'High Class' Clubbing

As I think I've intimated, and perhaps you knew anyway, Miami has a reputation for glamorous, classy clubs. South Beach is supposed to be the place where the beautiful people party, as ostentatiously as they can. Probably the best known of these is Mansion. It's a noted hangout for all kinds of celebrities, it's featured in a few rap videos, it's successfully cultivated an image to fit the South Beach cliche.

Sounds awful, doesn't it? And you can imagine the corollaries to the above; dress codes, queues, expense. Still, it would seem remiss to spend so long in Miami and never go to confirm one's prejudices. Last night, somehow, the Graduate Student Association had persuaded them to let grads in for free before midnight (instead of $20), skip the queue, and enjoy free vodka for an hour. I have no idea how they managed that. Normally, there are three ways to get into the place without queuing for a good hour: be a famous person, be a member of a group including a significant number of attractive girls, or buy yourself VIP status (more on that in a minute). None of these being realistic options for me, this was the perfect opportunity to have a look at how the other half go clubbing.

There was one associated expense that I might have wished to avoid; shoes. We weren't excused the dress code, and that includes the stern 'no sneakers'. Now, I have to admit that since I've been here I've been seduced by the cheap cost of creps, and now own rather more pairs of trainers than I ever have. But my tastes don't run to 'proper' shoes, so yesterday's essay break was a trip to the nearby Discount Shoe Warehouse to find some footwear offering the optimal compromise between cost, comfort, and not looking bloody stupid (is it just me, or are squared-off toes really ugly?). I found something suitable for $35 (discounted from some risible list price). I should be able to get enough wear out of them in five years to justify that, I think.

Anyway, suitably shod, I set out with a couple of other grads. We negotiated the chaos at the door without too much hassle, drawing envious looks from people who'd obviously being waiting a while, and crossed the hallowed threshold into an anteroom with a small bar, bathrooms, and a roped-off staircase (I don't know if there's a cloakroom. Who goes out at night with a coat in Miami?). For no apparent reason, the staircase is hung with reproductions of miscellaneous French paintings, including a portrait of Napoleon, and Delacroix's 'Liberty Leading The People'.

Things get far more ludicrous in the main room (apparently, there are other rooms, but they weren't open last night). This is a big space, the majority of which is taken up by a VIP area containing the only seating. The plebs are given standing room only, perhaps two thirds of the area of the exclusive space, at the door end of the room, with the red leather sofas between them and the distant DJ booth. To gain access to this haven of comfort, one has to commit to 'buy' a table. This means shelling out $200, at least, on a bottle of spirits for you and your friends to drink at said table. On some nights, it's two bottles. So, cattle class for my friends and me it was.

Anyway, who needs bottles of liquor when you have free vodka? Well, as it happens, I'm on the wagon for this month (no big reason, several little ones). So I wasn't taking advantage of that. In some ways, this was a shame; a free bar with a time limit but no volume limit can be perceived as a challenge. On the other hand, maybe it wasn't, because I was at no risk of being seduced into buying $10 bottles of beer or similarly priced spirits once the time was up. Free from temptation, I sipped my lemonade and gawped at the decor.

Now, of course, one man's glamorous is another's tacky, and conceivably, I'm so out of touch that what I think is ridiculous is in fact the acme of classy club decoration. But, really. Glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, along with branched pairs of shaded lamps fixed at intervals on the wall. A plaster set of arches covered in fake ivy. Staircases on either side of the room leading to the super-VIP upper level. Poles, for dancing, at the corners of the couch area. The place looks it was designed by someone who had heard a bit about how grand houses in Europe are decorated, and seen a few pictures a while ago, and just threw together everything he could remember in a big mess of glittery things and mock grandeur (I wonder how far from the truth that is?).

As for the music... well, it seems that Mansion sometimes has credible DJs, playing music that, if not to my taste, is at least chosen with discernment. But last night was its standard Friday night fare, and I can only describe the style as 'provincial English disco'. There was a leaning towards poppy R&B and hip hop, some obvious soul, an interlude of rock, charty house stuff - it was like the DJ was making his selections exclusively from the last five years' worth of Now albums. The kind of thing that, if you suspend your taste for an evening, can adequately soundtrack a few hours of drinks, dances and bubbles without leaving any lasting impression. But the kind of thing played in the cheap and cheerful places that you would never pay more than a couple of quid to enter, and they better have drink specials on too.

So, the evening passed amiably enough. I got to see the jewel in the crown of Miami's nightlife without any of the usual expense, and am now satisfied that the crown is gilt and the jewel is cubic zirconia. It did make me think, though, how long it's been since I went somewhere I liked the music, for the music, and spent a happy few hours dancing. A big part of the summer plans, I hope.