(source: badinitials.blogspot.ca)
When you go to a bar or nightclub, you sometimes wonder if you're seeing real people there or just their put-ons. By the latter, I mean forcing the loss of inhibitions. In plain English: does a bar make you lose yourself?
I pondered this idea after leaving Whiskey Dix, a nightclub in Winnipeg's Exchange District. On a sub-zero January night, I went there for a friend's birthday. I had never been to this establishment before; I'm rather a foreigner to Winnipeg's club scene. When I was inside, I noticed the place filling up with get-ups and cocktail allure. Young women wore skirts exposing the red-cold rawness of their thighs, some of them bronzed under the rays of artificial fluorescence. Some of the young men came in wearing the kind of clothing you save up for once per year.
I wonder if some of them dress up that way in their homes. After all, Halloween is everyday for some. More importantly, is the desire there? Human mentality, in my observation, is almost one-third 'urge' or 'desire'. Who knows, maybe some of them throw those clothes into the waste bins. Either way, the bar transformed them, made them into upgraded or downgraded models. They can either obscure their worst traits -- crudely-drawn tattoos, bad breath, or slovenliness -- or expose them all the same.
When the thumping plastic pop filled the speakers, everyone, myself included, started dancing. I didn't even care for much of the music. Yet here I was dancing. But I wasn't dancing naturally. I was dancing the way people consume fast-food: no thought, just temptation. If you stand completely still, you're in a vat of awkwardness.
You've been in this same situation. What do you do? You follow the trail. But why? Is it because of rhythmic temptation? Or is it something more? Is it the expectation you're going to be seen within this public space? Maybe that's it. After all, throughout the night, the photographer went round and about the corners of Whiskey Dix to capture the social climbers and various hangers-on.
Venturing into midnight in this old bank-turned-sweat lodge, I then found myself shouting the profanities to a hip-hop song along with my social group. I was now a raging urban Dionysian in the Church of Raucousness. All that mattered were lights and rhythms obscuring personalities like mine. People behaved almost the same and dressed almost the same. And on my way out, I thought, what if there is no such thing as a 'party person'? What if it's just the behavior of the crowd influencing the behavior of the individual? What if that's the end goal of an institution like Whiskey Dix: to create a crowd mentality?
When I walked outside, I resumed my normal behavior. Walking through the snow to catch my bus, I thought of the people leaving Whiskey Dix and where they went. I wondered about their private lives and how they acted out of public.
I've come to the conclusion that almost every bar and restaurant will sell itself as a mythic part of your personality. They do not do it explicitly. Instead, they hide such messages into images and advertisements. If you're at The Keg Steakhouse & Bar, you're being a professional. You're the quick traveler, the person who hustles and bustles. It's time for a fat juicy steak.
If you're at Starbucks, you're the yoga-enthused urbanist. If you're at some Ukrainian restaurant, you're homegrown and modest with Manitoba roots. And if you're at Whiskey Dix, you're a partier, nature boy, nature girl (or maybe both), a rabid dancer, or a drunken sloth. You could be one or all of these things because you know that's what you'll be when you enter the doors to a marketed reality.
