, immediately felt a little out of place.
As I looked around at the crowd I realized that, even with my hat removed and folded up in my pocket, I was out of my normal element. Even if I had checked my leather jacket, I wouldn't have blended in. Not without a lot of effort, at least.
Here were the "beautiful people." The ones who wanted (needed?) to be seen. The ones who were out looking for the best people to be seen with. Here were the foreign looking guys in expensive suits, white shirts unbuttoned halfway down their hairless chests, their hair dark and as thick as I suspect their accents were. The women in their "little black dresses" or stylish print tops. Even someone with a small entourage--he was wearing a diplomat-looking jacket with gold braids on the sleeves and being followed around by a guy in a full-on tux!
These are people who care about social standing. Who worry about how much money they make (or how much they look like they make). Who go somewhere just to say they've been there.
You could tell. It was all over their faces. "My God!" the look said. "I got in! And look who else is here!"
Being relatively ignorant and/or apathetic about such things, I didn't really care.
This was not my place to meet people. Not my place to dance. Not even the best place to do my normal people watching. Everyone was too willing to be watched--and, very quickly, they all began to look the same anyway. They all blended into the blur of networking and pleasantries I remember from helping out at big-deal fundraisers back in Rochester.
The more I go out--the more I go to different places--the more I realize I don't have a "scene." Maybe it's because I'm not really in to music. Maybe it's because I don't drink or smoke. Maybe it's because I've spent as much time alone as I have. Maybe it's just because I'm me.
Most Saturday nights, I go to Chiaroscuro. So far, aside from one of the local bars back up in my hometown, that's the place I've felt most "at home" in. But even there I know I'm not all that "gothy" or up on the music or interested in the politics of being "in" the scene.
My friends, on the other hand, could very well be a part of the 18th Street Lounge crowd. If they really wanted to. Not that I really think they'd pick that particular crowd to join... but they are far more suited to it than I am. They're smarter and more ambitious than I am. They have better "looks" than I do (that's a style thing, nothing more). They interact more fluidly with people than I feel I do.
That's why I keep hanging out with them. I learn from them. And I love their stories. And, once upon a time, we had a lot in common. But every time we go out as a group I realize I have less and less in common with them. They are living much different lives than I am. Our common node was college and that's getting further and further away. And with them either far away or traveling and working, there are no new adventures to bond over.
Except nights like this.
The alcohol was flowing pretty freely--and they were looking a lot more ready for sleep than I was--so after leaving the lounge and making the trek back home, I bowed out for the night. Maybe tomorrow I'll get a clearer picture of what they thought of the place. For now, all I know for sure is how I feel about it.
It was nice.
But it was way too hip for me.
We hit dinner and then headed down into DC to see if we could get into The 18th Street Lounge (more here). The place is supposed to have a pretty strict dress code and get pretty full pretty quick.
Well, they let me in with my leather jacket and beat up old hiking hat. OK, so there were more than a couple of odd looks from the guys working the door, but I got in. I guess the place can't be that exclusive. Or maybe I'm just lucky. Or maybe they thought I was someone else.
After passing through the unmarked door and ascending the first set of stairs, we could tell we were in a pretty hip place. It's pretty nice. Lots of couches. Lots of bar space. Kind of oddly shaped in places, but, hey, it's in the city. The outdoor deck was closed. When we got there, it wasn't too crowded but most of the couches were filled.
I, of course, immediately felt a little out of place.
As I looked around at the crowd I realized that, even with my hat removed and folded up in my pocket, I was out of my normal element. Even if I had checked my leather jacket, I wouldn't have blended in. Not without a lot of effort, at least.
Here were the "beautiful people." The ones who wanted (needed?) to be seen. The ones who were out looking for the best people to be seen with. Here were the foreign looking guys in expensive suits, white shirts unbuttoned halfway down their hairless chests, their hair dark and as thick as I suspect their accents were. The women in their "little black dresses" or stylish print tops. Even someone with a small entourage--he was wearing a diplomat-looking jacket with gold braids on the sleeves and being followed around by a guy in a full-on tux!
These are people who care about social standing. Who worry about how much money they make (or how much they look like they make). Who go somewhere just to say they've been there.
You could tell. It was all over their faces. "My God!" the look said. "I got in! And look who else is here!"
Being relatively ignorant and/or apathetic about such things, I didn't really care.
This was not my place to meet people. Not my place to dance. Not even the best place to do my normal people watching. Everyone was too willing to be watched--and, very quickly, they all began to look the same anyway. They all blended into the blur of networking and pleasantries I remember from helping out at big-deal fundraisers back in Rochester.
The more I go out--the more I go to different places--the more I realize I don't have a "scene." Maybe it's because I'm not really in to music. Maybe it's because I don't drink or smoke. Maybe it's because I've spent as much time alone as I have. Maybe it's just because I'm me.
Most Saturday nights, I go to Chiaroscuro. So far, aside from one of the local bars back up in my hometown, that's the place I've felt most "at home" in. But even there I know I'm not all that "gothy" or up on the music or interested in the politics of being "in" the scene.
My friends, on the other hand, could very well be a part of the 18th Street Lounge crowd. If they really wanted to. Not that I really think they'd pick that particular crowd to join... but they are far more suited to it than I am. They're smarter and more ambitious than I am. They have better "looks" than I do (that's a style thing, nothing more). They interact more fluidly with people than I feel I do.
That's why I keep hanging out with them. I learn from them. And I love their stories. And, once upon a time, we had a lot in common. But every time we go out as a group I realize I have less and less in common with them. They are living much different lives than I am. Our common node was college and that's getting further and further away. And with them either far away or traveling and working, there are no new adventures to bond over.
Except nights like this.
The alcohol was flowing pretty freely--and they were looking a lot more ready for sleep than I was--so after leaving the lounge and making the trek back home, I bowed out for the night. Maybe tomorrow I'll get a clearer picture of what they thought of the place. For now, all I know for sure is how I feel about it.
It was nice.
But it was way too hip for me.