The Rise and Fall of the British Night Out.
Beau Constantine
It’s Saturday night. Ecstasy, Coke, maybe you’d indulge – but you didn’t have to. Water was all you really needed. The club’s electric, held together by the collective desire to feel *good*. Bodies follow the music that vibrates through your chest. You’ve been here before; your friends are close, and the weekend brings excitement. You’re safe. Clubbing in the 80s was culture, a rite of passage – a cornerstone of the British Experience.
That scene feels like a relic of the past. Now clubbing is a gamble when it used to be a given. How sure can you be that you won’t want to get the fuck out of there desperate for a kebab and your bed after five minutes to escape sub-par sound systems, expensive drinks and Ket-heads free-roaming the dance floor?
Over the last four years the UK has lost 480 nightclubs, a staggering 33% decline.1 Clubbing culture is disintegrating. As a generation we are opting out. But why? A phrase we know very well, the Cost-of-Living Crisis: going out is simply too expensive. Once upon a time, “We used to go out on a fiver” a direct quote from my girlfriend’s mum, “it must’ve been the late 80s, you’d have 10p for the phone box, some bus fare, a couple half pints and a bag of chips”.
Now, the average Brit spends a heart-wrenching £73.81 on a night out2. What once used to be a fun escape is now a financial burden. In a TSB survey out of 1,013 18–24-year-olds concluded that 87% are concerned about their living costs.3 Young people no longer have the money or the free time to go clubbing, we are trying to save, grafting our way through our studies with 69% of us working part time, 1 in 5 working more than 20 hours a week.4 All of our money goes to bills and being able to eat, our priorities no longer lie in getting pissed and dragging ourselves to 8am lectures, we are leaving lectures to get a few extra hours in at work so we can afford to put the heating on.
I. Clubbing culture and the rise in modern clubs.
A brief history throws us into the glitz and glamour of clubs in the 1930s, many with exclusive memberships. Their intra-war allure and jazz grasped people by the shoulders and pulled them into a party that would go on for decades.
When the Blitz began in World War 2, Britons danced on in social unity, “the band … played on, and the dancers continued as though nothing had happened, although many of the windows had been blown out.”5 In the 60s a lot of clubs were small and underground, with a focus on dancing over drinking. All-night dancing was to be expected with imported American soul music and the rise in sub-cultures like Mods with their exclusive and cutting-edge tunes. The 70s saw a rise in regular clubbing to 2-3 times a week with more diverse places to spend the night from glitzy disco venues to gritty punk spaces. Drug use drove down drink sales in the 80s and clubs became high-energy, neon-lit places for the younger generations to go out multiple times a week.
A lot has changed since the rise in clubbing culture; however, it seems that the party is almost over. The lights are turning on, the music has turned off and people are stampeding to the door.
“When the Blitz began in World War Two, Britons danced on in social unity, “the band … played on, and the dancers continued as though nothing had happened, although many of the windows had been blown out.””
II. Our generation is growing up differently.
As a collective, our generation’s interest in self-help, mental and physical health has rocketed. It’s unsurprising that we are seeing plummeting alcohol consumption – our routines aren’t worth sacrificing for a hangover. Drinking ourselves into oblivion just isn’t appealing anymore. In 2022 it was revealed that nearly 26% of UK adults from the age of 18-24 identify as ‘non-drinkers’6. The night no longer calls to us; it whispers, ‘Stay in’. “I never felt threatened, once I was in the club I could leave my friend on the dance floor and go to the toilet and know she’d be there when I came back”, my mum reminisced on the safety of a 90s club while concerns over our safety have heightened. In 2021 spiking incident reports rose to 200 in a single month.7 A NPCC study shows that 74% of spiking victims are women, most of these incidents go unreported8. Many young women always hold their drink from the top with a nagging fear in the back of their mind. Casual aggression, fueled by alcohol, is a common sight. Violent behaviour can happen to anyone, from a glance in the wrong direction to the hands of the bouncers who have earned a reputation for being cruel and aggressive. The carefree feeling we once had has been replaced with a sense of vigilance.
In recent years, I think I’ve grown out of it at the ripe age of 21, or maybe I’m just tired. Or maybe it has become too much of a hassle to worry about how expensive it’ll be, or whether or not I’ll be able to keep the energy up, or if I’ll be touched by a man who’s face I’ll never see.
III. We aren’t rejecting fun; we are reimagining it…
We are turning away from hedonistic escapism and redefining what it means to ‘let loose’, prioritizing meaningful connections rather than the girls you meet in the bathroom and never unfollow years later and our personal well-being over reckless abandon. So, if we aren’t out clubbing what are young people doing instead? Today we are constantly connected but rarely present, we crave something real, something intimate, conversations that aren’t drowned out by a DJ. There are so many activities out there that revolve around wellness and the act of looking after ourselves. Avoiding the club isn’t missing out, it’s finding new ways to enjoy ourselves that feel safer, more affordable and more fulfilling.
IV. The Club Rat isn’t dead though…
There are still many young people who reject the idea that clubbing is ‘anti self-care’, of course people still enjoy going out.
After interviewing Daniel - a friend - he discussed the ongoing feeling of community and excitement that clubbing still brings. “I’ve had periods where I’d go out 2-3 times a week in the week and then just every weekend”, for him and many other people, nightclubs are not just dark places with loud music, they are spaces for liberation and joy. “I enjoy clubbing because it’s a space where (mostly) everyone is going to not give a shit”
“For plenty of people clubbing is far from being the antithesis of self-care, it is an act of reclaiming joy and community”
Clubbing, as Daniel described, offers an escape from the routines of daily life, where people can immerse themselves in their favourite music, meet others, and experience a collective euphoria. Queer spaces, in particular, hold a special significance in the modern club scene. These venues are often safe havens, celebrating diversity through drag performances, inclusive atmospheres, and a sense of belonging. “You never really know what time it is and it’s a massive serotonin boost”.
For plenty of people clubbing is far from being the antithesis of self-care, it is an act of reclaiming joy and community. “It’s self-care in the same way you would go home after work, have a glass of wine, and put some music on,” Daniel explained. “You’re just doing it in a bigger space with like-minded people.” His perspective highlights the evolving definition of self-care—not solely about solitude and quiet, but also about finding spaces where we can feel free, connected, and alive. As British nightlife faces challenges like rising costs, gentrification, and changing habits, stories like Daniel’s remind us that the clubbing experience remains a cherished ritual for those who see it as more than just a night out.
V. Economics of Clubbing
But we aren’t the only ones struggling with our finances, since lockdown forced nightclubs to shut down, the recovery has not been easy. Providing substantial lighting, quality sound systems and air conditioning have become an act of survival. As of 2024, 7 in 10 businesses are barely breaking even, some are operating at a loss; almost half of those doubt they will make it through the next 12 months.9 The economic situation for the nightlife industry is absolutely dire. Covid is not only to blame – the little details are important. A huge blow to the industry was the 2007 indoor smoking ban. “People didn’t want to pay to get into a club and then have to stand outside all night to smoke” my mum makes an excellent point, club goers were so used to smoking while they danced, when the ban came into play, people stopped turning up. Has this vicious cycle of rising costs and dwindling demand truly reshaped our feelings towards nightlife?
