March 14, 2004 in Friends

A Night of Dancing at Slick’s Lounge

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What a difference a week makes. On March 6th I went to Slick’s Lounge to meet people from a dating group on yahoo that I belong to. Didn’t really have a good time as the ratio of women to men was 5 to 1 and the crowd was a little older than myself. Plus the club was empty for the most part. However, last night I went there with friends and had a much better time. The place was relatively full and the DJ played music that allowed me to get my groove on. So that made for interesting times hanging out with fellow bloggers: Carlos, Ms. Shasta, Khandi as well other non-blogger friends. Having said that, not sure I’ll be going back to Slick’s anytime soon. Two groups of my friends totaling 7 people showed up and weren’t allowed in as one or more members were wearing jeans. Granted the club has a right to set a dress code, however what made me upset is that there were already people in the club wearing jeans. In fact if you look at the pictures that Ms. Shasta has posted, you’ll see many in the background wearing jeans. Luckily my friends who didn’t get in quickly regrouped and went to a party and from all reports had a good time. But it would seem to me that if an establishment like Slick’s was serious about serious money and becoming more of an exclusive club they would enforce there age/dress code policy across the board. Heck, maybe they should start by having their own staff adhere to their own dress code policy — even they were wearing jeans.

One Comment

  1. March 15, 2004 at 9:22 pm


    From my many years of partying in Chicago, I’ve learned that dress codes only apply to those that management deems undesirable. The exact definition of that label can change throughout a single night. It doesn’t even have to be a function of the people being denied, it could be a function of condition. For instance, as a club gets more crowded, typically more rules are enforced to encourage people *not* to come in.
    Regulars at a club and violate almost any rule they have. I once wore ripped jeans to a no-jeans club and the doorman hid me just out of sight while he denied entrance to some suburbanites he didn’t care for, because they were wearing jeans. After they left, we chatted some more and he let me in.

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