Taking your top off on the dancefloor is the most liberating thing in the world

Whether you’re from Brighton or Birmingham, a student or middle aged, in XOYO, Fabric or some shit hometown club in the Scottish highlands, there’s a trend old as time which has the potential to untie everyone in a moment of brilliant, equalising ecstasy: taking your top off on the dancefloor.

You’d be forgiven for assuming this awesome spectacle only happens when the Baywatch theme comes on at the SU. But this joy isn’t just reserved for sweaty freshers. Many a time I have embraced the sudden urge to break free from my restrictive cotton and polyester bindings on a night out, and have a deep, primitive respect for those who say “fuck it, let’s go mental lads” and do the same. For these are the heroes with no shame, the ones who make clubbing what it should be: a bottomless pit of unbridled freedom. I’m putting my neck and body out there in support of the others and our right to free the nipple.

FREEDOM

On one level the appeal to strip is practical. In a hot a sweaty club who wants to be wearing a towel soaked in vile sweat? Going topless in the club lets you breathe, your skin is free to feel the draft and enjoy the new-found air. There’s also the thrill of potentially getting kicked out by the bouncers. Amid the awkward, self-conscious shuffling of people warily waiting until the song ends so they can go get a drink, these heroes serve as a reminder of what it means to be yourself and have fun. As soon as someone goes for it and brandishes their chest the mood picks up. The energy is infectious.  There’s no half measures: it’s top off, in the air being swung around like chequered flag at the end of an intense Formula One race.

But here’s a more important spiritual dimension to all this. At the point your top comes off from over your head it simultaneously lifts your spirits. Any problems you had, any qualms that were making life difficult are temporarily suspended in the shirt; your worries disappear, and you become a better version of yourself. In the past I’ve felt like a new man. Whoever I was in my previous shirted life is gone. It boils down to nothing more than instinct – the will to survive the party, and the need to better the party.

It’s amazing for confidence and chatting to women as well. You’re all open to see, there’s no need to hide behind a mask or shirt in this instance. “Why haven’t you got a shirt on?” they ask. Because I’m a legend, that’s why. My sheer energy and good vibes can’t be contained in pathetic clothing. They laugh. They will have instantly forgotten the guy in a polyester chequered shirt, trying to sing along to Tinie Tempah’s latest banger. I’m a new me, and I wish I could be this person all the time.