Monday, July 15, 2013

The World of the Piţi

 Ok, I have to write about this because it’s truly fascinating for me. And even though I’ve noticed this phenomenon for a while now, but because I don’t really have much to do with this kind of environment, I tend to forget just how bad it gets.

Soooo… the world of Piţi and by that I mean the world of the Romanian Piţipoance. Tha translation for that? Hard to say. As I said, this post is all about my personal opinion on this so it might sound completely judgmental to some. Therefore, in terms of finding a synonym for this word, I am probably not the best person to ask. Perhaps behind the image they “promote” in the clubs, they are normal people, with jobs, or good students. But it’s hard for me to imagine it in most cases.

My experience with “clubbing” (back when I first started to attend such parties, we used to call them discotheques or discos), is rather scarce. I was 15 when I went out to the disco for the first time with my newly formed gang of friends and I clearly remember the disco included a dance floor. A big one too and all the tables were set on the side for the exact purpose of having as much room as possible to dance. Sitting down was taboo, standing around the tables was only for pausing and catching your breath, drinking your Coke or beer to then flow back on the dance floor. The only things constant on the tables were the bottles, the jackets and sometimes the ladies’ purses. NO PEOPLE! Dancing meant getting sweaty in a crowd that bounced, with their hands up in the air, singing with the DJ, moving, curving, twisting, rolling, bending and joining hands! And you could do that because we dressed usually (and I mean 95% of the cases) in pants, jeans, whatever. We didn’t worry about our breasts spilling out from underneath our shrinking blouses. We also didn’t have any problem taking the shaking all the way to the floor fearing our panties would pose freely to the naked eye because we’re butt naked anyway with just a palm length of material desperately trying to cover our asses (if you’ll excuse my French). And no, we weren’t much taller than our boyfriends/friends/men in general because we had climbed on 6 inches high heel shoes and so we could actually hug our boyfriends while going for a slow dance and kissing them didn’t feel like kissing our kids on the forehead ‘cause we had to look down on them. And yes, it also didn’t give them the chance to hug our butt, instead of our waist line, because well, we were more with our feet on the ground (and I’m covering both senses of the word here).

But not today. Not anymore. A few years back a colleague of mine at work invited us to her birthday party in one of the fancy clubs in Bucharest. And like everyone else in my generation (meaning 25 to 35), I put on a pair of pink pants and a matching shirt, with some sparkle on it, I fixed my hair in a pony tail, did some crazy make up and I was on my way. But once there, we were literally lined up against the wall with little room to move because there were tables everywhere, set on different levels, around an incredibly small dance floor. Which was empty by the way, because everyone was sitting around the tables. Now, we were thinking “where do these people dance?” And why is everyone dressed as if they’re attending some really fancy cocktail party? I mean I had put my hair up because I figured it would be hot inside and with the dancing and everything I’m going to need my skin free from extra heating sources. Instead, the girls in there were wearing their hair down, all pepped and curly and perfect, with tiny fur coats and fashionable boots on (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!), in tiny (TINY!) skirts/dresses, never shaking their head too much not to ruin the hairdo, or their image all together. Dancing?! What is that, dancing?´ They were shaking their butts left to right, and every now and then, to give a glimpse to (un)disclosed panties, they would actually take a stand and lower their bodies a bit (it didn’t take much considering the length of the dresses).

Sweat was coming down their faces and they would not remove the hair from their eyes because God damn it! I spent hours placing that curl right THERE! So hell if I’m gonna move it away, even if all my mascara runs down my cheeks and I have to go to the bathroom a hundred times (which they do!) and check on that curl, and on my boobs showing off the right amount and my butt sticking out the right way and while I’m at it in front of the mirror I should try a new dancing scheme that’ll help stick my ass out even further! I mean I went to the ladies’ room this past Saturday while I was in the clubs in Mamaia and one of them girls opened the door to the toilet after flushing (hehe) and as she opened the door, she saw herself in the mirror and she started dancing , pushing her boobs upfront and I’m sitting there in my sandals, no bra, my hair a mess form the beach time earlier in the day thinking: what the fuck? (I’m sorry but this describes best my face at the time). I mean going to the bathroom when they’re all there is like entering a whole new parallel universe. It’s like entering the territory of a violent pack, all clustered before the mirror or checking each other’s boobs and asses, sharing lipstick or trying to pin their hair back as it was, because – damn it! – it had moved!

WHAT IS THIS?!? Roxi and I were the odd looking shabby girls, dancing next to the bar, watching a crowd of otherwise very good looking women who stood out from the crowd because of… nothing! It’s a pity they look good, because together they all look the same. Back in the day, the clubs weren’t about standing out and showing off. They were about having fun with your friends and dancing until morning to then walk home laughing like idiots. Today it’s about spending the week thinking what you’re going to wear on Saturday evening, spending money on shoes and dresses because you cannot possibly show up in the same dress or shoes too many times (unless you change clubs and people don’t know you there!), then spend hours doing your nails, your make up, you hair trying to imitate the eccentricity of the dancers in the club. I mean, at some point a guy said that they have a member of Fashion TV in the club and that by the end of the evening he’s going to decide on two girls to be awarded a prize for the most fashionable and sexiest outfit. Other than the fact that – in my opinion - clubs through things like this encourage the girls to act so shallowly and stupidly, the girls themselves after hearing the announcement, I swear, formed a tsunami coming down at all levels in the clubs (there was no dance floor there!) And all of a sudden all of them got up and started shaking whatever each of them had to shake and the most ridiculous I’ve seen that night, was a girl who found one of those cubes from the club prop where the dancers usually stand, she got up on it and started dancing. And her dancing meant bending with her ass out, slapping it while moving it in circles.

My question is: how old are these girls? I bet half of them are under 20 and the rest in their mid 20s. How much has the world changed in the past few years and why am I even bothering to watch the news and find out how girls have been beaten and sexually assaulted in clubs? Well, perhaps because they are an open invitation to trouble presenting themselves like this.

Don’t get me wrong, I like to wear sexy clothes and be a diva in my own way, I am a woman after all and I LOVE to dance and my dancing is probably indecent to most human beings, but this is way too much. Selling your body thinking you’re sexy doesn’t mean looking good; because looking good doesn’t imply putting on a good show sticking your boobs and butt in a man’s face.

And now that I’ve tackled the men’s side… not much to look at in that department either. It’s like everyone’s copying everyone. You see one, you see them all. All bulky body builders or beer belly owners (no one seems to acknowledge the slender muscular type anymore; somehow they think Hercules is fashionable these days! Well… I’m more into an Achilles type of guy haha) with fancy shirts, hats and short/long white pants (I feel like watching a really bad version of the Notebook, but at least Ryan Gosling was looking godly in white pants!). They all look fierce as if they own/do something important (I can’t really tell what, because I am sure more than half of them are spending more money than they can afford on the whiskey on their tables!). And the macho attitude is so… old fashioned. If you’re going to grab my waist and lecherously smile at me, all you’re gonna get is a look (not words, ‘cause that would be too much energy spent for nothing) of “do I know you?!?!”

My advice: find your boyfriend/girlfriend outside the clubs and then bring them with you. Don’t try to find them in the clubs. 98% of what you get there is probably not their true selves.

But, I have decided to try it. See how it feels to be in pain and completely uncomfortable for a night. So one weekend I will put my “whore” shoes on (it’s how I like to call them), a mini skirt, my Victoria Secret boobs and walk my way into a club. I have a feeling I will be sniffed at immediately by the “competition” haha God! It will kill my feet and I will have to do the same kind of dances those doggie toys on the dashboard of a car do: bounce their heads continuously. I will reserve a table and never leave its side to show people that I have made a reservation and therefore I have paid for the booze on it, which in turn shows how wealthy and cool I am. I will scrutinize the horizon for a man who can match my 6 feet tallness and grab him with a kinky look in my eye, saying “oh sorry, thought you were my boyfriend!” Actually I think that’s too many words in one sentence! Unfortunately I’m not even beginner level in Piţi language as I’ve never spoken to one. They scare me with their sophisticated singular behavior, like a sect I cannot enter ‘cause they will look down on you and slap you next moment you breathe. And it’s not by my account alone that I say this. I was warned before hand of this by being told “the bathroom story” where other friends have confessed they dragged going to the bathroom because the “pack” was in. I did not believe it but it’s true. They don’t have to say anything, but the way they look at you, like you’re the lower scum of the earth, makes you want to navigate among them, pee really fast and get the hell out of there.

I am still left wondering though, who are these girls outside the clubs and none of my friends could tell me. I am sure we have all dressed and behaved like the Queen of the Dance Floor at some point, but the thing is, it’s not a constant in our lives. I’d rather eat my lipstick after the first drink and forget to put it back on than having to go to the bathroom multiple times, through an entire crowd in the dark just to have my red lips back. To what end? If I want to kiss someone I wouldn’t want him to eat my lipstick or look like the Joker after I’m done with him. Seriously!

Well, this was judgmental me. It’s not my usual thing to do, but this, I repeat, trully astonishes me and prevents me from really going out there and having fun because I’m being imposed an etiquette that does not suit me. I’m not a clubber, so perhaps there are places where this doesn’t happen, but I beg to differ. So let’s get in a crowd somtimes and break the dance floor the best way we know how and show these people how it’s truly done. I’d love that!

MUAH and have a great week!


PS: I'm going to add here a link to an article in Romanian that I find particularly amusing when it comes to this subject. Of course, there are many more out there, but this will do.

No comments:

Post a Comment