Monday Night Street Style: On The Raz
It’s the first weekday night after exams, so here’s what you wore to drink fat frogs
Yesterday was the first student night post-exams. After spending two weeks curled up in a corner of the library in your onesie, it’s about time you dolled yourself up a little and hit the finest establishments Liverpool can offer, which, on a Monday, is a heady mixture of Camel and the Raz.
Due to its popularity as one of the stops on the Beatles Pub Crawl (apparently they played there once, according to this reporter’s research), there was a rather large queue for the Raz. The Tab got a little worried when things started to kick off and the bouncers growled something in a young man’s ear, so headed up a little to see what the lucky people who had already gained entry (but had decided outside was fun after all) were up to.
Without crash barriers kettling them into a weird mesh of limbs, the fortunate few with raz stamps were spreading themselves quite far down Berry Street. After taking the below photo, “bitch, what did you take??” did resonate in the air, but I think that was a concerned friend who had read The Tab’s article about dodgy E and was angry as a result of her anxiety.
Here are some girls smoking, they didn’t seem to fancy a chat, but they were showcasing the classic LBD.
Replacing them was a group who made it clear they did not want their picture to “be on the fucking Tab”, but once they had seen the photo, they said it would be okay to publish, so long as it was in a non-ironic manner.
Unfortunately, they left upon noticing someone in the queue they’d rather avoid, but as luck would have it some of my friends exited Salt Dogs mere moments later and came over for a quick outfit photo. In contrast to the previous group, they decided they wouldn’t like their photo to be published once they’d seen it, but their wrath will be worth risking in order to show how a classic white t-shirt can exude understated cool on an impromptu night out.
Walking down Seel Street, avoiding discarded bottles of Kick, the graffiti captured below resonated deep within as a couple across the road were having an argument which, if recorded, would have proved helpful in writing a thesaurus entry for “skank”.
Of course, the Raz isn’t the best case to showcase one’s sartorial decisions as everyone leaves looking as if their legs have been dip-dyed in… something. Yet towards the town centre, a very distinctive click of stiletto heels could be heard, which could only mean one thing. Of course, it was a Girlz Nite!!!, and they were having a whale of a time. Looking lovely in block colour and with oversized clutch bags, they were obviously veterans of a night out, and knew how to dress for one perfectly. They did request a certain caption for their photo, so…:
Concert Square was dead, but its side streets had a bit of life in them. Here a garage acts as an emergency urinal because everyone knows that Baa Bar’s toilets aren’t worth the risk.
When outside Camel a taxi driver somehow embroiled The Tab into a conversation about how much it used to cost to rent in London when he were a young lad (£3/week in Paddington in the sixties, in case you were wondering), so there are no photos of the stylish Camel-goers in the queue, but then there were some lovely people to be found outside to make up for it. Like the clientele of the Raz, Camel’s clients stuck with basics, but the oxblood accents in the guys’s outfits ensure their style credentials. (NB: I’m very sorry, I did say I’d remember your name, but I have forgotten it. I seem to remember it sounded like sterile, so Sterro, if you want to have the interview which you were so gracious to offer at the time, The Tab would love to hear your take on scouse style, please get in touch.)
Without a beer jacket, The Tab feelt that it was probably about time to head home and leave you to your evening of guilt-free debauchery, when another stylish lad presented himself. Sid was to be found outside McDonald’s, looking down at James as he soaked up the evening in salt and carbohydrates. Their night had started at Leaf, a classy institution, as you can tell from James’s trousers (not chinos, as he assured The Tabvehemently) and a smart shirt, but had ended in clubs they couldn’t remember the name of. That’s Monday for you!
As you can tell from the vast majority of the people featured, Monday is certainly a dressed down affair, with people opting for comfort as opposed to glamorous looks more suited to clubs infamous for their “juice”. Yet it has been reported that someone decided that clothes were, in fact, not necessary in the Raz, and discarded them. A lesson in how to be at one with the music.