All the People You'll Meet at the Afters

An afters is a delicate ecosystem. Typically fuelled by a lack of adequate seating, mildly unflattering overhead lighting and the communal knowledge that none of this should really, legally, or technically be happening, these post night-out gatherings are at once deeply cursed and intensely beautiful.

If you were to look at a still from an afterparty – a tableau vivant, perhaps – it would be easy to mistake it for nothing more than a group of people with poor collective decision-making skills. Despite appearances, these are not just overgrown children who are staying up past their bedtime simply because they can. Far from it, in fact. They are visionaries; dreamers. These wandering souls – these ASOS-DESIGN-clad artists of the night – saw a jewel of potential in the cold walk home from the club, and now, like renaissance painters, are trying to recreate it in someone’s linoleum-floored living room.

Grab your JBL speakers and your rolled-up receipts: Today, we’re going to meet some of the most notable characters you’ll meet at an afters.

“My flatmate’s asleep,” they say, “but, like, she’s usually a really deep sleeper so I reckon we’ll be fine.” You all trot down the hallway; you are at the mercy of The Host now.

This person is the wayward sibling of the dinner party host. Yes, their parents might be constantly worried about them because yes, they might slightly, in a very minor way, have a drug problem – but the gene of “desperately wanting everyone to have a nice time” streaks as boldly through them as it does their apron-wearing counterpart. 

Instead of placemats and little bowls of olives, what this host provides is a dusty bottle of off-brand spiced rum, with one (1) half-drunk, four-month-old bottle of Tango as a mixer. Now, be honest: you tell me which party you’d rather go to.

If it’s a dub war, a rap battle, or any other kind of DIY competitive musical entity that can only be found in a low-resolution YouTube video with less than 900 views, it shouldn’t be playing.

The mind of the person at an afters who has work in the morning works unlike any other human mind on record. This person is flying as close to the sun as it’s possible to get in 2022, and they are loving it – but also, in a very real way, they are hating it.

With every extra minute that they stay up at afters, their journey into corporate hell tomorrow is going to be that much more soul-destroying. Whilst this knowledge might propel them to have as much fun as they possibly can in a self-destructive “they can’t fire me tomorrow if I just start crying mid-shift” act of rebellion – it also suffuses them with an air of sadness that, unfortunately, completely contradicts the vibe of a good afters.

I know we all feel like the stream of youth has passed us by. We feel cheated, melancholy; lost without a compass in the midst of this crazy, fucked-up thing we call “adulthood”.

Is it really so wrong, then, that this person wants to rewind the years? To pretend everyone’s 15 years old again, even if only for a fleeting moment, and make everyone PayPal them £1.50 to suck laughing gas out of a balloon for 20-30 seconds? 

The answer, I’m afraid, is yes. It is wrong to do this. It is very, very wrong.

I know “Final Credits” by Midland is a good song. It’s not good enough to play three separate times in the same hour, though, is it? It’s really not.

An afters sees many people walk through its doors: some are in relationships, some are not. Relationship status at these events, generally, is unimportant, because any aspect of romance is left at the door – sacrificed to the Vibe and to the sticky, tobacco-encrusted surface of the coffee table.

This is not the case, however, for The Couple. These two might as well have printed out a sign saying “We Just Want To Go Home And Fuck”, and put it on a really long string that fits around both of their necks. Despite their obvious reluctance to be there, they are also always the last to leave. Much to think about.

The person who decides that the afters is a time for dancing is a controversial figure, a bit like Marmite. I personally have a lot of time for them – I love to watch people dance badly to that Nightmares on Wax Boiler Room set – but, if you are the dancer, proceed with caution. It’s not for everyone, and you might make some enemies along the way.

Everyone wants their shot at curating the perfect musical environment. Everyone, deep down, believes that their personal library – their intricate combination of “songs they’ve Shazam-ed from NTS” combined with “songs from the [Insert DJ’s] Track IDs Spotify playlist collection” – is cut out for the afters.

You know there’s really only one person, though, who knows their aux shit inside out - who can read the vibe of a room, soundtrack it perfectly, and do it all effortlessly. Make things easy for yourself, and let them connect to the speaker as soon as you walk through the door.

For every wholesome balloon-lover at the afters, there is someone who always, always wants to take it one step further. Easily the most intimidating, threatening and exhilarating presence at the room, this person is actively attempting to shoot the afters into the stratosphere, using a little something called Illegal Street Drugs. 

They are planting the seeds of horrible, beautiful destruction in everyone’s minds; with a sly gesture here and a devilish glance there, they’re looking at you, and they’re talking to you: “Bag?” Follow them down into their pit of chaos, or don’t – the choice is yours.

@ionaeee