NYC clubs are throwing parties for Millennials and Gen Xers with bedtimes, so I tried it

As a mid-40s working parent with a long list of priorities that come before partying, lately I’ve been wondering if New York City nightlife will ever feel like mine again. Pursuing the answer to this question is how I recently ended up at one of Manhattan’s trendiest clubs in sweatpants (no, definitely not the chic kind).

Why I wanted to try nightlife again

I have warm memories of wild nights in the East Village and Lower East Side circa 2005. My friends and I were broke grad students, and then broke journalists. At clubs like Lit Lounge and Pianos, I could get a $4 Stella, listen to indie music from a live band or DJ, and bust moves on a sticky dance floor where I felt accepted.

To examine how I spent my time and money as a young person in New York is to acknowledge that in my 20s, nightlife was my main hobby. I’m not proud of that, but am I alone?

I loved New York, but couldn’t afford much of what it had to offer. Plays, concerts and restaurants were out of range. I’d enjoyed healthier activities like hiking and skiing before moving to the city, but anything more than a 20-minute walk from public transportation was out of reach financially. To put it more simply, nightlife was accessible.

So I associated bars and clubs with the things hobbies offer us: community, identity, creativity. I gave it up when 5 a.m. stopped being for 24-hour diners and sleepy rides on the 6 train and started being for diapers, mashed bananas and soccer tournaments.

My kids have been out of diapers for a while now, and they chew their own bananas. But I still haven’t returned to nightlife. For years, I assumed that I was just taking a break from this part of New York culture by necessity.

So this whole not-going-out thing: Is it "I can't" or "I don't want to?"

With all of this in mind, I’d recently become mildly obsessed with the Instagram account for Matinée Social Club, a popular new nightlife group that throws dance parties from 5 to 10 p.m. Their tagline: “Go out. Go wild. Go to bed.”

Their Time Travelers Ball promised a DJ-driven musical journey through my childhood and adolescence (in other words: so much Bon Jovi and Madonna), and encouraged guests to come in costume.

“This event isn’t about nostalgia,” the invite stated. “It’s about re-igniting your sense of imagination, something that is all too easy to lose as we get older.”

The party would be held at The Stranger, a trendy Midtown nightclub that Joe Jonas called the best in the city. I bought two tickets for $60 each and roped in my lifelong friend and OG party partner, Raegan.

What it was like to give nightlife a try again

First off: What do I wear?

According to the promo email, the party’s organizer was going as “Doc from 'Back to the Future,' but if he was a '90s raver." I felt inspired. I had big plans to go as Jem, but never found a moment to collect the materials.

Thus I landed on a look I could cobble together from my closet and my kids’ dress-up bin — '90s Gwen Stefani: jogger sweats, white sneakers, a bikini top (over a clingy T-shirt because you can’t just “pretend” abs), deep burgundy lipstick and a platinum wig. I found an old change purse and cut the long chain off of it, affixing it to my pants.

This outfit made perfect sense in the context of my bedroom, where I was play-acting the “going out” of my youth. But when I arrived at the club, I saw everyone else had opted for safer interpretations involving sparkly and vaguely decades-inspired looks. Objectively, I looked unhinged.

After a negroni, Raegan and I danced. The semi-energetic crowd bounced to the DJ’s electronica mix, and the togetherness of the dance floor helped me push my outfit shame aside. Folks looked happy, if perhaps a little weary — maybe they, like me, had taken their kids to Halloween events that afternoon.

Toward the end of the party, three incredible dancers dressed in sheer animal-print bodysuits took the stage. They writhed and kicked in the joyful, anything-goes style of Janet Jackson backup performers. I’m sure they couldn’t see me, but something told me they’d appreciate my bikini top if they could.

The dance floor thinned out around 10:30 p.m., but Raegan and I found ourselves with fresh negronis, so we lingered. As we chatted, groups of twentysomethings started filtering through the velvet rope at the club’s entrance. The real owners of 2024’s actual New York City nightlife were arriving.

The young folks clustered in groups, with fresh hair and makeup and short, tight outfits. They glanced around, getting the lay of the land with hope and self-consciousness. One girl face-planted, and her friends helped her up. They’d likely pre-gamed, and I was sympathetic; I remember needing a little buzz to rid myself of inhibitions that are useless in a nightclub.

I suddenly remembered what I was wearing. In between negronis, I’d ditched the wig and bikini top, so was reduced to REI sweatpants and a black long-sleeved T-shirt I usually wear as an under-layer in winter.

To someone investing precious time and money into their night out, my outfit probably looked like a middle finger.

“Raegan, do you think all these young people are looking at us and wondering, ‘Who are these ladies!?’” I shouted.

“Definitely!” Raegan said.

The young folks politely avoided us; I couldn’t tell if it was out of annoyance, respect, confusion, disgust or some combination of the above. I remembered how mysterious middle-agers — especially self-confident ones — looked to me when I was in my 20s.

With my age and effort-free attire, did I exude ownership of the night or did I just seem weird and old? I have my guess, but as I walked down the avenue on the way home, I just felt elated, because I’d held my own in a nightclub but am no longer beholden to the insecurities of youth.

What to know before you try your hand at nightlife again

Nightlife has its bright spots.

If you find a place where you feel comfortable, nightlife in midlife may have its perks. Raegan and I connected in a way we haven’t in years, even though we’ve shared countless dinners and bottles of wine. I think the lively environment and muscle memory of leaving inhibitions at the velvet rope allowed us to share laughs and secrets on a new level.

The tough part is finding out which New York club is comfortable for a fortysomething. In this way, I do think Matinée Social Club is a good option.

You might miss your 20s.

For me, the party was about nostalgia, at least in part. I miss my young face, feet that will tolerate heels and the satisfaction of charming my way through a club in a way that a middle-ager simply can’t. Maybe there’s some slice of nightlife that can still be mine, but youth never will be again.

Hindsight isn’t always kind.

As I observed those twentysomethings arriving at the club later in the night, I saw how tentative and striving they seemed. I always hated that part of being young. Through this lens, the “hobby” of my 20s seems like a mechanism for coping with my reality of struggling to survive in an unforgiving city. I shared this thought with my friend Helaina, who made a go of New York for about three years in her 20s.

“Yeah, that’s why I moved to Portland,” she said.