“Going out” means something different in every stage of life. In middle school, it meant spending three hours in Rite Aid buying gummy worms and maybe going out for pizza with a boy who wouldn’t even hold my hand. In high school, it frequently meant neon bowling and occasionally meant pong in someone’s basement. During my freshman year of college, as movies had rightfully warned me, it meant beer-soaked fraternity basements. But when I moved to Barnard, I learned that going out in college in New York City meant something more vast and adventurous than I could have ever imagined.
I grew up in Westchester, so the city itself wasn’t a new experience. I fancied myself an expert, in fact. (After all, I’d taken the 6 to the Forever 21 in Union Square many times and seen my share of concerts at MSG.) So how different could nightlife be when you’re 20 compared to when you’re 17?
Answer: very different. Overwhelmingly so, at first. The first weekend, my friends and I discussed options ranging from piano bars to thrifting in the Village to the TKTS Booth. It came down to a mutual friend’s concert in Alphabet City and a nightclub in Brooklyn. We decided on the former because that way, we could both investigate a different neighborhood and enjoy a night of music. I was quite content with that; at my old school, the most exciting thing to do on a Saturday night was get midnight Chipotle, so I wanted to ease my way into any sort of club scene.
Investigating ended up monopolizing the night, but that made it all the more fun. When something went wrong freshman year, that was usually the only option for the night, so the backup plan was to go home. But that was certainly not what we did last weekend when, upon arrival at Avenue A, we found the line going out the door. First of all, New Yorkers don’t accept defeat (example A: the Mets still exist). Second of all, the city that never sleeps certainly doesn’t head to bed at 10:30pm. And, finally, we had commuted for an hour and transferred trains twice, and there was no way that would be for nothing.
So we wandered. And the city did not disappoint: we found a giant stick figure graffiti’d on a building, we ran into a fashion shoot from Russia, we smelled the essences of many a hookah bar, and we ended the night with red velvet pancakes and milkshakes. In any other city, I wouldn’t have been able to see or do some of those things at all, let alone all in one night. And as much as freshman year me did develop a soft spot for fast-food Mexican cuisine, I can safely say I enjoyed the night’s adventures much more and I look forward to what the next ones bring.
When I first started college, I only went out once a weekend; there just wasn’t more than that to do. Here at Barnard, even if I went out every night for the rest of college, I wouldn’t be able to do everything the City offers. But that won’t stop me from trying.