by Asya Mukhamedrakhimova
MKH digital plubication © 2025
by Asya Mkh
Category Life
Published December 5, 2024
Is There Comfort Under the Strobe Lights

Ragazza alla Finestra, by Edvard Munch

I was fifteen years old when I first stepped foot in a club. I went out for a New Year’s party in my hometown, and the night led me to a dark and dirty place that smelled like cheap tequila. I wasn’t there for long and don’t remember being very impressed by the place. That same year, I turned sixteen and attended my first club in London. In the following months, I would go out for celebrations of some of my older friends’ birthdays, which all took place in various clubs around Mayfair. Back then, the excitement of being in a club while underage and the adrenaline rush I got every time I walked through the doors, risking getting found out, was enough to make the night memorable. I was new to clubbing, drinking and listening to recent hits of R&B and hip-hop while the strobe lights were playfully shining onto the foggy interior. I think we all go through a phase where we convince ourselves we enjoy things simply because everyone else is.

After I turned eighteen, clubbing became a regular activity. I knew which night a specific club would be popping off, knew the content of the drink menu by heart, and, at some point, could even predict the order of the songs. Sometimes it was fun. There were nights when many random friend groups merged in a sweaty basement to drink and make moves that resembled dancing while screaming out Travis Scott lyrics. It didn’t take long for the magic of not having to use a fake ID at the door to wear off. That, paired with the slow but steady development of my frontal lobe and the realisation that being groped and hit on does not need to be a part of my weekend, pushed me to one simple conclusion: I don’t really like these clubs.

Since the goal was no longer to just get drunk and dance to often repetitive music, my eyes were clear. Every time I went to the club, I realised what a fucking scam it was. At the end of each night, I would end up bored, broke and tired of constantly being on alert to make sure my friends and I were all feeling safe amidst drunk guys saying stuff like, “Where are you from? I got a table here” as they moved their face closer. The more I went, the more I realised I would rather be doing anything else but be stuck in an environment I no longer deemed friendly or comfortable. At that point in my life, FOMO played a significant role in many of my decisions, so there would be times when I would go to a club just because my friends were going. I was a twenty-year-old university student, so give me a break. Luckily, soon, most of my friends came to the same conclusion. After the pandemic, when the clubs reopened, we all collectively realised the amount of fun we had playing our own music at home and throwing house parties. For a while after that, I opted for bars and smaller parties rather than any central London clubs. I can’t lie; there was a night here and there when I broke my promise to never step foot in a club again, but that was to be expected.

The more I looked outside the central London club and bar scene, the more exciting my nights got. I discovered new artists, DJs, and events and began visiting places based on the events they were throwing, the person playing, and the type of music prevalent in the club. I tried to cover everything from techno and deep house to R&B and Hip-hop. I decided my nights should be dedicated to expanding my knowledge by visiting new places and listening to new music. Suddenly, surrounded by a completely different crowd, I found the environment friendly, the conversations engaging, and the night entertaining. I also realised that a drink hits way better when it doesn’t cost the amount of my electricity bill. Looking back at my nights spent in overpriced clubs, I only regret not exploring other options and cutting my ties with that environment sooner.

Now, standing in the middle of a techno event, I could feel the sense of community coursing through the dance floor. I saw people gathering together to escape reality for a night. I felt their bodies move to the waves of sound that travelled through the room, giving each person an individual sanctuary from the outside world. It felt like each person or group was in their little bubble. Yet, a sense of camaraderie was still present whenever that bubble was penetrated by casual conversation or odd gestures. Don’t get me wrong, there are creepy people everywhere. I don’t think there are any bars or clubs in the city where visitors don’t face unwanted attention or inappropriate comments, at least not in places predominantly attended by straight people. However, since the point of a central London (specifically Mayfair) club is to get drunk and eventually get with someone, the number of advances per night dramatically increases. Especially when it comes to people who think getting a table entitles them to all women in their peripheral vision. In other events or venues, the purpose of the visit, for most of the attendees, is to enjoy good music and spend time with friends. There are no hierarchies, no tables, no entitlement. So even the advances of the opposite gender, while still present, seem more polite and well-mannered. And if they are not, there are way more people around you who are happy to jump in and help you stabilise the situation.

Of course, I understand that everyone has different experiences in different places. When it comes to clubs, bars and other late-night venues, you are never fully protected, especially if you are a woman. There are a lot of horror stories and pretty traumatising situations in my past from all kinds of places, so I will never be the one preaching about one club being safer than the other. But if I am running the risk of some drunk guy trying to chat with me (or touch me… ew), I would much rather do it without also spending £50 on a vodka soda.

Finding my way around London’s nightlife was a long and tumultuous journey, and I wanted to talk about it so those just starting out understand their options. Just because your friend knows a promoter at a club does not mean you should waste your night there. Through trials and tribulations, I found my place under the flashing lights of an event venue where electronic music takes my mind to the outer realms. I found a certain sense of belonging born out of large crowds, especially when these crowds are there for a DJ they’ve been waiting to see for a long time. Every new set and event brought a new appreciation for the city’s nightlife, and this is not the kind of feeling I ever got in a place with small yet somehow aggressively expensive tables stacked with bottles of Don Julio and Drake’s 2018 hits playing on repeat.

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