Front Of The Class -2008- – Certified

The aesthetic wasn't "clean girl." It was disco nap chic .

2008. You are standing in a roped-off line. The air smells like Drakkar Noir, Juicy Couture perfume, and clove cigarettes. A guy in a Von Dutch hat is arguing with a bouncer wearing an Affliction T-shirt. Inside, the bass line to Flo Rida’s “Low” is rattling the windows of a Pontiac Solstice parked valet.

I have interpreted "Front of the CL" as a reference to being at the forefront of the Club Scene (nightlife) and City Life in 2008, capturing the unique convergence of late-decade excess, digital transition, and iconic entertainment. Time Capsule 2008: Living Life at the Front of the CL (The Last Great Analog Party)

If you were living at the Front of the CL (The Club. The Cool Life. The Culture.) in 2008, you didn’t just witness the end of the decade—you survived the pinnacle of over-the-top lifestyle and entertainment. Before the iPhone 3G ruined the surprise of the guest list, 2008 was a glorious, sweaty, spray-tanned paradox. Front Of The Class -2008-

Breakfast was a waffle at Denny’s or a street hot dog wrapped in bacon. You checked your Sidekick to see if the person you made out with on the dance floor messaged you. They didn't.

Let’s step back into the velvet rope.

To be "Front of the CL" in 2008 meant you understood the hierarchy. You didn't buy drinks at the bar; you ordered a table . The bottle girls carried sparklers. You bought a $400 bottle of Grey Goose or Ciroc, and you got a "mixer" of cranberry juice the size of a thimble. The aesthetic wasn't "clean girl

2008 was the last year of the "Old Vegas" and "Old New York." It was the last hurrah before the Great Recession sobered everyone up. It was the end of the celebrity gossip blog era (Perez Hilton, TMZ) and the dawn of the influencer.

The photos were terrible. Red eyes. Greasy foreheads. A girl mid-sneeze. You uploaded them to MySpace or Flickr at 3 AM on your dial-up connection (okay, maybe DSL), and you tagged them with captions like: "Vegas Baby!!!" or "Tuesday night? YOLO before YOLO existed."

For the ladies, it was the era of the bandage dress. Hervé Léger or a knock-off from Wet Seal—it didn’t matter. You were poured into it. Accessories included a bedazzled flip phone (Motorola RAZR or LG enV), a giant cocktail ring that doubled as a weapon, and a pair of heels you would leave in the parking lot at 2 AM because your feet were bleeding. The air smells like Drakkar Noir, Juicy Couture

Was it tacky? God, yes. Was it expensive? Financially ruinous. Do we miss it? Every single time we hear the opening synth of "Just Dance."

So here’s to you, 2008. The last great party before everyone started taking photos for the 'gram. We salute your shutter shades, your overpriced vodka, and your terrible, terrible denim.

Leaving the club at 4 AM was a war zone. You emerged into the neon-lit parking lot, ears ringing. You hailed a cab by whistling (no Uber), or you piled into your friend’s Scion xB that smelled like cigarette smoke and Red Bull.