Arielle Domb

It’s 7pm on a freezing winter evening and I’m sipping an effervescent red cocktail in a Canary Wharf basement. The city’s finance bro capital might sound like an unusual location for a party, and even more so: a party with pounding house music, where everyone is nearly naked, ridiculously toned and glinting with sweat. But this is no ordinary night out. It’s the opening of ARC, the UK’s first contrast therapy club (offering a mixture of extreme hot and cold treatments), home to the nation’s largest sauna, with a 65-person capacity. Alongside the mega sauna, ARC consists of a dimly-lit room with ice baths and a sleek coliseum-shaped lounge, decked out with a custom 300-watt sound system which makes your whole body vibrate. Here, guests can take breaks between the intense sauna sessions, listening to DJ sets while drinking (unlimited) cups of loose-leaf tea. ‘There’s something about going through this experience that really drops all your inhibitions’, says ex-Soho House director, Chris Miller, who, like many others here, is topless. ‘This is what bars and clubs used to be, before everyone was on dating apps’. Photograph: Arc Spending your Friday night sweating next to a bunch of investment bankers might well sound like some people’s idea of hell. But Miller, who co-founded ARC with neuroscientist and holistic health expert, Alanna Kit, is not the only one on the hot-and-cold hype – he’s adding to the rapidly growing list of public saunas that have popped up across the UK sin

‘No one look please!’ shouts Black Venus, stripping off a Nike tracksuit and pulling up a shiny black slingshot swimming costume. ‘Not that you’re not gonna see it later!’  It’s just off 10pm and Time Out is backstage at Sex and Rage’s Black Pride lesbian strip club party, hosted at the Dalston arts centre, EartH. Five performers are tending to their outfits — putting on dangling diamante earrings and exchanging beat-up trainers for Cinderella-esque, translucent heels. Everyone performing is a queer BIPOC sex worker. Photograph: Serene PowerSex and Rage ‘We really represent the words ‘‘sex’’ and ‘‘rage’’’, said Venus, martial artist, self-defence instructor and Sex and Rage founder. She hoists up her leg onto a counter and slips her foot into a patent stiletto-heeled boot. ‘I think a lot of people are very angry about not fitting in [at other nights out] but are very sensual, very in tune with their bodies, and they want to have an opportunity to express that.’ Tonight’s event is one of a number of strip club collectives that have emerged in the UK in recent years, pioneered by women and non-binary people belonging to marginalised groups. Many parties are actively reinventing the traditional strip club model, throwing events in rented spaces with policies that prioritise performer safety and well-being. But throwing these sorts of parties isn’t always easy; organisers often face stigma and discrimination from hostile venue owners and staff who are skeptical about hosting se

Being a wreckhead was cool when I was a teenager. As a Zillenial Brit who went to school in the 2010s, I grew up hooked on Skins, perpetually trying (and failing) to emulate the enigmatic party girl Effy Stonem. Admittedly, at the time my social life primarily consisted of gatherings of adolescent north London Jews at someone’s parents house in Edgware. And yet the reckless hedonism of Skins hung in the air, a cultural template for the type of unbridled parties we wished we were having. Until very recently, it looked like the teens of the 2020s were behaving very differently. In 2023, more than a fifth of Gen Zers were sober and only one in 10 had tried a Class A drug, with many turning away from drink and drug-induced depravity in favour of healthier, more wholesome activities like gym dates and ‘grandma crafts’. But a new IWSR survey, released in June, indicates that famously sensible ‘generation clean’ are back on the booze.  Over the past six months, 73 percent of Gen Zers have drunk alcohol, compared to 66 percent two years ago – the biggest increase of any generation. Gen Z have also fallen in love with BuzzBallz – the sugary, neon-coloured, 13.5-percent-alcohol cocktails that you can buy from your corner shop for £3.99 a pop. Were Gen Z ever truly boring, or was the data missing out crucial parts of the story? Time Out spoke to Londoners aged 20 to 25 about what they make of their dull reputation, and to get the real scoop on their partying habits.  Photograph: @99999