I always know it was a good party when I wake up to nude photos of myself on thecobrasnake.com, half my outfit missing, and I have a gut-wrenching instinct to google “can you get a staph infection from a pool”.
“Don’t go in the Le Bain pool! You can get an STD from going in there”, half of the socialites and artists who frequent the same Lower Manhattan venues as I do, took to Instagram to say. My friends, if you believe you can get a sexually-transmitted disease from a communal pool, you were most likely too busy drawing eyes on your notebook and writing the word “Chlamydia” in cursive too many times during Sex Ed to actually absorb the lesson. Also, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if you believe this myth because your significant other told you they got an STD from the Le Bain pool, you have much bigger things to worry about.
Just getting into the club can be a tricky experience alone. The line on the right—where people not on any promoter’s list wait (God knows how long) often wraps around the corner of the street and is not the ideal way to go. That’s why I was thankful to have a friend hosting that night—whose name I said at the door, so I did not have to wait. After IDs are checked, they’ll bring you to the elevator that takes you up to the fun. It has kind of an eerie vibe—one that reminds me of the elevator from Tower of Terror at Disney World. However, of course, if all goes well, this one brings you straight up and lets you off right there (as opposed to the other one).
For those who have never been, the club is at The Standard (in The Meatpacking District), several stories high, and is home to one of my favorite views of Manhattan at nighttime. It’s one of those views of the skyline that you picture as a child in your hometown, begging your parents to take you on a trip to NYC—the skyline’s complexion dotted with flickering lights from apartments of thousands of Manhattanites you know you’ll never get to meet. However, if you’re like me—you can still try to imagine what’s going on inside each apartment. It’s one of those views that really brings the word “sonder” to life. Yes, you get this view from inside the actual club, but it only gets better once you go up the stairs onto the roof of the club.
(Me on the roof of the club)
I showed up to the club in a tiny metal bikini top (that was good while it lasted but failed to last the duration of the party), a black mini-skirt (with bikini bottoms underneath, of course), red tights, and high heels that were reminiscent of soccer cleats (if you added a 3-inch pump to them, of course).
When I got there, everybody was dancing a regular amount as the DJs spun their decks, drinking as promoters filled their cups with vodka, tequila, and chasers, but nobody was in the pool yet. That seemed like the perfect challenge for me to amp up the via and get things lively. I took off my skirt, tights, and shoes, and headed right in the pool—which, in my opinion, is always concerningly warm. Soon enough, the pool—4-feet-deep —was filled with dozens of feet of people who had decided to join me. You can call me a trend-setter if you please.
Photo by Michelle Paradis (@_himynameismichelle on Instagram)
Shortly thereafter, Fcukers—a New-York-Based band rapidly gaining prominence for their 1990s-esque dance music—began their set in front of the pool. They performed some of their most well-known tracks like “Bon Bon”, “Mothers”, and their newly-released single “Homie Don’t Shake”…which made the Le Bain pool feel like it did, in fact, shake from the amount of people dancing to the beat of it. While the club got down to the sound of the beautiful Shanny’s angelic voice, Mark “The Cobrasnake” Hunter, Matt Weinberger, and countless other nightlife photographers clicked away, making sure the energy of the club was accurately-documented. People got on each other’s shoulders like we were youthful, sinless middle-schoolers in the summertime again—except this time we were inebriated, lustful adults baring as much skin as possible without getting ticketed for public indecency and making sure to capture it all so it could end up on social media the next day.
(Photos by Mark “The Cobrasnake” Hunter—as seen on Thecobrasnake.com)
I may as well have gotten ticketed when soon enough my top broke and I had no choice but to free the nip. At this point, the Fcukers set had ended and the pool had cleared out, but my friend still decided to join me in my toplessness—which of course, ended up on thecobrasnake.com the next day.
(Photo by Mark “The Cobrasnake” Hunter)
Shortly thereafter, nearly everybody that was left in the pool was topless and embracing their natural form as they danced and swam. What can I say? I can almost liken the moonlight to a drug—the way it possesses people and makes them come out of their shells, filling them with an overwhelming amount of confidence and lust. I also will not confirm or deny whether there were other substances being consumed there.
Needless to say, I know it was a good night when I can’t remember exactly how I got home (but thankfully woke up safely in my own bed) with dozens of photos and videos of me on social media the next day that would probably make my grandparents roll over in their graves.