Throughout the years I’ve heard lots, both good and bad, about the infamous Paris institution Silencio, yet I’ve never graced its hallowed halls. The closest I came was the Silencio pop-up during last year’s Miami Basel hosted by the iconic EDITION hotel. It left… a lot to be desired.
Anne Demeulemeester hosted its after-show in the David Lynch-designed club. I was warned by many to arrive as early as possible to avoid the inevitable, impenetrable queue. Naturally, I was running late, panic-cycling through Paris’ chaotic rush-hour streets – here the roads are anyone’s game. My friends thankfully held my space at the front of the queue and we slipped into the underground club, and subsequently, the very messy night.
Situated across a maze of rusty gold-plated rooms, the small space harboured contrasting micro-environments. It was like a simulation of a Tokyo yokochō – a narrow alley packed with clubs, restaurants and bars. A sofa-filled magazine library arranged around mirrored coffee tables, perfect for – well… – was sequestered under an arch. Party-goers piled in, turning any surface into a perch. The glass-enclosed smoking area, barely lit, held its ashtrays on forest-esque poles. A small room was modelled after a hairdressing salon where Anne D girlies and twinks were getting blow-outs and slick-backs.
The toilet… well. Ever used a urinal with an audience? As someone with pee-phobia it’s my worst nightmare. There were three toilet cubicles max. Urinals jutted out of the wall, protruding into the never-ending toilet queue.
The air-conditioned dancefloor was packed and pounding. A 212 Azealia Banks euro-trash electro remix incited the cartel of black-clad heartbreakers into a full transcendental ritual. We snuck behind the DJ into the VIP area. We demolished the open bar and, slowly, one by one, my friends dropped out of the club as each battle against tequila was lost. As I stumbled to McDonald’s at 3am, I realised I was wearing a VIP velvet rope around my body. No idea how that got there…
