awakening the party girl

and on the morning after, I rise

I’m turning 28 today and it is the (almost) anniversary of this newsletter, so I planned a gift for you: a review of the state of the party because it’s not about the birthday, it’s about the party.

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Reading the bible in bed this morning (Corker by Hannah Crosbie), ghosts of past birthdays and, most importantly, memories of past parties are visiting me. My drinking habits have may changed over the years but I trust my instincts when it comes to an outing - day or night. Born at 6 pm on a Friday in 1996, I was destined for a life of apéro and terraces, bars and dance floors, brunches and other boozeries.

With the sobriety lobby hard at work, drinking is allegedly uncool, and all truth be told, since COVID, parties have died a little. We all woke up hungover from an alcoholic fever dream. I mean, all but me. For one, I was working during the pandemic and kept a strict-ish routine to avoid the freefall, for two, I do not have hungovers no matter what I drink - humble brag.

That’s how my party life started, with the realisation that I wouldn’t suffer the consequences of my actions as long as I drunkenly behaved.

The party industry is in a crisis that parallels our crisis: the cost of rent soaring, over-the-top energy prices, the… I can’t even say it… the price of alcohol is up. Above all, nights out are not fun anymore. I’ve been away from the single scene for a while (rip) but recollecting the memories of my last dance in singlehood, dancefloor make-out, which are a bit gross but so much fun, are a thing of the past. No more meeting new and cool people in a bar, even toilets friendships have rarefied, everywhere is a bit the same. Everyone stays in their safe distance bubble. Safe from any unplanned adventures, safe from the broken heart of someone you will never see ever again, away from any risk-worthy situation (and by that i mean asking someone their number, not following a stranger down an alley).

It’s all gone, replaced by the unbearable weight of guilt. The guilt of drinking, of spending money, of the privilege of spending said money, the guilt of the inevitable greasy food, and the terrible hangxiety coming (which i am sadly not immune to).

Or is it just me and my advancing age? The rumour has it that we need to slow down on the fun nights out once the thirties are edging. My prime party years are behind me - some lost to the pandemic and maybe I should grow up and act like an adult. I pay rent, I budget, and I know the bin collection days, and isn’t that enough??

The stars have aligned and the days of the party girls are right around the corner, and with that, the rebirth of fun nights out. In the last few years, aesthetics and trends focused on some type of well-being, clean/gym routines, and productivity maximisation: lifestyles where alcohol does not fit.¹ Not that drinking is necessary to have fun, but it certainly lubricates social interaction and is a reason to go somewhere, do something. It’s time to reconnect with a more feral part of ourselves, a side of us that wants to play and have fun.

And maybe I am too old to dance on bars (the fall hurts like hell), drunk texting (my poor bf is the sole recipient of my late-night diatribes), or doing B52 shots (i burned my hand and lost my phone, in Moscow, good time), reckless financial decisions (my best friend and i went out in town, missed our flight to Berlin, took a last minute 12 hours train, got tattooed and stayed out until the sun was way high in the sky) but what about dinner parties? Barbecues? Birthdays? I won’t let go so easily, I refuse to let my beer knowledge decay. I’m all in favour of ageing like wine. In favour of bringing back the tipsy adventures. In favour of having fun for the sake of it. In favour of singing from the top of my lungs, a 2-4-1 long island ice tea in each hand.

There are so many stories of my night outs that it could fill a book. There is simply no time, amaretto sours are waiting for me, an unpredictable night of adventure ahead and my hair rolls are starting to look ridiculous. Time to party.

/extra notes/

• what’s fun about a night out is the possibilities of what could happen, but when you know your options and they are all meh, what’s the point? Where is the fun? it is down to quantity and quality (of places) (of drinks) (of activities) (of friends) (of food) (of…)

• i claim my party girl status as 1) i always know what to drink and when, 2) i have a tattoo symbolising my favourite bar in Brussels

• down memory lane, i already paid tribute to morning afters in the eponym article

• i do not miss drunk texting, scrolling back up the conversations with my best friend circa 2016 was a painful reminder. mjj² what an absolute disaster. an adept of the late-night text, filled with mistakes and nonsense. losing my phone on a night out was a blessing in disguise. so to you, the recipient of such text, if you read this, know i was having a blast

• title of my book? almost memories

1. It may sound trivial but aesthetics and trends have undeniably been dictating how we live in one way or another.

2. mary jesus joseph - french expression of outrage i shortened.