A life off instagram

The irony is that I had a much more active nightlife pre-social media, or at least how we know it today, which is ready to record with a smartphone in hand.

I forget about many of the nights I spent out, not because I was so wasted, but because there were so many nights to be had. And they’re not posted anywhere, except in the files of my digital camera.

And let it be known, it was very uncool to do more than 1-3 digital camera videos. You were very uncool to be on technology versus part of the dancefloor. This is how it used to be.

I was clubbing six nights a week, without a job, at 22 years old. It was a fabulous time to be young, attractive, unemployed, and with a boyfriend.

Every night was an adventure. The internet was left at home. We congregated, said hello, shared experiences, and kept alive what was else known as an exclusive right to the insider party scene. We knew where to be on what nights, and who was playing.

At home, we could check wanttickets.com (r.i.p.), but we got the bulk of our information from talking to other house heads on the scene, in addition to the flyers we’d receive outside the club every night between the hours of 4 and 5am. I loved the distinction between home and going out. Home was the planning. Being out was the surprise.

Now home is muddled with going out. The distinction no longer exists. The pervasiveness of the internet in a sense has dulled the sensation of adventure and diversity. Where is the surprise? Who can tell me something novel and different, something “locals-only” that isn’t advertised and prostituted on the internet. It’s nonexistent. Extinct.

Being a Miami local has lost it’s value. Except it hasn’t. Because we remember and we’re the only ones who know how to keep Miami – Miami.

These New Yorkers want to make South Beach the new Chelsea district. Get out of here. If you can’t understand the relevance of a club like Opium Gardens/Amnesia/Story in SoFi, you do not belong here. Periodt.

I digress.

It seems only music can remind me of the particular flashes of fun I had in the multitude of clubs. Back then, we had 20+ venues to choose from?

I’m going to document them here: Heathrow, Coco Deauville, Louis, Mokai, Rooftop 23, Mynt, Rockbar, Arcadia, LIV, Set, Red Room, Twist, Mansion, Opium Gardens, Nikki Beach, Amnesia, Story, Trade, Cameo,  Aerobar, Pinkroom, Will Call, Grand Central, Nocturnal, Space, Heart, this hidden club behind what is now known as Barsecco, Grass Lounge, Pawn Shop, Bardot, and I’m sure I’m missing a couple. That’s 30+ nightlife establishments.

Heathrow – down

Coco Deauville – down

Louis – now Club 23 (lame)

Mokai – down

Rooftop 23 – only a dayclub now

Mynt – up

Rockbar – down

Arcadia – down, R.I.P.

LIV – up

Set – now Mr. Jones (lame)

Red Room – down

Twist – up

Mansion – now M2 (ok)

Opium Gardens/Amnesia/Story – down

Nikki Beach – up

Trade – down

Cameo – down

Aerobar – down

Pinkroom – down

Will Call – down

Grand Central – down

Nocturnal/Heart – down

Space – up

hidden club – down

Grass – down

Pawn Shop – down

Bardot – now Sylvester

1 out of 5 remain that have not been extinguished or re-branded. 

3 out of 5 venues shut down and never came back. 60% of the nightlife playground, gone.

Wynwood wasn’t even existent back then. What a life. South Beach glamour was the only choice with the occasional downtown ratchet. 

It seems like home has gotten away from me. And thus, I’ve gotten away from it.

I’m taking a sabbatical in anonymous Florida, on the beach. I’m needing to clear my head and wrap my mind around the music scene in the 2020s.

I’m not the only one to leave Miami at this time, so I know it’s a movement greater than me.

I’m watching, even from a distance. It’s my home. And music is my mission.