After around forty minutes, I stopped feeling my feet. Every time I would move them, I did so mechanically more than intentionally. They were still connected to my body, of course; if I touched my body, I could feel my bones, muscles, and skin go from my thighs to my knees and all the way down to my feet, but the actual feeling was lost. I began to wonder if I would trip over every time I took a step because of how much I was now focused on the numbness of my feet. Luckily, I did not have to move much.

My friend put me on the list for the launch party of i-D Magazine’s new issue at The Standard Hotel. I was so excited. It was a fun party and a networking opportunity all in one. I arrived around thirty minutes after the party was to start and immediately joined the queue. Actually, at first, I mistakenly joined the VIP queue, feeling surprised by the small number of people in it. My friend texted me that the queue was moving fast, so I thought most people were already inside. Two minutes in, I heard someone say, ‘This is for VIPs only; the other queue is around the corner,’ and I politely fucked off to take my place among the other commoners. As I turned the corner and glanced at ‘the other queue,’ I immediately thought, ‘Yeah, that’s more like it’.

I was coming off a high of an amazing event I attended earlier that evening. My social battery was charged to 100, and my outfit, which took half an hour and a phone call to a friend to put together, was looking great. The first thirty minutes were quite chill. My friend came out to say hello and immediately headed back inside to work. I met a lovely girl in the queue and chatted with her for a bit. I watched so many beautifully dressed people pass me by and definitely got some fashion inspirations for the future. The queue was moving at an expected pace. Not fast, not slow, expected. I try to pinpoint where it all went wrong; when did I go from cheerfully waiting to freezing my ass off, disassociating and cursing the random rapper/influencer whose name I honestly can’t remember for bringing in twenty plus ones that immediately filled the venue’s capacity.

At some point in the queue, a group of people joined the two guys standing in front of me. Under normal circumstances, I don’t really mind people cutting the line to stand with their friends; I have done that myself. However, at that point, I knew that the venue was doing the whole one in/one out thing, so five more people going in front of me meant waiting for five more people to leave. So I sneakily went in front of that newly formed group. Since I was only one person and they were too preoccupied with saying very odd things (that I had the unfortunate displeasure of overhearing), they did not seem to mind or even notice.

One by one, I saw people call it and leave the queue behind, running towards the comfort of their homes, a nearby restaurant or any other place that was not at capacity. I stood strong, unbothered by the wind slowly creeping up my shorts and curiously caressing my stomach. A cropped T-shirt with a cropped jacket was definitely not a practical option. I watched people enter and exit, yet I remained still, like a marble statue on a cold museum floor, forever held captive by the moment I was cast to represent. The groups in front of me and behind me kept chatting away. Their chats were loud enough for me (and probably people on the other side of the street) to hear, but their words felt unwelcoming to strangers, so I did not attempt to talk to them. Also, they chatted some weird shit, and I was not in the mood for that.

Getting slightly annoyed by my inability to develop telekinetic abilities at that very moment and move the queue out of the way with the power of my mind, I decided it was time to disassociate. I started by looking through things on my phone, responding to emails, going through Instagram and TikTok, responding to a message my second aunt sent me three months ago, and even cleaning my spam folder. I read some articles I had saved weeks before but could not finish all of them. Halfway through the second article, my mind began to travel to the outer realms. ‘I am standing in this queue,’ I thought, ‘For a moment, I am a part of this queue; I live and breathe as the queue does, and so does everyone around me.’

‘We have all gathered here with a single thought of getting inside The Standard Hotel. That one thought powers the queue, gives it a mind, and makes it sentient. At this moment, we are simply atoms that make up the molecular structure of the queue. We are the reason it exists; we created it, yet we have now become prisoners gripped by its magnetic power. The queue is not real unless we give it power, yet if we give it no power, we lose our own purpose. Are all things in life so perversely intertwined?’

“What’s the name?” I heard a voice asking me, pulling me back from the black hole of philosophical absurdity I have found myself in. I gave my name and took the first big step I had taken in an hour, to the front door of The Standard, where my friend was waiting for me. After working at the door for three hours, my friend also needed a break, so she told me to go upstairs and wait for her there.

I drove to the party intending to have some fun, meet new people, and maybe even network, but by the time I got in, I was just happy to be inside, where it was warm. From the moment I stepped into the elevator, I felt the intense stares of people around me. It wasn’t just me, though; everyone was looking at everyone. Most of the faces I caught displayed the sort of ‘serving c**t’ expression that can only be found in its natural habitat of fashion parties. Needless to say, the thought of approaching someone to strike up a conversation began to instil genuine fear.

For a second, I thought maybe I should just merge with my environment, put on a cold and careless front and move through the party, maintaining eye content with inanimate objects only. But that was not my style. I was exhausted from the mental and physical challenges I had to endure in the world’s slowest moving queue, and pretending to be something I am not felt way more draining and honestly unnecessary than just being myself. After all, people around me could not care less about my facial expression, so why should I? I walked around smiling at every face passing me and approached people politely. I exchanged small talk with some people at the bar, and the cold and unfamiliar world of fashion magazine events began to soften.

I stood waiting for my friend and began to look around and really see the people standing next to me. They were all incredibly beautiful. And I don’t mean just beautiful; I mean came off the cover of a magazine, can make a TikTok of their face lip-syncing a song and go viral; no need to check the balance because the face card never declines kind of beautiful. It felt like all the hot people of London coordinated in their group chat (they must have a group chat) and decided to show up and absolutely eat at the i-D launch party. Of course, the outfits were also crazy, but that was to be expected; it was a creative industry party.

I looked at all the beautiful women, and for a second, my thoughts went to an insecure place. I thought back to how I picked my outfit for 30 minutes, planning out every detail, and some of these girls looked absolutely breathtaking while wearing a tank top and jeans. I thought about how effortless everyone looked and how they did not need to try because their vibe was accessory enough. But then I thought, I do not know these people. I don’t know if they tried, if they, like me, spend time and effort putting together an outfit, cultivating an image. I have no idea how they truly feel, and most likely, I never will. So fuck feeling insecure, I should just vibe.

I have a rule: instead of comparing myself to people I find cool, I should admire them and maybe pay them a compliment, let them know I think they look great or give off a cool vibe. So, I confidently came up to a bunch of people and did just that. It’s always nice to make someone smile with a simple compliment, and it’s a great conversation starter.

My friend joined me upstairs. Actually, she joined me about ten minutes after I went upstart myself, but I failed to mention that earlier in the story since my mind was overtaken with other thoughts, just like it was that night.

We took some pictures, and after a failed attempt to go to the upstairs terrace for a smoke (it had a queue, lol), we went back downstairs. We came outside, and that queue, the queue in which I stood for an hour and a half, the queue in which I had five existential crises and read every email I neglected to read in the last month (even the new stock announcements from brands I mistakenly gave my email to three years ago), the queue that had about fifty people standing behind me, that queue was gone. Apparently, about five minutes after I was let in, a bunch of people left, and they let everyone else in. I could have just come two hours later and went right inside. Oh well, a lesson for another time.

The rest of the night was pretty fun, but this story is not titled ‘A Night at The Standard’, so I will leave those memories private, only available upon personal request. This story is about a queue, a queue that in no way changed the course of my life but felt like it lasted a whole life while I was standing in it. Now that I write about it, I barely remember the cold slowly biting my arms and legs, leaving red marks that reverberated into numbness; I am beginning to forget the distortion of my thoughts caused by complete and utter powerlessness (exaggerating for dramatic effect), I only remember a queue and a great night that followed.

P.S. Special thanks to my friend Chiara for making this story possible. She worked at the door for three hours and still had the energy to hang out with me. Love you, girl.