Drinks Fuel the Fun, but Weed Kills the Vibe
- By: Amanda Coscarelli
This story has been submitted by a LOOP reader…
I used to think I was chill. Open-minded. A “do whatever you want” kind of girl. And for the most part, I am—until it’s 12:47 a.m., the bar is finally buzzing, the DJ has figured out the room, my third tequila soda has hit just right, and someone suggests we all go outside to smoke weed. That’s when I feel it: the vibe slipping through my fingers like condensation down a glass.
This is a confession, not a manifesto. I’m not anti-weed. I’ve smoked plenty in my life—college dorm rooms, bad apartments with mismatched furniture, lazy Sundays where time was meant to dissolve. Weed has its place. But nightlife? Clubs? Bars? Dance floors sticky with spilled drinks and hope? Weed, to me, is a hard left turn off the highway of fun.
The night usually starts perfectly. Pre-game at someone’s apartment, music playing too loud for the size of the living room. We’re all doing makeup in a shared mirror, hyping each other up, passing around shots like communion. Someone spills something, someone else yells “That’s the night starting!” and we all laugh because it feels true. By the time we get to the bar, we’re warm—loose, shiny, social. Alcohol does that. It blurs the sharp edges without knocking down the walls. It makes strangers interesting and friends hilarious. It makes the bathroom a sacred place where women bond over eyeliner and trauma.
Then, inevitably, someone says it.
“Let’s step out and smoke.”
Alcohol blurs the sharp edges without knocking down the walls.
Suddenly the group fractures. There’s the smokers, already halfway to the door, jackets on. There’s the non-smokers pretending they’re fine with it. And then there’s me, standing there with a drink I paid $17 for, watching the momentum drain out of the room.
When they come back, it’s never the same.
The music is louder now, or maybe it’s just less tolerable. Conversations stall mid-sentence. The friend who was dancing an hour ago is now glued to a barstool, eyes half-lidded, nodding like they’re listening but clearly somewhere else. Someone gets paranoid—“Do you think that guy is staring at us?” Another disappears into their phone like it’s suddenly the most fascinating object in the universe. The night, once alive and electric, starts to feel padded. Muted. Softer, but not in a good way.
Alcohol moves you outward. Weed pulls you in.
That’s the difference no one wants to say out loud.
I noticed it most clearly on a friend’s birthday last year. Big group, bottle service we absolutely couldn’t afford, a DJ who kept yelling our city’s name like it was a threat. Everyone was drunk in that golden, chaotic way—hugging, dancing, oversharing. Then half the table decided to go smoke in the parking lot.
When they came back, it was like they’d returned from a different dimension. One friend sat down and immediately said, “I think I’m too high for this.” Another kept insisting the music was “aggressive.” The birthday girl—previously glowing—started worrying she looked sweaty. We left early. On a birthday. Because the vibe died a quiet, smoky death.
I’ve tried to be the cool one about it. I’ve gone outside. I’ve taken the hit. I’ve told myself, Maybe this time it’ll be different. But my body knows before my brain catches up. My shoulders slump. My thoughts slow down in the wrong way. Instead of feeling fun and flirtatious, I feel observant. Self-aware. Slightly detached from my own mouth as it speaks.
And nightlife punishes detachment.
Bars and clubs are built for bravado. For boldness. For saying yes before you think too hard. Weed makes everything feel like it requires a committee meeting in your head. Am I dancing weird? Am I too loud? Is this song annoying? Do I suddenly hate crowds? It turns the night inward, and nightlife doesn’t know what to do with that.
I’ve watched hookups evaporate in real time. Two people vibing, flirting, leaning close—then one goes to smoke, comes back distant, uninterested, suddenly “tired.” I’ve watched after-parties die on the couch because everyone got too high to do anything except analyze the pizza. I’ve watched friends who are magnetic drunks become silent observers once they light up.
Alcohol moves you outward. Weed pulls you in.
The thing is, no one wants to admit it because weed has a reputation for being enlightened. Alcohol is messy. Weed is “chill.” Weed is self-care. Weed is wellness-coded. Saying it kills the vibe feels like admitting you’re shallow or impatient or not evolved enough to enjoy staring at the wall while music plays.
But nightlife isn’t about being evolved. It’s about being present.
I don’t want to talk about my inner child at 1 a.m. I want to dance badly and mean it. I want to flirt with someone I’ll never text again. I want to feel bold enough to say something stupid and charming instead of smart and quiet. Drinks give me that. Weed takes it away.
These days, I’m more honest about it. When someone says, “We’re going to smoke,” I’ll say, “I’m staying here.” Sometimes they come back quicker. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes that’s the night splitting into two separate stories. And that’s fine.
I still like weed. Just not when the lights are low, the music is high, and the night is asking me to be louder than my thoughts.
Drinks fuel the fun. Weed kills my vibe.
