Nightclubs, at one point in my life, where the place to be on Friday and Saturday nights. (Sometimes during the week, too.) I would spend 5-6 hours getting ready, spending entirely too much time damaging my hair by blow-drying and over-straightening it so not one piece would curl when I would be drenched with a combo of dancing and alcohol sweat later on. I’d pile on tons of foundation, eye liner, eye shadow, etc. to achieve the same goal as I did with my hair.
My outfit would always be freshly purchased, and of course, included the hottest heels a college girl could buy and that would draw the most attention. And as embarrassing as it is to admit it, to really draw attention, I actually purchased a pair of high heels that would light up as I spent many a-night clubbing away.
Yeah, that’s right – you read me correctly. Light up. Like LA Gears but in heel form. I was 19 at the time and at the peak of my clubbing days. I thought I was the hottest commodity in the club scene. Man, if I saw me today, I’d jam that light up high heel down my throat.
Anyway, 5 years-and-copious-lessons-learned-later, I am hanging up my party girl shoes (and burning the light up ones.) Why? Well, quite honestly, I’ve grown out of it. I went to a nightclub not too long ago and felt completely out-of-place. While I waited impatiently to enter the club because a fight had broke out between a scrawny 19-something man and the behemoth body-guard over God knows what, I recalled how I would eagerly stand in line to get into the hottest night club in the area, mind buzzing from a combination of pre-game drinks and the excitement of not having a care in the world. This time, though, I looked around the club in annoyance, because I just spent $15 to park to get to the club, $10 to get in, and another $10 on a drink that I barely got to enjoy because three high-heeled bimbos stumbled into me and spilled my drink all over my relatively expensive Michael Kors heels (the non-light up kind.)
At first, I thought my graduation to “grandma status” was detrimental to my social life. Nearly 24, did I lose touch with my party girl ways, grow up and (gulp) settled down? Was I becoming, dare I say it, old? Thinking about it now, being over the club scene isn’t so bad. Not only do I save my outfits from being alcohol-ridden and smelling of cigarette smoke, I’m 1.) saving money and 2.) moving on to another chapter of my life.
Yeah, maybe I don’t get my cardio from drunken dancing but from running 2-3 miles; my cheeseburger chow downs are swapped for healthy meals filled with veggies, whole grains and lean meats; and my shoes no longer light up. So what if I don’t stay up until 3am at a club but until midnight with Jim/my girlfriends gabbing on about life with our glasses filled with wine that cost $10 a bottle, instead of a single drink for the same price? I like the Mature-Wine-Drinking-Shoe-Conscious Lauren. She might have altered her ways considerably but at the end of the day, she still knows how to have a good time.
Don’t worry – I don’t plan on giving up my youth. I still plan on going out from time to time, just to places that are of the less trashy club genre and are more high-scale.
Sayonara Light Up Stilettos, hell-o Mature Woman High Heels.