Of The Class -2008-: Front

Social media existed, but it was awkward. Facebook was for tagging blurry photos taken on a BlackBerry Curve. Instagram was still three years away. To prove you were at the front, you took a digital camera (Sony Cyber-shot) and set the flash to "Maximum Blindness."

In 2008, getting “Front of the CL” ready was a two-hour ritual. For the guys, it meant deep V-necks (the deeper the V, the higher the status), boot-cut jeans with bejeweled back pockets, and square-toed loafers. If you weren’t wearing a popped polo collar or a blazer with the sleeves pushed up to your elbows, did you even exist?

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. 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.

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. Social media existed, but it was awkward

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

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. To prove you were at the front, you

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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.

Living at the Front of the CL in 2008 meant you were a cultural amphibian—able to breathe underwater in the murky depths of VIP bottle service while gasping for air in the bright, harsh light of the digital future.