Why I've stopped pretending I like clubbing
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Recently, an article in the Independent suggested that Fresher’s Week should be banned. It was enough to draw pantomime gasps and remarks such as “How will the fresher’s cope?” But not from me. To me, fresher’s week was just one torturous week consisting of being force fed alcohol and pretending to enjoy myself in a sweaty underground nightclub, everyone packed in like sardines, everyone wasted, drinks spilling down your legs as you tried to feel your way through the sticky floors. Clubbing, quite simply, is awful. It is the most effective way to throw your time, money and dignity down the drain. I hated clubbing when I was suddenly old enough to do it, and my opinion hasn’t changed. At first I thought I was a freak, and that I was deficient if I couldn’t see the fun in what is undoubtedly the most emphasized activity in young people at university. Now, as a second year, with established groups of friends, a house off campus and good results coming in, I feel a sense of relief and confidence that I can be my own person, and only do the things I want to do. I used to be one of those people, pretending that clubbing was the most amazing fun ever. It’s not. Sorry if I don’t consider puking my guts up in the bathroom and grinding on random boys fun. And the end product after a few short hours of shouting and knocking back mood altering substances? The feeling the next day that we slept with our head in a door all night. So why do we torment ourselves? We do we continue to partake in such a monotonous, worthless activity? Because otherwise you’re “sad”. It’s this sense of obligation that cattle prods many students out the door. Next time you go clubbing look around, and you may be surprised when you consider just how little of the dancefloor are actually smiling. That is, until the camera comes out. There are some people who are tagged in 3000 facebook photos, all with the same aspiration: to prove to people they’re not sad boring losers sat home on a Friday night, but that they are amazingly popular social butterflies who wouldn’t go more than four days without clubbing. There are a certain type of girl at uni, and they know deep down who they are, who spend hours perfecting their looks down to the last false eyelash, squeeze themselves into the tiniest, trendiest clothes - a new outfit for every night of course, to avoid the social horror of being photographed and tagged in the same dress twice-and spend all night posing like plastic dolls, making ridiculous faces as if to suggest that they’re having a crazy time, and when the cameras not flashing, stand still and gaze around, letting slip through their expressions that they would actually rather be anywhere else.
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