Ah yes, the sacred Sydney gay ritual:
“I’m laying low for a bit.”
“No more big nights for me.”
“I’m focusing on my health.”

And then, like clockwork, the messages starting flying:
“So… what’s the plan for the long weekend?”

Suddenly, we’re booked. Outfits are being couriered. Someone’s dusting off the mesh tank and pretending they’ve always liked circuit music. The vodka sodas are flowing (or the coke zero, no ice), and the person who swore off partying three weeks ago is now chest-deep in a 3-day bender with 46 close friends and a mutual from Chicago they met once.

I’m not judging. I’m guilty.
I was on my smoothie arc.
I was stretching and meditating.
And then… someone mentioned Morning Glory and who’s hosting afters and well, growth can wait.

We love balance. We love chaos.
And we especially love pretending we won’t do it again in six weeks.

See you out there. Hydrated. Hungover. Horny.
All in one convenient, black-activewear-clad package.