When it comes to partying I’m very green. Picture an almost fluorescent green like a new spring leaf (never mind my years as a 17 year old go-go dancer. Even then I preferred leaving at 1 am.) Especially after having lived in Berlin for a few years I’ve come to accept my role as the “follower”: I’m never the one who knows where the after party is, or where we can all hang out after closing hours (though I’m just informed enough to know that does not actually exist here), who is hosting the best house party or what new underground club will open that night. I rely on my friends who have that magic ability to know these things before they are even announced to the world. It’s a mystery I’ve given up to unravel and just gratefully take advantage of.
With the role of the follower comes another role: the one of the over-enthusiastic after morning person. As the inexperienced party goer, whenever I do go out and have labeled it as a ‘crazy’ night because I’ve actually managed to stay up after 2 am, I, as opposed to my veteran party friends relish in that early morning punishment of the hangover after a night of celebration. To me it is the bodily validation for last night’s glorious stupidity and considerations (“Did I ever tell you that I love you? Another vodka? Sure. Why not! Let’s hop on a plane to Mexico tomorrow! Good morning. What’s your name again?”). I feel alive! It’s an attitude only understood by other non-experienced party goers; the hangover as a reward for living the bad-ass life, for having a valid reason to performatively wear sunglasses on a gloomy Sunday afternoon and to grab some overpriced coffee at Katie’s Blue Cat because you’re in dire need of some decent caffeine. It’s all part of feeling overjoyed you got to be a part of the cool folk really and of witnessing some moments of pure bliss in those hours you usually sleep or are reading Chris Kraus’s I love Dick. And for those who haven’t read that book cause they were busy socializing, trust me, it’s actually better than a party.When it comes to partying I’m very green. Picture an almost fluorescent green like a new spring leaf (never mind my years as a 17 year old go-go dancer. Even then I preferred leaving at 1 am.) Especially after having lived in Berlin for a few years I’ve come to accept my role as the “follower”: I’m never the one who knows where the after party is, or where we can all hang out after closing hours (though I’m just informed enough to know that does not actually exist here), who is hosting the best house party or what new underground club will open that night. I rely on my friends who have that magic ability to know these things before they are even announced to the world. It’s a mystery I’ve given up to unravel and just gratefully take advantage of.
With the role of the follower comes another role: the one of the over-enthusiastic after morning person. As the inexperienced party goer, whenever I do go out and have labeled it as a ‘crazy’ night because I’ve actually managed to stay up after 2 am, I, as opposed to my veteran party friends relish in that early morning punishment of the hangover after a night of celebration. To me it is the bodily validation for last night’s glorious stupidity and considerations (“Did I ever tell you that I love you? Another vodka? Sure. Why not! Let’s hop on a plane to Mexico tomorrow! Good morning. What’s your name again?”). I feel alive! It’s an attitude only understood by other non-experienced party goers; the hangover as a reward for living the bad-ass life, for having a valid reason to performatively wear sunglasses on a gloomy Sunday afternoon and to grab some overpriced coffee at Katie’s Blue Cat because you’re in dire need of some decent caffeine. It’s all part of feeling overjoyed you got to be a part of the cool folk really and of witnessing some moments of pure bliss in those hours you usually sleep or are reading Chris Kraus’s I love Dick. And for those who haven’t read that book cause they were busy socializing, trust me, it’s actually better than a party.