A girl’s best friends are in the toilets, says Sevi Kemal.
Somewhere in the heart of East London at a quirky yet classy nightclub the sisterhood is rallying together in the ladies’ room under the watchful eye of the toilet attendant. As pairs of ladies enter cubicles and don’t reappear for quite some time, it is apparent that the attendant isn’t from the drug squad; though she will let you know if you’re taking too long. The female solidarity in here is strong and uplifting with the attendant leading the pack.
I bet you think the dancefloor is the liveliest part of the nightclub. Have I got news for you? Sometimes the highlight of the night is to be found in the ladies’ loo! Here’s how it works for me.
I left my friend at the bar sipping an espresso Martini and entered the toilets. They were fabulous – which made queuing at least feel slightly glamorous, surrounded as I was by mirrors, crystal, and the gold chandeliers that dangled just above my head. ‘Come on girls, you two out – soon please,’ hollered the African-born attendant kissing her teeth.
You two? What were they doing in there? And why was it taking so long! My friend would be getting lonely.
But at least I had time to take in all the drama. It was mayhem! An inconsolable girl was being cuddled in the corner by a stranger. Meanwhile: ‘Are your breasts real?’ asked one blonde to another. ‘No,’ replied the other, ‘these cost me five thousand. Touch ‘em!’ The first girl poked at her breasts: ‘Wow, I need your surgeon’s number, seriously!’ Finally, two dainty looking pale brunettes emerged from the cubicle hand in hand and smiling awkwardly. ‘You got to sniff quicker next time,’ declared the attendant with a grin. They spritzed themselves with her Dior fragrance and left her a generous tip.
Wow, it was finally my turn to use the loo! And afterwards, as I wondered over to the basin pressing for soap, I heard a girl sobbing behind me. ‘I caught him with Meg. Can you believe it? She’s not even pretty! Fucking arsehole, five years of my life down the drain.’
‘Fuck him, babe, you can do better,” shouted out the red head stood beside me, applying her lippy. ‘Listen, lady, men are all the same,’ announced the attendant, shaking her head. ‘You need a line,’ giggled a drunk girl in the corner who was holding onto the wall to prevent herself from falling.
‘We’re in a club, we’re all beautiful women, and we don’t need men!’ yelled a lady from the queue, which made everyone start shouting: ‘Whahay!’ Everyone was giggling and shouting. This felt like girl power at its best.
‘Oh, no. I’ve forgotten my blusher,’ I blurted out in despair, and before I knew it a fellow clubber was powdering my face for me! Her long red nails gripped my face as she highlighted my cheeks. It looked good! ‘Oh my word I am sweating,’ she then said, so I had to return the favour. I pulled out the Channel Mademoiselle from my clutch bag and sprayed her from head to toe. Thanking me with hugs and kisses she said: ‘Did I tell you how hot your dress is? Where’s it from?’ I told her it was from Reiss and said she looked amazing too, in her leather knee high boots and mini skirt. ‘Are you on Facebook?’ she asked me, and we swapped social media details.
‘Anybody got red lipstick?’ asked a middle-aged woman to the left of me. ‘Sorry, babe, I got pink,’ I told her. ‘Who’s got red lipstick for the lovely lady?’ the toilet attendant sang out. Then the broken hearted girl who had been in the corner all this time stumbled over holding out a stick of Mac Red. ‘Thank you so much,’ chirped the woman, before adding: ‘You look like you need a friend, do you want to do a line with me?’ Then someone stroked my hair from behind. ‘Your hair looks great babe, where do you get your extensions from?’
The toilet attendant stepped forward and banged on the cubicle doors. ‘Round it up ladies, come on now, people are waiting, finish up finish up.’ The girls in the queue rolled their eyes and twiddled their hair trying to be patient.
‘I need perfume,’ demanded a fellow female. This was my cue to leave, or I would be sharing make-up and perfume all night! Before I exited, I looked back once more at this secret society of women. The crying girl was walking into the toilet with her new lipstick buddy. Two girls were applying each other’s eye liner. A pair of blondes compared their breasts. Some were sharing fashion secrets, and others were whispering. Instagram and Facebook details were being swapped, and men were being cursed. Yes, this was the ladies room all right – a place where women confirmed each other, gave each other confidence and empowered one another.
If only we were this friendly in real life? The supportive energy circulating in the girls’ toilets is something perhaps we should rise to more often.