A Promoter Said I Was the Vibe — But My Friends Weren’t

  • By: Amanda Coscarelli

This story has been submitted by a LOOP reader…

I’ve never been the girl who gets picked out of a line. That’s important to know. I’m usually the one clutching my ID, praying the bouncer doesn’t scrutinize my photo too long, pretending I don’t care if we get turned away. So when the velvet rope parted for me like I was someone important, it felt surreal.

It was a Saturday night in West Hollywood. The kind where every girl wears heels she’ll regret by midnight and every guy smells like cologne and ego. My three best friends and I had been waiting in line for nearly 40 minutes outside one of those hyper-curated clubs — the kind with neon script on the wall and a DJ whose name you pretend to recognize.

A promoter had been pacing the sidewalk, scanning the line like he was casting a reality show.

When he got to us, he smiled directly at me.

“You girls trying to get in?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, we’re celebrating.”

He looked me up and down — not in a creepy way, more like he was evaluating an outfit on a mannequin. Then he leaned in slightly.

“You’re good,” he said, gesturing toward the entrance.

I laughed because I thought he meant all of us.

“My friends too,” I added, linking my arm through Jess’s.

That’s when his smile tightened.

A promoter had been pacing the sidewalk, scanning the line like he was casting a reality show.

“Not really the vibe tonight,” he said casually. “We’re keeping it… elevated.”

 

Elevated.

 

Jess was wearing a satin slip dress and heels. Mariah had on leather pants and a crop top. Taylor’s eyeliner was sharp enough to cut glass. We’d pre-gamed together. Taken bathroom selfies together. Ubered together. We were a unit.

 

“What does that mean?” Taylor asked, already defensive.

 

He shrugged. “It’s just the look. You,” he pointed to me again, “you’re fine. But we can’t bring everyone in.”

 

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It was humiliating in a way I didn’t expect. Not because I’d been singled out — but because I’d been separated.

Behind us, girls in identical Revolve outfits floated past. Two influencers with tiny handbags and giant attitudes were ushered inside without a word. A guy in designer sneakers slapped the promoter on the back and disappeared behind the rope.

I could feel people staring, waiting to see what I’d do.

Jess squeezed my hand. “It’s fine. Let’s just go somewhere else.”

But it didn’t feel fine.

There was a split second — and I hate admitting this — where I considered going in. Just to see. Just to feel chosen for once.

The promoter caught my hesitation.

“You coming?” he asked, already turning to let the next group forward.

And that’s when it hit me: I wasn’t being chosen. I was being curated.

He didn’t care about me. I just fit whatever aesthetic he was trying to sell that night. Blonde hair, minimalist dress, neutral heels. I was a prop.

My friends weren’t the wrong vibe. They just didn’t match his mood board.

I stepped back.

“We’re good,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow like I’d made a confusing decision. “Suit yourself.”

I wasn’t being chosen. I was being curated.

We walked away together, heels clicking down the sidewalk, past the line of girls still hoping to be deemed worthy. I could feel my face burning — embarrassment mixed with anger mixed with something else.

Relief.

We ended up at a dive bar two blocks away. No velvet rope. No clipboard. Just sticky floors and a jukebox that still took quarters. A random group of guys bought us a round because it was Mariah’s birthday. Taylor danced on a booth. Jess spilled tequila on her own purse and laughed so hard she cried.

No one evaluated us. No one ranked us.

At one point, Mariah leaned over the table and said, “Can you believe that guy?”

And we all just started laughing.

Because honestly? The whole thing was absurd.

Nightlife loves to pretend it’s about exclusivity. About being seen in the right place with the right people. But standing outside that club, I realized how flimsy that validation is. One guy with a clipboard decides who’s “in” and who’s “out,” and suddenly grown adults feel like middle schoolers at a cafeteria table.

For a moment, I almost let that decide my night.

Instead, I chose my friends.

And I’ve never felt more like the right vibe in my life.

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