This is a completely non-nail varnish related post but I wanted to put down my thoughts about what I saw on Saturday night.
I had a fantastic weekend visiting my friends in Manchester, and we ended up in this bar which is basically the stomping ground of various C-list celebrities (think Coronation Street and Hollyoaks actors) and girls blatantly on the lookout for a hookup. I hasten to add that we were only there to observe this phenomenon, not to partake.
So, expensive drink in hand, we set up camp by the door, to watch. It was like a catwalk. Girls coming down the stairs in pairs, all the better to make a massive entrance. It would appear that unless you are wearing massive gladiator style sandals or boots, with the teeniest sequinned dress available, you w0uldn’t be allowed into this bar after 10pm.
I swear, I’ve never seen anything like it. Pairs of girls in tiny outfits, just parading around, flicking their peroxide curls around and clasping the handle of an “it bag” that would contain my entire make-up collection, let alone a few choice items for a night out.
How they walked in those stacked heels was beyond me. I did have the occasional giggle to myself watching them stagger down the stairs, grasping onto the handrail and each other to try and steady themselves. Once in the bar, it was fine as all they had to do was slooooow and careful circuits of the room so that everyone got a good chance to look at them. Pity the “fat” friend who was permanently a few steps behind the skinny one, struggling to pull her dress down with one hand whilst using the other hand to balance a bag the size of her head and a champagne cocktail.
No-one sat down. You have to walk round and round and round the room for hours at a time, so that you were seen. Good exercise, if nothing else. Even though none of these girls looked like the type to need to atone for a kebab or a burger on the way home.
The men were hilarious. Standing in corners and basically perving for all they were worth. A lot of them were ancient, probably having a night off from the wife and being quite happy at buying champagne for these crazy young girls, in a vain attempt to feel young and attractive themselves.
For me, going out on the town means wearing a slightly skinnier pair of jeans with a spangly top and some shoes that I know I can stand up in all night. For these girls, it means pouring yourself into the kind of bodycon outfit that a hooker would feel exposed in, and liberally dousing yourself with fake tan. Apply several layers of false lashes, decide not to bother with tit-tape, add in more clip-in peroxide extensions, slap on a bit more fake tan, and then add the obligatory concealer-lip.
Don’t get me wrong, some of these girls looked phenomenal. But I couldn’t tell the difference between many of them, or even between them and the transvestites that were also doing the rounds. Maybe it’s something that comes with age, but I can’t quite work out why looking like everyone else is a good thing. Maybe I’m just bitter that I couldn’t go out in a bum-skimming leopard print vest and not a lot else. Outfits that I might dare to wear for a formal function like a wedding or a ball appeared to be de rigour for these girls on your average February Saturday night. Madness.
And like I said to my friends at the time, it is genuinely the only place I have ever been to where the queue to get to the mirror was longer than the queue for the toilet.
So, what do you think? Am I old? Is living in a small town where all you ask of a night out is a seat somewhere, and maybe a log fire if it’s cold starting to get to me? Have I been hiding under a rock for too long? Is this kind of weird behaviour and attire seen as normal by other people? Answers on a postcard please……..