Diary of a Gen Z student: People over 40 should be banned from clubs (2024)

Now, when I’m greeted with the shaking head of a bouncer, as I’m given the old ‘not tonight’, shrug, and sigh, I’m far from admitting defeat. I don’t like rejection. So, I’ve become fairly adept at talking my way in.

I start with the basics; I’ll smile, tuck my hair behind my ears, and say please. Then, I’ll gently remind the bouncer that I’m 20, nearly 21. So really, what’s the difference?

If that doesn’t work, I’ll say that I have friends inside already, and they’ve just bought me a drink. At this stage, I’m desperate.

If the entry requirement is an interpretive dance, someone hold my bag. You’re about to witness the performance of your life.

And I get the age restrictions. You can spot the spritely 18-year-olds a mile off. The ones working out the order in which to consume their salt, tequila and lime wedge. And I was that girl, once.

I can say with certainty, I would not want to be in a night club with my 18-year-old self. Using a provisional drivers’ licence as ID? Christ. Someone, give that girl a curfew.

SORRY, MR GEN X

I recently wangled my way into a nightclub that was 21s, no interpretive dance necessary. When I got inside, I was a little shocked and a lot disturbed by the age demographic populating the dance floor.

When I heard the nightclub was 21s, I thought the crowd might be a little more mature. But I was not prepared for the number of suits throwing shapes on the dance floor.

It was a Friday night. These suits had spent the day in the office, crunching numbers or whatever. They hadn’t managed to go home and change between work and the club.

And then they acted surprised when they didn’t recognise the songs being played. Sorry Mr Gen X, you’d need to spend a lot more time on Instagram to understand the significance of Chappell Roan right now.

You probably don’t have time for that kind of thing, what with your child’s upcoming Communion, your mortgage, pension, life insurance, and whatever else you have to think about if you were born in the 20th century. I wouldn’t know.

I get it, you’re never too old to have a good time. But I fear you may not blend in on the dance floor of D2 as well as you may think.

GET THE ZIMMER-FRAME

Some more age-appropriate alternatives may be a quiet drink in your local, a cup of tea in your living room, maybe even a friendly game of draughts.

But when I see someone the same age as my parents trying to start a conga line in the club, I don’t know where to look.

What am I supposed to do if they take a fall? Throw their back out? Especially when their dinner has probably been blended up and waiting for them since 4pm.

I feel like I should offer to call them a taxi, so they get home safe. Maybe even offer to get their zimmer frame from the cloak room. They’ve probably not been out this late since the Clinton administration.

Look, I’m 20, so anyone over the age of 40 seems like an ancient monument to me. And I’m sure I’ll think I’ve still got it when I’m 50. I’ll have to be dragged off that dance floor, with my walking stick trailing behind.

But for now, feeling like I could be watching my father dance to Taylor Swift, is the stuff of nightmares. I’m just a girl, too innocent to bear witness to such an atrocity.

I don’t mean to insult. All I’m asking is: If the bouncer is trying to deny me for being 20, maybe there should be some sort of upper limit too?

Like if you know how to tune a radio, D2 on a Friday night may not be the place for you. Just posing the question.