Imbalance of the Social Equilibrium: Male-Dominated Dance-Clubs

The melted ice water and lemon juice was proving to be surprisingly thirst-quenching, when I had just discovered cigarettes hardly held any appeal anymore. Either that, or the quarter-filled Rosemary's Baby from Gramps (she will be missed ever-so-dearly) held all the magic to the buzz of a Malboro red. The last bit of orange tinge had just been snuffed out when my cousin's voice rang through the crowd, extracting me from the anti-social realm. For whatever reason, we found our whims underwhelmed with our ambiance of choice.

"Let's go to the Sylvester," I found myself say aloud. The lights that met her eyes to that idea validated my casual suggestion. That was all it took for us to be whipping our IDs out at their door, despite my aching, post-shift feet, in shoes I just wanted an excuse to wear. We hardly expected it to be balls-to-the-wall poppin’, rather a light sway-and-bump setting, ideally with a craft cocktail in hand, given their reputation. However, having already weathered a venue change, we were willing to adapt to gin and tonics, with a ‘nce ‘nce ‘nce vibe instead. After a harrowing ordering experience, due to the particularly unforgiving crowd that night, establishing our ground was still, somehow, a fruitless expedition. A scan of the crowd led me to a troubling realization: we were outnumbered by men. Now re-read that, placing yourself as a 20 something year old, hundred-pound, frail brown girl, dressed a little cute, with my only companion being another female of my stature. Intimidated? That was definitely how we felt, being aggressively shoved every 10 seconds by a hoard of burly freaks, pissed off they haven’t pulled yet, off of nothing besides their crippling mediocrity.

In Miami, where nightlife can seem awfully fuego-fuego cookie-cutter, a place that remixes Scream & Shout by will.i.am and Britney Bitch is one I can fuck with, so we tried to enjoy ourselves nonetheless. I was hardly two seconds into rhythmically exploring the depths of my personal space bubble, when all of a sudden, I feel this agitating, grating, sweaty body, completely displace my footing, harsh enough for me to make just, at least, an irritated face.

Any time an over-compensating man makes an attempt to “humiliate” me to their friends, there’s a strange secondhand embarrassment I believe all women feel in this rite of passage female experience. I wish there was an opportunity to collectively communicate the transparency of these sorts of actions, and how they truly read “I really just need to get laid at some point in this decade (please).” That expression was written all over the face of this obnoxious man, who proceeded to mimic me, animatedly to his friends, as a defensive response to my palpable disgust.

This particular woman was raised in the islands, where we don’t take shit. I, naturally rebutting his "defense", proceeded to spout my shit, “ugly motherfuckers coming to clubs to stand around looking big and stupid,” which was met with a howl of laughter, and obviously, not much else, as it was simply an unarguable, factual statement. This point of my own making haunted me for the rest of the night. It troubles me into today, even though I am painfully aware of the reason why. I still, can't help but ask why, WHY must lowly men flood the dance clubs, wasting space and stealing the oxygen of those actually enjoying themselves? 

I know. Sadly, I know. They just want to score. Yet I ask, if anyone of this demographic I despise is reading this, please report back to the rest, the only clubs you will ever score in are the ones where the women are not free. You are much better off going out and making some money instead of wasting it going out, and going home alone every night. Really, do literally anything besides pollute the culture with your perversions. The girls you are bothering quite literally just want to have fun. You could clearly see, fighting for space in between each hive of locusts, girl gangs doing their best to zone out and lock in with their friends, to their favorite songs, in their newest dresses their most recent paychecks got them. I hardly see anything wrong with that, it’s great for the economy.

It may read like I am campaigning for clubs to be anti-men zones, but I swear, that is simply not my intention. I do believe, however, if you are simply existing in nightlife to push the hook-up culture, when you’re damn-near forcing it into aggravated assault, you have no room on the sacred space that is a dance floor. The men that I allow to tag along on my outings are usually attached to my friend, i.e., their girlfriend, are men-attracted, yet equally repulsed, or are simply conservators of the good, fun, healthy vibe. Even the one person that asked me if they could put me on to their friend, was moderately acceptable, simply because they were polite, and opened with, "I can see you're enjoying yourself, I don't mean to interrupt your great time but..." A wave of the hand was all it took for him to leave me to my business, with a thank you. All I ask is respect for the balance, and a good time maintained, not ruined.

Make dance clubs dance-y again (and exclusive again wtf when did y’all stop keeping men out?).