It doesn’t matter who you are or where you go, there’ll always be someone you can relate to. Here, we take a look at some of those nightlife stereotypes, in all their glory. Which one are you? Probably all of them at some point! However, we assure you that knowing how to party like a pro is a great ability to have.
You know exactly who The Champ is, because you’ve seen him in the club every night that you’ve gone out for the past 6 months. He turns up without fail, in a combination of sneakers, jeans, and a t-shirt that’ll be shamelessly promoting a Uni night in psychedelic neon. He’s always jolly, excitable and ready for a dance off, and his perpetual good mood is as intoxicating as the beverages. Does he even go home between University and clubbing? Or is his life just a vicious cycle of lectures and shot-downing? It doesn’t really matter, because he’s having it large and he’s showing no signs of slowing down, which makes him undoubtedly, The Champ.
The Lone Wolf
The student that has never drunk spirits before and is isolated from his ‘mates’ he met back at halls 2 hours ago. He’s lost the power of speech, but has managed to form his own sign language and interpretive dancing to allow the bar staff to both tolerate him and stop him from being thrown out by the bouncers. It’s difficult to tell whether he actually went out with any friends, because he doesn’t look lost at all. He’s having a great time, an absolute trooper managing to keep partying despite being totally fucked.
The Entertainment King
He’s cool, he knows the DJ. No, Really. He did coke with Kygo upstairs, last time he played here. He reckons he’s a promoter, and he remembers this night before it got big. He reminisces loudly, though strangely quiet when bar staff and bouncers pass. The charade would be convincing if it weren’t for the fact that this guy looks so baby-faced that he may have escaped from a neighbouring playgroup. You’re sure his moustache at the very least wasn’t grown by him, which is confirmed as you go for a smoke outside just before midnight, only to see him get picked up by his mum.
This guy will turn up in a group of friends, in a placid combination of a pastel shirt, reasonable expensive jeans, and the leather loafers he probably wears to the office. He’ll take it slow at first because it’s only mid-month and he doesn’t want to overspend. That thought process is suddenly forgotten when he decides he needs to buy 15 shots of coffee Patrón on his credit card, and then text his ex, several times. It’ll all be fine in the end, though, because although the Self-Destructor specialises in sabotage, his knack of sorting himself out is also very seasoned. After all, it’s okay to make a mess, as long as you clean it up.
The Toilet Best Friend
Do you ever just stop to think about how that girl you met in the toilet is doing? She’s an utter mess, her dress is an ostentatious blur of pink and orange geometric patterns, and her sparkling stiletto heels look more uncomfortable than you would be if you were sober. But for five minutes, she’ll be the best friend you’ve ever had. You’ll converse deeply about life, love, the universe, you’ll exchange a selfie or two, before staggering off on your merry way. What a babe.
The Creepy Old Bloke
He’s a fairly good looking guy, or he might be, if he wasn’t dripping with sweat, or completely off his tits. He looks absolutely terrifying at first, glazed eyes and maniacal in his faded Portishead shirt. Later on, however, you’ll discover he’s just a normal guy looking for a good time, like everybody else. He’s been having it large since you were in diapers, and that commitment deserves a round of applause. Or a round of Jager.
The Radically Sober
This guy doesn’t need a drink to have a good time, and he’ll remind you of that sorry fact every time he sees you purchase one. His oversized nose ring glistens, as you wonder why the fuck he’s wearing aviators in a dark room. He could be cringing behind those shades because the blood flow to his legs is severely constricted by the jeans that have seemingly been sewn around him. He literally shuffles from crowd to crowd in a pair of garish hi-tops, like a shitty Justin Timberlake, vaping, and spouting pompous nothings. This guy needs to loosen up a little. Do some shots, talk to a girl, then wake up in a strange place covered in mysterious liquid, spooning a dog.
The older woman who frequents clubs in order to score with a much younger man. She’s squeezed her less than supple frame into a leopard print tube dress, and her lips and fingertips are bright crimson, the shade of the young blood she’s hunting for. She may be drooping dramatically and have a voice like a foghorn, but she’s definitely got her shit together. She also might be smoking hot after a few drinks. That might not be the case in the morning once you’ve sobered up, but it’s cool if she loves sex and makes an incredible breakfast!
The Queen is the life and soul of the party. She’s beautiful, flamboyant, and annoyingly well-preserved considering the amount of vodka she’s ingested. Her makeup is still flawless, and there’s not a speck of spilled drink or pizza grease on her dress. She’s also painfully pleasant too; you were all set to hate this perfect-ass bitch. You can’t decide whether you want to be her, or be on her, as she sashays gracefully across the bar. Hail to the Queen!
The most dangerous of all the drunks. Like a box of chocolates, you’ll never know what you’re going to get. The Wildcard could show up exactly when they said they would, or they could swagger in two hours later, with a vague backstory. Their post-club quest may consist of hunting down a pizza, reaching their bed as fast as physically possible, or picking a fight with the burliest dickhead they can find. One thing is certain, though, the Wildcard will never have a boring story to tell.
He’s got his back to the wall, nursing the same drink you watched him tentatively purchase almost an hour ago. He’s scanning the room, looking suspicious. He doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself, but there’s also nothing stopping him from leaving. He looks like the kind of bloke you would talk to in any other scenario, but he’s too shifty to handle right now. Is he up to no good? Or did he just not want to spend Friday night alone with his cat, while his mates were all busy? All these questions exit your mind as swiftly as they entered, as you sidle on by and try not to make eye contact with, The Lurker.
As you leave the club, there’s a bloke to your left. To his left, a substance you can only describe as alien. He might have been wearing a really nice shirt and jeans when the night began, but you’re unfamiliar with the ‘Versace Vomit’ collection. You ask if he’s alright, and he’ll throw you a courtesy thumbs up because lifting his head is too much effort right now. All you can decipher is that he’s had a hell of a night, and that’s all that matters!
Guest post written by Xceed, an app that helps Erasmus students find all the clubs and parties in Spain and Italy.
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