Club culture — bling, booze and boredom

Lately, social media has been flooded with calls to abandon club culture, branding it a phase best forgotten. Once a rite of passage, partying until dawn has now become a cautionary tale. Disturbing videos showing young men apparently being abused by bouncers at Zanzou in Hatfield ignited debates about whether clubbing has become more about excess than enjoyment. Swapping sneakers for stilettos, I went to see for myself. 

This isn’t the best time of the month. It’s the week after Valentine’s Day and it’s mampara week — the dreaded stretch before payday when bank accounts are running on fumes. But if there’s one thing Johannesburg offers, it’s options. From Sandton to Soweto, Braamfontein to Bryanston, there’s a club for every taste, every fantasy, and every kind of reckless escape. 

It’s after 10pm on Tuesday, and the rain is relentless, turning the pavement into a slippery minefield. Outside Opera Bar Lounge in Rosebank, two stone-faced bouncers dressed in black scan me up and down, their expressions unreadable. There’s no greeting, no small talk — just a quick once-over before they step aside and let me through. 

Inside, the air is thick with smoke — cigars, weed, hubbly bubbly — swirling under dim lights. Everything is a blur of neon and shadow, of clinking bottles and bodies swaying to amapiano beats. The dance floor is swallowed up by sprawling booths and plush couches, giving the space the feel of a hotel lobby with bad lighting. No-one is dancing.

Shisha pipes

In every corner, people huddle around shisha pipes. Most of the men wear dark glasses, while the women are dressed in slivers of fabric that barely qualify as dresses. They stare absently at their phones, fingers flicking through a digital world far more captivating than the physical version. No-one is talking, no-one is engaging. 

Here, a seat is a privilege you pay for. A table isn’t just a place to rest your drink; it’s a status symbol, marked by sparklers announcing the arrival of premium bottles. If you aren’t buying, you’re standing. At a club, a bottle of tequila starts at R3,000 and can go up to R16,000. 

DJ Voodoo, who has been playing in clubs for more than two decades, said club culture has changed significantly, and not for the better. “Because I don’t drink alcohol or do drugs, I see things for what they are. The quality of music has deteriorated, and to be honest, these days nightclubs are just brothels with music and alcohol.” 

Young women flock to Johannesburg from small towns, eager to look like they belong.

“I’ve seen it so many times, a cute innocent girl from a small town moves to Johannesburg to study. She then gets exposed to this life where people have the latest iPhones, they’re buying premium alcohol and are dressed in the best clothes. This girl wants to fit in and ends up doing things that are beyond her means to try and maintain this façade. It’s driven by the peer pressure of wanting to belong and wanting things you can’t afford. A lot of the girls are selling themselves and selling their souls,” Voodoo said.

Journalist-turned-DJ Andile Mathobela has also noticed the shift in dynamics. Mathobela, who moved to Johannesburg in the 2000s from a small town in the Northern Cape, remembers when a club was a place to meet friends and let loose. As a student in 2009, he longed for a place to experience music and quickly fell in love with the clubbing and house music scene.

“Back in the day, you’d meet friends and even a partner in the club,” Mathobela said. “We were all broke, but it was good, clean fun. Now, you have to be a big spender to go to the club. I remember when the dance floors were big, and the VIP section was small... Somewhere along the line, the dance floors became smaller, and the VIP sections got bigger. Young people were slowly pushed out because they don’t bring in as much money as the older, big spenders.” 

Groups of young women, barely out of their teens, sit perched on plush couches, sipping cocktails, waiting for an invite to join men who have splurged on bottles. “They’re bait,” Mathobela said. “They’re there to lure the men who spend.” 

And spend they do. A table in an elite club can set you back R6,000 or more. Some places even charge a mandatory 10% tip. This isn’t a night out — it’s a business model, and the product being sold is an illusion: the illusion of wealth, the illusion of desire, the illusion of belonging. 

As the cost of clubbing rises and its atmosphere grows increasingly dangerous, DJ Voodoo feels the essence of the experience has been lost. “The evolution of clubbing has gone from happy, cheerful, and positive to dangerous and unpredictable,” he said. 

His description sums up the underwhelming experience at Opera, where the dance floor is an afterthought. It’s a stage set for a show no-one’s watching. The energy was thick, but not alive — it’s as if the room itself was holding its breath. 

After Opera, I moved on to Sandton in search of something more vibrant. At Okio, formerly Taboo, subtlety is out the window. Scantily clad dancers gyrate on tables while men with potbellies and designer shoes ogle. This scene repeats at both LIV and Booth. Bottles arrive like a spectacle, accompanied by sparklers and LED strobe batons, but the constant thread is the thick cloud of hubbly smoke and the nearly naked women.  

At Booth, the idea of a single drink is almost sacrilegious — bottle service is the only option, delivered with sparklers like fireworks stripped of their joy. At most establishments, I witnessed handshakes that seemed more about a quick exchange of cocaine than camaraderie. The itchy noses and frantic energy were unmistakable. After midnight, Dutch courage kicked in, and I watched as men began circling the women, each with the same awkward swagger of liquid confidence. 

On Thursday, it was “girls’ night out” at Rockets in Bryanston. After consecutive nights of inhaling second-hand watermelon-mint smoke, staring at empty dance floors, and enduring blinding LED lights and sparklers, I was jaded. But walking into Rockets after 10pm, the atmosphere was different. 

The club had a slightly different vibe — still bottle girls in skimpy black dresses, but there was a noticeable shift. The waiters and bouncers were laughing and dancing, fully engaged in the atmosphere around them.

There was a mix of people: couples who’d come straight from dinner at the restaurant downstairs, two guys sitting quietly at the bar, one man on what looked like a solo date, and a group of men smoking hubbly while watching football on the screen. Also present was the bevy of beautiful women and an equal number of men, some of whom were even dressed in sharp three-piece suits.

Amapiano

As Beyoncé’s Party rang through the speakers, the crowd erupted into dancing and singing, the air was electric, and it felt like a return to the natural order — finally, music that made people move. Amapiano was played, but the mix was more balanced. There were sparklers and bottles and shots, but Rockets felt like a different world — where people danced, the staff was part of the fun, and for a moment, it seemed like the night had found its rhythm again. 

It could be because owner Sean Barber has embraced a hybrid model, combining dining, dancing, and entertainment under one roof. While many clubs lack dance floors due to the lack of profit, Barber insists that a club needs to cater to all needs, not just bottle service. This versatility, he believes, is key to staying relevant. Unlike other clubs, he doesn’t charge the R150 to R250 entry fee and doesn’t limit patrons to bottle service.

Barber has found that while people want to dance where they sit, there’s still a place for bottle service. 

“Especially in this country, not so much in Europe, but in this country, you’ll have clubs without dance floors. It’s because dance floors don’t make money. It’s a very bottle-spend culture. So guys want to be close to where their drinks are. They could have spent R30,000 to R60,000 or more on drinks in the ice bucket, they’re going to want to be where that investment is,” Barber said. 

Club culture has shifted, where the idea of fun now seems tethered to how much money you can spend, with bottle service and sparklers becoming the markers of a good time. But places such as Rockets remind us that true fun comes from energy and connection, not just the cash in your wallet. True club culture is in the music that makes us feel alive, long after the sparklers have faded. 

The Zanzou Saga

Police on Friday arrested a Congolese bouncer in Yeoville, Johannesburg for his alleged involvement in an incident at Zanzou nightclub in Hatfield, Tshwane.

Video footage of the incident, in which patrons are tortured and sexually assaulted, went viral this week.

The incident happened in January 2023. The footage showed five men, bound and naked, being subjected to torture, sexual assault, compelled rape, assault, crimen injuria, intimidation and kidnapping. The club said the group of bouncers targeted the men for allegedly stealing cellphones.

A man named “Pablo” leaked the footage on Monday, and followed with more video on Thursday.

The Gauteng Liquor Board suspended Zanzou’s liquor licence. Soon after, a truck was seen outside the club, loading furniture.

Three victims, aged 20, 21 and 22, reported to the Brooklyn police station on Monday evening after police urged them to come forward.

The victims said they were forced by bouncers and a manager into a storeroom and instructed to insert alcohol bottles into their private parts and perform sexual acts on themselves.

According to company records, Zanzou is registered under its manager, Neo Moela, and a Katlego Malatji. Efforts to contact them this week were unsuccessful.