The internet wanted me to take my shirt off. So I obliged, heading over to Lola’s Room on Friday for a dance night that invited people to wear underwear, lingerie, or “anything skimpy, really.” Ladies got in free. Woop woop.

There are no “anything skimpy” pictures on this blog post. Just words. And one screenshot of some dudes. To continue reading the words, but not see any photos of anyone—myself included—with their shirt off, click the jump.

Luckily, my friend Nickey was up for tagging along to the event. Nickey is the kind of friend who makes terrible things hilarious and she participates in things like Queer Bike Porn nights without even being forced to, so I figured she would be a pro at the lingerie party.

I went for an outfit/costume that I would describe as Lisa Frank hipster—rainbow shirt, miniskirt, purple bra, pink shoes. I felt absurd biking through downtown in the getup, but as I got closer to the Crystal Ballroom, I started to notice a lot of people who looked a lot like me. Suspiciously so. The sidewalk outside the venue was crowded with dozens of people wearing rainbows and miniskirts.

“All these people in silly outfits must be going to the underwear party!” I thought. haHA. No. They were all heading to the riotously popular ’80s dance night occurring one floor above the lingerie party.

As we pushed through the happy, neon crowd into the dim confines of Lola’s Room, the reality of our party emerged: About 30 people stood awkwardly around the bar, clustered with friends and avoiding the empty dance floor at all costs. It turned out Nickey and I had arrived at the most awkward time of the extraordinarily awkward party—the “Gentlemen’s Club Band” was taking a break.

While we got drinks and waited for the live music to start up again, Nickey and I surveyed the sparse crowd. A couple guys in board shorts, a group of four girls in sexy Moulin Rouge outfits, some other people in vaguely skimpy shorts and shirts, and one dude in a button-down collared shirt, khakis, and oxfords who stood smack in the middle of the room sipping a drink alone.

Through the ceiling, we could hear the foot-stamping and DEVO from the ’80s party above. We were slightly miserable.

But soon enough, the band returned to the stage, the group of obliging skinny males in carefully selected boxer briefs striking up the chords of “Hey Ya.” Here is what the Gentlemen’s Club Band looks like:

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I still can’t tell if they’re joking. I don’t think they really know whether they’re joking either. “All eras of sexy played agressively” [sic] is a fine line to straddle.

The music brought the party-goers out of their corners and into the far-too-brightly-lit dancing section of the bar. Nickey and I decided it was go time. I took off my shirt and she slipped into a riot grrl outfit consisting of a giant pink nightgown and combat boots.

It’s funny, though—when there’s not that many people at a party, the people who actually want to have a good time work double hard to make it happen. The undies-wearers who actually had the guts to get onto the dance floor shook their booties with abandon. I want to give an MVP award right now to the shirtless, kinda-flabby guy near the stage who honestly danced like no one was watching and had what appeared to be an excellent time. Also, the kid who showed up later in bike shorts and a tiger shirt (perhaps lost from the ’80s party, but no matter): That was awesome. Good work, team.

But while a small cadre of brave exhibitionists got into the music, the khaki-and-oxofrds guy remained lingering at the edge of the dance floor. Who goes to a lingerie dance party fully clothed and refusing to dance? That’s like going to Disneyland to read a book. The longer I watched him, a steadfast pillar of creepiness, the more I came to believe he must be a genuine Pick Up Artist. Probably because my Friday night is usually more of the eat-hummus-watch-the-Daily-Show-alone routine than the lingerie party routine, I had never seen one for real! In the wild! I had to say hello.

So after dancing through a tolerable Michael Jackson medley, I sidled up to Oxfords.

“So what’s your deal?” I asked. “Who comes to a lingerie party fully clothed?”
“I just came from work,” replied Oxfords, sliding his hand onto my bare back.

OH MY GOD! That’s totally a move from the pick up artist handbook! You’re supposed to touch a girl as soon as possible—on her arm, on her shoulder—and then she will be unable to resist you.

“You didn’t wear any sexy lingerie to work?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “Maybe I should be wearing my boxers?”
“Yes. Yes, you definitely should,” I said. And to my surprise, he stepped back, took off his shoes, and pulled his pants right off.
“Socks or no socks?” he asked, grinning and gesturing to his tall black socks.
“Definitely no socks,” I advised. He stripped them off and edged onto to the dance floor.
“I’m Eric,” he said.
“I’m Sarah,” I replied. “I have to go get a drink.”

AND THEN I RAN AWAY. The end.

Up next week for Discomfort Zone is intern Suzette Smith, whose idea of a terrible day is one in which she doesn’t eat any pie. Drop ideas for Discomfortable events August 11th—15th into the comments!

Sarah Shay Mirk reported on transportation, sex and gender issues, and politics at the Mercury from 2008-2013. They have gone on to make many things, including countless comics and several books.

29 replies on “Discomfort Zone: I Went to a Lingerie Party”

  4. In the dude’s defense, a girl coming up to you and asking you to take your clothes off is kind of a sign of something. I think.

  6. @Andy – I didn’t ask him to take his clothes off! I just pointed out that it was weird to be at a clothes-off dance party with all your clothes on. I think I sufficiently helped his chances that night, actually, by aiding him in looking less creepy.

  7. Also, this is the second time this summer Sarah has written about being out in public in her underwear. Is this a new column?

  9. “Who goes to a lingerie dance party fully clothed and refusing to dance? That’s like going to Disneyland to read a book.”

    Actually, it’s more like going to Disneyland with your white, windowless Dodge getaway van sitting outside the front gate, idling and waiting for your (and your “precious cargo’s”) return.

  11. Why so pouty, Gentlemen Jason and Mike? Jealous of G. Davin’s beautiful mane? G. Jordan seems to have come to terms with his hair(line).

  12. Honestly, Courtney’s description of Pickathon sounds way more discomfortable(sic). Who’s voting for this stuff anyway?

  13. The idea and promise of this column is really good, but the execution has been kind of disappointing. This one does have a little bit of actual discomfort in it, but (in my totally unsolicited opinion) it would be a better column if it focused on writers having bad experiences rather than going to bad events.

    Most of the proposed events are just mock-worthy and not actually discomforting. A more compelling column wouldn’t just focus on dumb shit like George Lopez, but on actually putting the writers in challenging situations.

    Are they vegan? Make them go hunting. A meat lover? Make them eat vegan for a week. Introverted and shy? Force them to do stand-up. Out of shape? Send them to a gym. Car dependent? Take away their car and make them bike. A bike advocate? Take their bike away and make them drive. You get the idea. Make it about transgression of personal boundaries rather than just mocking dumb pop-culture shit. The internet has plenty of that already.

  14. You make the interns do Discomfort Zone, too? It’s a good thing the events aren’t terrible discomforting, because otherwise that would be a pretty lousy way to treat the unpaid. Maybe Graham’s right when he posts the Admiral Ackbar “It’s a trap!” gif every time you try to lure these kids in. You should be ashamed of yourselves (for making Graham look right, if nothing else).

  16. “Luckily, my friend Nickey was up for tagging along to the event. Nickey is the kind of friend who makes terrible things hilarious….”

    DISCOMFORT ZONE FAIL

    You don’t bring a friend along to the Discomfort Zone. Especially with the stated intention of making it fun. The point is to go alone and afraid, disconnected from the world you know, at the mercy of your surroundings.

    NEW RULE = NO FRIENDS ALLOWED

  21. CC is right. It`s like putting” me to drive down main street. God forbid so in the name of safety. If there`s ever a “commentary” discomfort zone. Nooot pleaseant people, not pleansant.

  23. Funny. You reacting in horror when you approach a pick-up artist who, in turn, attempts to pick you up.

    Its like approaching a tiger in the wild and wondering what would happen if you pet it…

  25. ” I just pointed out that it was weird to be at a clothes-off dance party with all your clothes on”

    Isn’t that the exact same thing you did at the naked bike ride?

  27. Had this been a band that sings about a handmaiden raped by wild rabbits in the forests outside Portland and forced to have ghost baby rabbit-human hybrids, it would have been “Best Night Ever!”.

  29. Smirk, you approach a man at a bar and instantly neg him. Within seconds you get him to take off his pants. Smirk, you are the master PUA.

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