The Nightclub Mating Ritual
Endeavours of a Nightclub Lothario.
The male brain will feel disgust and enticement when they see that barren bit of ground called the ‘dance-floor’. The cynical side of their brain tells them to stand to the side, look bored and observe the ‘sheeple’ as they gyrate self-consciously to corporate noise. The other side of their brain optimistically craves the whole affair; believing ‘fun’, ‘sex’, ‘flirtatious glances’, ‘sex’, ‘looking cool’, ‘sex’, ‘self-affirmation’ and ‘sex’ to be all buried treasures out there somewhere, amongst the mass of sweaty bodies, just waiting to be found. Did I mention the importance ‘sex’?
The mating ritual begins.
Observing the nightclub dance-floor is like watching natural selection on acid. From being blaringly obvious in Moonies, to being pretentiously subtle in Mahiki, this ritual is happening all around you. The similarities between the sexual dynamics of a nightclub dance floor and that of the jungle are all too obvious. The young males jostle for attention, the females watch unimpressed etc. Maybe one day, when Mr Attenborough is of the ripe old age of 164 and mankind has destroyed the natural world as we know it, he will start making nature documentaries in The Roxy.
Paradoxically, it would appear that for young, virile males on the hunt, being with a group of other young, virile males with similar intentions actually increases their chances of achieving their goal. Enter the wingman, or men. Groups of males give each other confidence and energy to work off. It makes them feel less embarrassed about their dancing if the guy next to them is equally atrocious. Moreover, your group of males will help define your social status and therefore, you. A lone male in a club will only ever conjure up the word ‘creepy’ in the minds of females and therefore ruin his chances.
So a male will be waving his arms around to some new Rihanna song when he spots a female he finds attractive and suddenly feels this primal impulse to impregnate her with his young. He then remembers that it’s the 21st century, with laws and stuff. So he grabs control of this instinct and channels it into socially acceptable behaviour.
The young male will somehow edge his way around the cluster of intoxicated revellers to get near his chosen female whilst trying to look natural to disguise his dastardly intentions. Placement is everything.
The young male will display his feathers, puff up his chest and joust penises with rival males. This is all metaphorical of course. In reality, he will just dance awkwardly and try to make eye-contact with the female. More often than not, the male fails on this enterprise and has to disappear back into the crowd with his, um, tail between his legs.
However, if the female is receptive: game on. The female then too enters into ritualistic behaviour. You both dance together. The male will be wondering how long he will have to wait until he can make physical contact. Timing is everything. Timing is also intuitive; unfortunately something many males lack. Survival of the fittest eliminates a great number at this stage.
However, if the young male makes it past this stage then he has essentially achieved his goal. Only BO, a cheesy chat-up line or a misplaced enquiry into the female’s political/religious views would scupper their chances now.
So physical contact is now being made (which probably involves some sort of grinding) followed by deafening shouts into each other’s ears. You soon realise trying to have a coherent conversation in a nightclub is ridiculous. It’s all up hill from there.
Cue a montage of downed jaeger bombs, number exchanges, face-licking and a hand being led by another out of the club and then…
…A train enters a tunnel. A rocket lifts off. A Geyser spouts. Fireworks.
And that’s how students find a mate. Not dissimilar to the caveman, just with a few strobe lights. And I’m not speaking from experience, of course. That’s just silly.
And if all else fails…