The various nightlife scenes of New Orleans – listening to live music, collegiate binge drinking, fine dining, sophisticated bar hopping and soliciting strippers – they all have their own vibes, codes of conduct and stylistic flourishes. In the realm of nightclubs in which you can shake it to a DJ, check out the beautiful people and pay inflated prices for alcohol, Club 360° is definitely the tops. While Razoo is certainly a worthy competitor, it is more of a destination for those who like to score with trashy college girls from Nebraska and do shots from the breasts of pushy shot divas. 360° is a more refined approach to the drunken grope-and-grind fest, as revelers put on some nice threads and begin their evening at the club under the pretenses of networking, until the vodka takes hold and inhibitions become a lost cause.
The approach to 360° is kind of fun – wandering down to the World Trade Center, ambling through the lobby, giving a knowing wink to the world-weary security guard and then hopping on the elevator that will whisk you up to the rare air of the club. Upon disembarking, if you aren’t careful, you can end up in a TV studio (but that’s a story for another time). Once you acclimate to the altitude, pass the dubious security goon and drop $10 on the sassy door girl, another elevator awaits, and then the inner sanctum has been reached – time to shine with some familiar grace.
Depending on mood, you can choose to hang around the dance floor or fan out to the outer lounge, which provides a killer view of the glistening metropolis below. If the lounge option is selected, it also provides a wonderful vantage point for observing prevailing attitudes in the club. For the men, two options: ridiculous machismo or chilled nonchalance. The machismo choice involves walking around with a puffed-out chest and strutting like a horny rooster, occasionally glaring at other men or giving women in revealing attire the once-over. Those who choose nonchalance act as if they’ve seen it all before and are currently in the throes of a morphine stupor. The women’s behavior also seems to align in two camps: dancing like extras in a Snoop Dogg video or clustering together with martini glasses in hand, making snide comments to each other.
All this fascinating human interaction occurs while loud dance music thumps through the club, and evening becomes dead of night, and strangers become acquaintances, exploring the possibility of that elusive coital embrace…
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