Growing up in Dallas our night life consisted of house parties and teen dance clubs. In high school, I was on the street team for a series of clubs, first, Level 5, then DV8 (deviate) and than finally, Metropolis.

We were at the pulse of nightlife for teens in the Dallas Metroplex.  We thought we were so grown up.

You enter the famous bank vault doors and the cool air and the sweet stench of sweat and cigarettes hits you first. While your eyes adjust to the dim light, you fell the atmosphere in your bones. The bass thumps as if it’s inside your brain and it brings a smile to your face, yet at this point, you still can’t see a thing. All you know is you feel privileged to be in this space.  

As you eyes adjust, you see lights and shadow and ghosts moving to the sound. White linen hang from the rafters, swaying to the music.  The linen sections the room to offer some privacy to the patrons canoodling on the starch white couches scattered throughout the main floor.   If you lucky, you can catch a glimpse of something inappropriate.  Those participating aren’t embarrassed, after all people come here to be seen.   

You float along the current created by the energy in the room. It’s as if your instantly connected to the collective with everyone so happy and warm and welcoming. 

In the center of the main room, you find your way to the top of the stairs which lead down into the pit. It’s what those in the know call the dance floor. You don’t dare enter unless invited.  Permission is granted according to some standard only the elite are privy to.  You descend the steps with slight trepidation. These are the moments your momma warned you about. Are you going to make the right decision? You know what goes on down there. You’ve heard the stories.  Inhibitions are lowered, but individualism is expressed. That’s proposition is more then you can resist. This is a turning point, a milestone. This moment defines the rest of your life because when you ascend you will be different.  

 

 

 

 

The Starck Club was in the 80’s what Studio 54 was in the 70’s, but in the south.  The legend of The Starck Club preceded the time I spent there. When it was open to teens on Sunday nights under the name DV8, we were just a bunch of suburban teens trying to recapture what we could of the mystic of the club, but in the most innocent way.  If your not aware of the Starck Club check out the related post below.

Have you every heard of The Starck Club?

Related Post:

D Magazine:  How the Starck Club Changed Dallas

The Starck Club