The Real People

The clubs in South Beach are considered one of the hottest spots to party in the country. Every weekend I hear stories about how much fun everyone had at Liv or Mokai. These people often brag about the exclusive table they were at, all the overpriced bottles that were bought, the celebrities they breathed the same air as.

I remember walking around South Beach one night with Nima, my friend's "promoter" from New York. We were waiting for his friend to pick us up in his Maserati so we could go to Soho House for drinks and then head over to Liv.

I had been to some of the clubs in South Beach before but never really understood the hype. I always thought the point of a club was to have fun and dance, but the intention of the people I went with seemed to be much different. Their main concern was how elite they could look as they sat at an overcrowded table and sipped on drinks that came from bottles purchased by the promoters.

As Nima and I strolled through South Beach in our expensive clothes and uncomfortable shoes, he told me about his life-- how he came from nothing and built an empire in club promotions. He told me of his dream to open up a successful club in New York City. I nodded and smiled as I pretended to listen. I noticed that many of the club frequenters have this overdeveloped sense of self-importance. I learned quickly that I do not actually need to listen to a word these people say. I just mindlessly stroke their egos by acting overly interested and impressed by everything that comes out of their mouths.

We strutted down Ocean Drive in our expensive clothes and uncomfortable shoes. Nima told me about the important people he knows, the exclusive clubs he frequents, the expensive parties he throws. I realized pretty soon into our walk that the people we were passing were much more interesting than the conversation Nima was having with himself. I wanted to see the real South Beach, the part that no one talks about. So I opened up my eyes and surveyed my surroundings.

It seemed that every store front we passed had a homeless person sleeping in front of the door. I wondered why no one ever seems to notice them. It is like people here are so absorbed by the glamourous image of South Beach that they are blind to anyone who is not attractive, powerful, and rich. I glanced at each person who passed me, most of them were regular people; people I would see at home. They were not these beautiful, well-dressed models or rich old men that everyone talks about. They wore t-shirts and shorts and several of them were taking their dog for a walk. They did not care what designer I was wearing or what club I was going to. They were not concerned with who I knew or what perks they might get by being friends with me. They were real people doing real things. They weren't absorbed by this fake world full of excess and superficiality.

It was comforting to know that these people could not care less about me.