Going To The Club In Your 30s Is A Whole Different Experience

In your early to mid-20s, you slayed the club scene. You had your get-ready rituals and best outfits down to an art, and could always be guaranteed a good time whenever you hit up your favorite spots. Then suddenly, before you knew it, your 30s were upon you, and now your Fridays and Saturdays are more likely spent with Netflix and cozy pajamas than they were spending $15 on cocktails and throwing up in the club bathroom. When you do venture back to your old stomping grounds, you notice a major difference. Things just aren’t like they used to be, but that’s okay. Here are some of the difference you’ll notice going to the club in your 30s.

The get ready routine. Pre-gaming rituals are totally still a thing, so you invite the girls over for wine, which is a definite step up from the cheap vodka you used to shoot without a chaser. You rummage through your closet and realize you don’t own anything anymore that only covers half your ass, so you piece together items from your adult wardrobe to try and resemble a tamer version of Miley Cyrus.

Arriving at the club. You get to the club and it’s completely packed, with a line to get in stretching around the corner. This never used to faze you because you knew all the bouncers, except it’s been years and you don’t know anyone anymore. Then you realize you have to stand and wait in line in the ridiculous shoes you decided to wear for your pop princess look. You seriously debate greasing the doorman with a $20, but then you take one look at him and decide against it, so you continue standing while bitching the entire time about how stupid line-ups are.

Buying a drink. Just like the doorman, you don’t know the bartenders, either. Oh, and there’s another line to buy a drink. So you wait, and when it’s finally your turn, you’re asked to pay $9 for your vodka soda. What?! $9 for a single vodka? What happened to $1 highballs? You mentally calculate how many more you can buy without sacrificing your rent/mortgage money.

Observing the scene. This is the most overwhelming part of the night. You wonder if you looked equally as sloppily drunk in your former butt-hugging mini skirts. You’re also wondering when the hell mini skirts got so short – clearly you aren’t reading enough fashion magazines! And don’t even get started on the douchey “Situation”-looking guys parading around and seeking their evening prey.

Dancing. Ah, yes, the most challenging part of the night. Do you think you can dance? Because your 30-something-year-old body says no. While you used to kill it on the dance floor, now you feel like you look more like one of those old ladies doing the robot as you attempt to flail your arms around in some sort of rhythmic way. And what the hell is a Nae-Nae? Isn’t that the girl from Real Housewives Atlanta? You’re also so behind on the music scene, so you make a song request to the DJ to get you in the mood. It’s outdated and he never plays it.

Checking the time. By this time, you’ve got a couple drinks under your belt, and you feel like it’s almost time to go home. You check the time and it’s only 10 pm. What the hell? How is that even possible? You arrived at 9. You just want your bed, like, now.

The anticipated end. Congratulations, you survived a night out at the club, but it’s nothing like you remembered it to be. On the ride home, you reminisce about the good old days, where you could actually tolerate that scene for several hours on end, several times a month and all the wild nights you and the squad had. Now, you’re a grown up now and even though your entire body is going to hurt from the high heels and attempted arm flailing tomorrow, at least it’s only a once or twice a year thing now.

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