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The Scene.

MEAT.

Mayfair clubs lubricate women with free alcohol and free entry.

I cannot help but wonder as women and as a feminist are we degrading or empowering ourselves by getting free entry to elitist Mayfair clubs, alongside unlimited drinks, and access to a promoter’s table – also full of other girls?
These club spaces lubricate females with free drinks and with this false narrative of being ‘VIPs’. Women are pretty much currency to London’s elitist clubs and are sexualised and commodified. All the entry requirements regarding our appearance are shaped to please and satisfy the desires of heterosexual men who are the one’s spending and keeping these clubs open.

My birthday was approaching and I was trying to organise a night out for me and my squad. I usually would not specify the gender of my friends, but it seems that I should make it clear that friends, indeed, are a mix of guys and girls.
I decided to reach out to a promoter I was Instagram friends with, he reached out to me a few months prior, and no doubt my account caught his eye from my “clean profile pic”. Anyway, I explained to him that I wanted to party at Cirque Le Soir to celebrate my 22nd birthday. Whilst he was very eager to host my girls and I, he definitely was not keen on the idea of boys.
He made it clear that if I wanted to “party with a mixed group Cirque Le Soir isn’t suitable Tia.” Disappointed that without paying an extortionate amount, I would not be able to celebrate my birthday with my nearest and dearest, I tried to explain that “they’re no trouble, just party boys.”

Despite making plans to go with just my girls; it just didn’t feel right to bring in another year around the universe without my boys; we ditched the idea.

Though half a year later we tried again. December 2022, my best friend Bella’s 23rd birthday, we had just finished our meal at Sticks at Sushi, London King’s Road, and after lots of sashimi and lychee martinis, we were ready to really get the night started. Despite there being a decent number of local bars and clubs in Chelsea, this night we wanted to go out, out.

I still had contact with this promoter for Mayfair and Central clubs so I dropped him a message.
He was quick to reply, ensuring it was “all ladies, all wearing heels.” This time we were a group of all girls, but one of us was wearing flat boots, not heeled; knowing this didn’t fit the dress code policy, we decided to go with a cheeky white lie that Lola had sprained her ankle.

But it was his next message which made us realise we are worth way more than some free watered-down vodka mixed with orange juice.

The promoter explained that we needed to send over pictures and our Instagram accounts, claiming that it was for the “purpose of recognition” – but that is what IDs are for – clearly this was about our appearance and making sure that we look good enough to qualify for the guest list.

It then clicked that this Mayfair shit was not for us. We wanted to have a carelessly good night, without being commodified. Without being analysed on our surfacing.
It felt awfully degrading and we would rather spend our money and be relaxed at our own table with our own friends, our own drinks.