Every club stereotype you experience on a night out in Cardiff
Regardless, you will probably be drinking a VK
Cardiff plays host to a multitude of night time possibilities. From the holy grail that is the SU, to the more fancy feel at Revs, to the down right and dirty at Live Lounge, there truly is something for everyone.
The expectations of each night stay pretty much the same, as well as the revellers who attend them.
You’ll spend half your time in the smoking area and the other half wandering round the wrong floor looking for your squad. Although you tell everyone the only time you’ll step foot here is a Shang, as soon as you see the Bump and Grind queue you’ll be over to Greyfriars Road in a flash.
The grim embarrassment of looking in the mirror as you sweat to repetitive beats is replaced by enthusiastically dabbing at your own reflection. Replace adidas with Abercrombie and Huaraches with heels as you try desperately not to spill your tenth Jägerbomb of the night all over your second nicest clothes.
It is Glam though, and you can get away with a lot. You’re all hammered, and it feels like you personally know everyone in the club because you’ve been bumping into them for the last half an hour. Probably necked one too.
Revs is the prime peacocking establishment with a strict dress code – this week’s Missguided/River Island dress for girls and white Ralphies with boat shoes for the boys. You breathe an air of sophistication, and make sure that if you’re going to be snapped in a pic you better be in a booth with at least two bottles of ‘champagne’, with the gold VIP wristbands showing.
But everything fancy goes out the window once you get those Revs vodka shots down you. Whether it’s Chili, Peach, or the legendary Ice Cream shots, once they hit, your level of class decreases rapidly.
Soda is the place where Cardiff Met lurk. It is not very often you bump into a Cardiff Uni student here: they simply don’t exist, because frankly, your IQ has to be slightly lower than average to delve into the club that tricks you into thinking the dance floor is bigger than it really is. The mirrors trick the mind, and when you think you’ve seen five fit girls or lads, in reality you’ve only seen one, and when you see them face to face they lose their charm because they’re dripping with sweat.
Everyone in first year considers Walkabout to be Mecca with you and all your new found BFFLs sweating out together in the pit at TNT. You’ll be necking back the cheap shots and throwing shapes to some obscure E-list celebrity like Hodor from Game of Thrones or The Chuckle Brothers. You’ll spend half your time on the top deck looking for all your mates, trying to figure out which one they are from the plethora of Smurfs, animals, cowboys and hula-girls.
You’ve just turned 40 and you’re out with the girls from reception for a big gals night. Tonight is all about letting your hair down and doing Cyndi Lauper’s ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ justice. You’ll nail the karaoke and be tucked up in bed by two.
Or, if you don’t fit into this category, it’s likely you’re a local or a newbie to the city and are just searching for a good time, wherever that may be.
Retros is for the alternative person who is anti-Union. You have no taste in music and still have your iPod Nano your mum got your for Christmas in 2004 filled to the brim with Now That’s What I Call Music albums. You seek a night of nostalgia and have to physically drag your friends down to Mill Lane so you can have your one night of guilty pleasures.
It doesn’t matter what you wear to Retros, so long as you don’t mind ripping of the soles of your shoes trying to escape the eternal, magnetism of the floor. If you cared about that, or your steaming hangover in the morning, you wouldn’t have come here in the first place. Party hard and cringe harder, but you’ll never stop having the time of your life.
It’s 2am. You’ve twisted both your ankles falling off the stage and expertly numbed the pain with a couple of bottles of wine. Mr. Brightside has just come on for the third time in the night, but you’ve lost your voice and can’t scream along.
Anyone unknown to Shang or Treatment can blend in by chewing a pack of gum whilst taking a swig from your VK bottle filled up with water. To really become one with the crowd, grab a Chupa Chups lolly from the toilet lady to accompany your swaying to the mesmerising lyrics of “let’s go dancing, I wanna go dancing with you all night dancing”. Don’t forget to two-step and look like you’re having the most miserable time of your life.
You’re just bloody good fun aren’t you.
Twice a week, every week. You know, down to the second, when to leave their house in order to stroll up to the queue for free entry, and exactly when to stagger off to Fam Fish. Organised fun is the name of the game here. The social sec has sorted the whens, the whys, and the dress code. VK is the only thing you could possibly drink. Abdul knows just how much curry sauce you like. Hell, you probably get off with the same person every week. You legend. You are so uni.
You’re a third year. Every once in a while, stifled by academic pressure and wishing you could really let your hair down, you and your mates sit and reminisce about the sleeping giant. Tears are shed into Putinoff vodka at pres as you yearn wistfully for those £3 doubles, that balcony, that cavernous dance floor.
People who go to Buffalo are usually made up of the edgy bloke in your lecture who wears dungarees or the girl who wears a choker to your 9am seminar. They fucking love gin and juice and letting everyone know they’re going to an event in Buffalo because they know it brings an air of ‘cool’. You wouldn’t catch them dead on Greyfriars because they don’t play disco or ‘proper’ house music – eurgh.
Photo credits: Yony Photography, This Is The End, Buffalo, Live Lounge.