Boys: Can you please stop taking your tops off in clubs?
You’re not in Magaluf
There are two types of man in the world: the wristwatch-wearing, besuited, dazzling, debonair, respectable gentleman, who every girl dreams sweeping them off their feet – and those that take their tops off in clubs.
The majority of us manage to live by the following mantra fairly successfully: have fun, be ridiculous, hate ourselves the next day, but vitally – still abide by respected social protocol in the club situation.
So no, this is by no means an attack on clubbing or having fun.This is a specific, and concentrated attack on the small minority who continually insist on flaunting public decency, by running round the dancefloor bearing their clammy, god-awful chests to all.
There is a concerning number of greasy, nude torsos brushing over my body in the club, secreting that classic “topless boy in club” combination of sweat, neon paint, and Lynx Africa onto my clothes.
How often do you find yourself stood at the bar minding your own business, and suddenly find your head trapped in someone’s gammy armpit as he leans over to pay for his Jägerbombs? Too often.
What’s loosely acceptable over certain EU borders, isn’t here. You might have run round in a mankini in Magaluf and been egged on by your vest-wearing mates, but please remember you’re in Pop Tarts now, in Sheffield, in February. Pull yourself together.
If it is the heat you’re struggling with, think twice about that cable knit jumper, take yourself off to the smoking area for a time out or maybe even pack some ice pops. Do not be under the impression that being mildly warm is an excuse to unclothe yourself.
The logic of it is baffling. It’s not some grand, alpha male display designed to draw in adoring girls like flies to shit.
Nine times out of ten the perpetrators are completely incoherent, dribbling snakebite down their matted chest hair and flailing their limbs around like they’re mid seizure. It’s rarely a vanity show. These people aren’t out to pull girls, they’re just out to be really sloppy and annoying.
It’s not like everyone does this, or even close to a majority. My predominantly male friendship group manage to refrain from getting naked in the the public domain, and they’re as appalled as me at the creatures that do.
Obviously, club nudity isn’t restricted to just boys either. Sure, occasionally, the reverse does happen. But, as of yet, no girl has ever whipped her sweaty tits out within spitting distance of me. Nor have I seen one running round topless, frothing at the mouth and chanting “we all hate Hallam” round the dancefloor.
I don’t take my clothes off in the club, inadvertently rub my sweat glands on your clothes or invade your personal space while doing so. We’ve all paid the same entry, stood in the same queue, and should be getting the same sort of deal from the night.
I don’t care if you have the chest of Channing Tatum – you’re absolutely disgusting. Hide your shame.