England is known for many things. To the average tourist, it is known for its rainy weather, fish and chips, and the royal family. But for those who dare take a step beyond this beaten path, they will find a world where parties rarely end, and ketamine and cocaine are fuel.
Despite the similarities to her best friend across the pond, England’s relationship with parties, drugs, and alcohol seems to be more symbiotic. Ranging from Jägerbomb shots of Jägermeister and Red Bull to doing bumps of cocaine in a club toilet, whatever your vice is, you will be sure to find it for a night that will produce memories that’ll remind you that you were fun once.
Compared to most Americans, Brits are perceived as more reserved, but you can find them at the pub at 11 am drinking a pint, and after a long day at the office, the real party begins. As a young American who has spent the last 2 ½ years gallivanting around England as a graduate student, I have learned my way around the “Big Smoke” and its most notable seaside town, Brighton. I have learned that one of the best ways to get to know someone is when you are five drinks deep and the illicit drugs in your system are making you feel like you could take over the world or just be the queen of the night.
Then that’s when you’ll know that you are truly alive.
Our night begins here: Brighton, a seaside resort town colloquially known as the “gay capital of England,” is also known for being the “cool cousin” of London, where anything goes and where you can find anything or anyone for the night. I arrive in Brighton via train, and it’s unsurprisingly a rainy night. But a little rain is what gives the British their charm.
As I stand outside the station waiting for my friend Luna under my umbrella, raindrops and wind hitting me from each direction, I cannot help but think of where my night will take me. Something about the buzz of a few alcohol tins and the sight of the street lights hitting the rain-stained pavement makes me feel introspective. I have always been intrigued by the “bohemian lifestyle”; trying new things and finding new ways to “drown your sorrows” was one of my favorite pastimes.
However, my thoughts were soon interrupted by Luna, who picked me up for the night in her indigo-blue Mini-Coop with a racing stripe on the car’s hood. It was undoubtedly her. We soon started to chat about plans for the evening, with the topic being what we were wearing. You see, it should be noted that tonight is particularly special because this weekend is dedicated to dressing someone as someone you’re not and putting on your greatest performance.
The rain-soaked streets overflow with fallen angels with pitched black wings, becoming one with the night, while cowgirls in their pink cowboy hats and boots try to wrangle up their straggler friends for the night approaching. However, my friends and I are taking a different approach. Despite only being required to wear our most revealing black number, we decided to wear the tiniest black miniskirts we could find, thigh-high boots, and painting our faces with little eight-legged friends. The theme for tonight’s event is “Infestation,” a party by Polyglamorous, a well-known fixture in the Brighton community because of its unapologetic approach to partying and prioritizing the queer community; it is Brighton, after all.
Upon arriving at Luna’s house, her living room exudes a sense of warmth and minimalism that only a young 20-something could do to a space without even trying. We start off the night with copious amounts of sushi to “line our stomachs” for the equally copious amount of alcohol that will be consumed, well, at least for me.
I believe that the music during your night’s pregame will set the tone for the rest of the evening, and this night was no different. As fitting to the warmth oozing from the living room, songs of SZA and Frank Ocean filled the space. But this was only the beginning. The living room soon transformed into a stage, and I, along with friends new and old, graced it. We soon start belting some of our favorite tunes, karaoke style. “We’re Chinese, so of course, we love karaoke,” says Luna’s friend after her set is finished.
Partying is one of the truest acts of rebellion, depending on who you ask. It’s the scene of youth in its most authentic state– young people getting together to create mayhem and piss off their elders, who in return make snarky comments about “this generation” like they were never once young themselves.
Before I made my way across the pond, I didn’t give much thought to that “untz untz” music; if it didn’t have any lyrics that I could sing along to, it was a hard pass for me. However, after spending time with some disaffected Brits, I became indoctrinated. I slowly learned the difference between jungle, garage, drum and bass and learned that this music is integral to their rituals – pubbing, dancing, and raving.
I am a firm believer in cultural immersion, and the quickest way to become a local is through socializing over cocktails, cigarettes, and substances. My days consisted of working a run-of-the-mill admin job, buying fruit and biscuits for the office while pretending to know a single thing about architecture, and my nights were filled with bar hopping as an escape from my soul-sucking, twenty-something reality.
As it hits the patio, you can hear the light rain outside; more people have arrived for the pre-drinks. Although we have given our voices a rest for the evening with our mediocre singing, music still fills the air. Before we leave, we smoke cigarettes. I down one of my alcohol tins. I stash a pair of sunglasses in my purse because you never know when you’ll be coming home.
We knew we arrived when we saw the massive queue full of black outfits reminiscent of a Charli XCX concert. I think, “We should’ve left earlier,” but that thought quickly fades as I take a swig of my drink. However, our wait in the queue wasn’t long; a group of girls let us join them. We exchange niceties ranging from “I love your outfits” and “You look amazing” as we take photos commemorating the night while they disappear into the club, never to be seen again.
As we push through the sea of leather, latex, and feathers, the first thing on our agenda are shots. Despite my efforts to make eye contact with the bartender, he seemed preoccupied, violently shaking drinks while bare-chested. Moments passed before we succeeded in our quest; as the tequila rushed through my body, I felt a new sense of purpose. I’m reminded why it’s called “liquid courage.”
A Romanian DJ is performing tonight, which means nothing to me; however, as I look around the space, I feel that everyone here is a fan. I locked eyes with the bartender as we walked through the club. And to my surprise, he turns out to be a one-time Tinder hook-up, an Italian man, and a massive house head. I vividly recall him mentioning how he prefers ket over coke. Needless to say, he didn’t last long.
My eyes quickly averted as I walked further into the abyss; the neon lights bounced off the walls while the smoke machine hazed my judgment. We’re headed to the “back.” The security is at the door, and we show our wristbands. Upon entrance, I am hit with a cloud of cigarette smoke and see a few others racking up lines on a glass table.
“There’s Red Bull in the fridge if you’re interested,” one shouts across the small room. But who chooses a Red Bull when drugs are available?
As we leave the room, I watch the creepy crawlers stalk their way to the bar. We take that as our sign to move closer to the stage. The haze of green and neon lights fills the tight space as the smell of sweet perfume engulfs me. The thumping of the tune “Heads Will Roll” by Yeah Yeah Yeahs can be heard through the speakers, inspiring me to let loose for the night.
We are soon greeted by go-go dancers taking the stage. Nipple covers, tassels, bare skin, and leather are on display. Young, taut bodies on full display. I watch the dancers sway their hips and perform tricks on the poles provided; this feels like a European sex club, like the ones my mom warned me about, but I’ve always been a rebel at heart.
A dancer singles out a fellow civilian in the crowd and kisses her across the barrier; it looks like the start of a beautiful one-night stand. As we make our way to the toilets, I think to myself, “I need a bump of coke to finish off the night,” however, I think this quest for the coveted bump will be futile – I take a look around and sense the evening is winding down. We head for the smoking area, and to no surprise, it’s pouring, leading us to run for shelter.
We finish our cigs and give each other that universal ‘it’s time to go’ look. Our walk through the club is something out of a post-apocalyptic movie; a handful of people left on the dance floor while the DJ begins to play some repeats from earlier in the night. It’s eerie.
As we make our way outside, I’m instantly hit with the sound of Brighton—waves crashing onto the shore while my fellow wasted souls make their way home. There’s chatter about finding something to eat, with the only choices being a kebab or a six-piece nugget from Maccies.
However, as we make our way up the massive hill into the night and a few raindrops hit my face, I’m suddenly in the mood for an after-party.
Josie Babitz
Josie Babitz is a cocktail connoisseur who loves finding the next thrill. When she’s not bouncing between after-parties, she’s figuring out where she left her sunglasses.