Kolleen Gladden ‘21
Photographer
One of the things I appreciate most about Feb Club is that it runs much like a 4x4 relay, with the two strongest legs at the beginning and end, ensuring that the momentum carries on strong throughout the entire month. Lambda started by setting an incredibly high bar, and Das Klüb proved to be a solid anchor to close out the twenty-nine days of festivities. I found it highly appropriate that Das Klüb fell on a Leap Day. Your Snapchat memories from that sucker won’t show up for nearly half a decade, long past the soft statute of limitations for regrets. Go ahead, let it happen. There will be no memories lying in wait for you next year. What happens is between you, the menagerie of intoxicated guests, and the Klüb itself.
The first thing I noticed upon arrival was that, of all my storied experiences with Rapture, this was the first time I could maneuver the dance floor comfortably. The inside of the venue was a reasonable temperature rather than a scorching mass of body heat. It was noted at some point that this was likely due to the surplus of 1Ls slogging through journal tryouts this weekend. Well, sorry kids. Saturday was for the Ünderground. If you think Bluebooking is more important than shaking to syncopated beats under jarringly pulsing lights, you clearly don’t belong to the lifestyle.
The music was excellent this year, blending throwbacks like Dragostea Din Tei (the Numa Numa song) with more modern electric beats, seamlessly fused by a constant bass. I have to commend the DJ; Die Antwoord is one of my favorite musical groups and it is incredibly rare that I hear them out in the wild. I have never been to an Eastern European nightclub (although I am sure this school is teeming with people who have) so I cannot personally attest to the accuracy of the aesthetic. It doesn’t matter. Das Klüb is clearly in a league of its own.
I was told the desired look is “Eurotrash,” a term that, according to the distinguished source UrbanDictionary, is used to describe “a human sub-phylum characterized by its apparent affluence, worldliness, social affectation, and addiction to fashion.” If there’s one thing that we’re good at here at this Law School, it’s channeling a gaudy approximation of status obsession and wealth. Taking prohibitively expensive clothing items and making them look like, well, Eurotrash, is practically an art form in and of itself, and the Klüb was, without a doubt, filled with artists that night.
There were paisley shirts unbuttoned down to the navel. Sunglasses were worn throughout the already dark venue. There were Adidas tracksuits galore. There was a shakeweight, which I thought was a brilliant advancement of the athleisure trend, pushing it from “everyday activities in athletic gear” to “aggressively and edgily blurring the lines between working out and not working out.” There was even rumored to be a Michael Bloomberg 2020 tee insidiously floating around the dance floor. Efforts to confirm this were derailed, as many of the patrons had already been pressured to sign non-disclosure agreements.
There is a quote on the Das Klüb Facebook event page that reads: “DAS KLÜB makes no promises. DAS KLÜB is what we make of it.” And I think nothing could attest to the truth further. My friends and I have joked that Das Klüb is where the magic happens, and every year it becomes less of a joke and more of an ominous warning. There is no point in hiding the desires of your heart. The Klüb knows. The Klüb is there, patiently lying dormant in the months between, waiting to see if you will take your opportunity to the fullest. You walk onto the floor and let the lifestyle slowly take control. There comes a moment, where the unrelenting march of time seems to halt altogether and loses all meaning. The lights are either strobing or everyone has begun to move in stop-motion; you can’t tell which and you don’t care. The once-overpowering music becomes a distant and faint hum. A dancer is being hoisted skyward by his friends and you barely notice. That’s how you know that you’ve finally assimilated with the Klüb. You become one. What once was a discordant collection of individuals dancing has now become, simply, the Klüb. Nothing is hidden and nothing is sacred. The magic is there for the taking, and it is up to you to channel the forces that be to make it yours. Close your eyes. What is it that you want? No, what is it you really want? Do you know? The Klüb knows, and it’s there for you. It’s always there for you.
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kcg3ar@virginia.edu