THE NIGHTLIFE VIBE DROUGHT

A plague of parasites has descended over clubland

🚨ATTENTION RAVERS: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY ALERT SYSTEM 🚨

An extreme vibe drought has struck parties from New York to Berlin, with clubbers facing an increasing scarcity of actual dancing on the dancefloor. The warmth of true feeling—that pulsing life force that pre-dated this drought and dictated the realest expression of raving—is being sucked dry by a scourge of cellphone-wielding content-chasers, gundled gay zombies, and performative party parasites.

Industry watchdogs believe the drought began in 2021, as COVID restrictions loosened and long-shuttered nightclubs flickered back to life. As the doors re-opened, a wave of unhinged hedonism washed over clubland, powered by eager hordes of neophytes converted to the cult of raving through their worship of designer fashion, influencer DJs, “therapeutic” ketamine, and other false idols.

At first, the heavy showers of popular attention were welcomed by the residents of clubland, who have endured decades of dismissiveness and demonization. The technocratic oligarchs who’d seized control of the kingdom offered a devil’s bargain: sell your soul to your algorithm, and tomorrow you could be touring Japan. DJs began preening behind the decks like pouting puppets, perfecting the cringe art of “dancing like everyone is watching” as they cloutmaxxed on The Lot Radio while practicing their best camera angles for Boiler Room. In their competitive quests for attention, some turned to the dark arts—performing ritual sacrifices amidst the jaundiced tiles of Berlin bathrooms, and cutting off the heads off horses to wear on radio streams.

An unsettling reality is setting in: amidst the chorus of sunglasses-wearing Charli clones shouting “that’s so brat” over a hardstyle remix of Kings of Leon at Bossa Nova Civic Club, an eerie atmosphere of deadness has permeated the deepest core of the dancefloor. A certain lifelessness lingers behind the eyes of those jostling to be snapped by bloghouse-era photographers revived from irrelevance to haunt the coke dens of Dimes Square. Raves today have entered the sphere of simulation, populated by those who look the part but lack the ethos and etiquette; like the French in Brooklyn, they desire a vibey environment without integrating.