Are Vegas Pool Parties Worth It?

The Anticipation.

Spring break: a right of passage for young folk to engage in debauchery, revelry, and disgusting, questionable behavior. At the tender, bebe (cue Moira voice) age of twenty three I booked my first trip to Las Vegas, Nevada with my best friend. I hadn’t traveled ANYWHERE since middle school, and I’d certainly never been to the west coast of my own country. For that reason, I was excited to explore the culture of Vegas. I was eager to learn its history. But, to be honest? At twenty three, I was ecstatic at the prospect of partying like a damn delinquent rock star. It didn’t even occur to me to ask, are Vegas pool parties worth it?

Las Vegas had always seemed like the most electric and exhilarating place that any fun, young person could want to visit in the United States. Movies like “The Hangover” further embedded that belief into my young psyche. I knew that nightclubs and bars (open 24/7) would be at my disposal, but I was especially enraptured with the idea of attending pool parties. Even my parents who had never been to Las Vegas knew that “Sin City” was infamous for its loud, wild pool parties, and they encouraged me to visit at least one (I have awesome parents).

My friends, some of whom had already been to Vegas and others who had not, echoed my parents’ sentiment. So, we booked tickets to see the infamous DJ, David Guetta, at the Encore Beach Club pool party. However, that was at the end of our long week in Nevada. Before the splendor of the event, we warmed up with an impromptu visit to the Tao Beach Bar.

Lets dive into how our experiences at these pool parties went. Pun intended.

The Shallow End Isn’t Just For the Pool.

My best friend and I excitedly arrived at Tao Beach Club. At twenty three, I was relatively thin, very curvy, and had gotten my hair freshly done for the experience. The bouncer at the door — a heavyset, young guy gave us both a “once over” and declared that we could lay out on one of the beach beds, but when someone with a reservation came along, we would have to leave.

Well, if the system worked in terms of reservations, then this seemed more than fair. It was really nice of this bouncer to give us a day bed to tan and drink on even though we didn’t make a reservation. We spent the morning getting heinously inebriated from lemonade flavor slushy drinks. I’m not going to lie, I felt important the more I drank and laid on that exclusive looking bed. After all, I was lounging in my brand new swim suit in the gorgeous, sizzling heat of the Nevada air in an award winning posh day club. With palm trees around us, the view of a crystal clear pool, and colors that went well with the desert environment, I was swept away to somewhere that felt both tropical and exclusive.

And then a group of severely gorgeous women showed up.

Our buddy, the bouncer, came over…and I just knew. Admittedly, he looked as though he felt really bad as he strolled over to us. He conveyed that the women who had made a reservation arrived. And this would have been fine. EXCEPT, I had overheard them say that they in fact did not make a reservation! SHOCK AND AWE! So, we weren’t being replaced by the inner workings of a fair system in which those who pay more get to lounge. He was booting us out in exchange for better looking people. Ouch.

He didn’t kick us out of the club per se, but we were “more than welcome” to sit on a hard bench all the way in the back of the place and continue purchasing drinks for an exorbitant price. The area was literally segregated and roped off from the main lounge area. It was at this point I began to wonder, are Vegas pool parties worth it? I felt like I was a lowlife. As though those of us behind the rope, despite being paying customers, were diseased and might infect the glamorous partiers on the day beds. Gee thanks. As I watched the women who were deemed “pretty enough” have a really fun time in the lounge area, I felt like shit and we left soon after.

David Guetta, the Diva.

At the end of the week, I figured, “fuck Tao Beach Club.” Move aside, because we were on our way to a REAL pool party experience. We had purchased tickets and everything, so I just knew that we wouldn’t be disappointed. I came dressed to turn heads, too. Your girl came clad in my skimpiest, bejeweled bikini and had smothered on enough makeup to be mistaken for an extra in a cabaret performance, and possibly, even Alan Cumming himself. It’s just what you do at a Vegas pool party, I figured. And truthfully, I was still a touch reeling from our experience at Tao, so maybe I overdid it with the blush and mascara a little.

Despite being one of the most popular day clubs in Last Vegas, the staff was very polite, and guests were admitted into the Encore Beach Club in an impressively efficient manner. We arrived around ten in the morning to make sure that we didn’t miss a single second of Guetta’s performance. I was floored by the gigantic size of the beach club. The swimming pool was monstrous and the area around the water was colossal. Palm trees and sand colored buildings stood tall and intimidating. A large stage boasted a sign that welcomed the day’s performer. We couldn’t wait for him to begin playing, seeing as we really enjoyed his music.

I immediately liked Encore Beach Club. From the jump, it was way less hierarchical than at Tao. There were hundreds of people whose body types varied greatly. Some were freakishly fit, others were average or even heavier set. The vibe (even before I began drinking) was such that everyone just seemed like they wanted to have a fun time. This for sure wasn’t the snooty and pretentious type of style that we experienced at Tao. The obsession to buy thousand dollar bottles and cabanas or lily pads exists, but not in a way that makes everyone else feel like shit. The grandeur that overs can afford is not thrown in one’s face, which was cool.

After walking around and taking in the massive scale of the area and the throngs of people, we ordered some drinks and waded into the pool. Not five minutes after getting into the water did I hear a round of applause and notice that a couple (or at least two people who knew each other) was having sex against the cement wall of the pool.

We averted our eyes and swam away. The two of us enjoyed splashing around, generally being silly as we always are, and sipping our drinks. The two of us kept a keen gaze on the DJ booth and waited…and waited…and waited for David Guetta. As we talked and mingled with some people who seemed nice enough, a group of muscular men approached us and chatted us up. They were rough in their speech and mannerisms, so much so that they scared away the people with whom we had been talking.

We tried to make polite conversation, until one of the very muscular guys grabbed me by the waist and pulled me backward toward him. I won’t go into the specifics of why that was super uncomfortable and awkwarddddd. Luckily, I had a card in my proverbial back pocket, and it’s a good one to play in Vegas, so listen up. When the grabber asked where we were staying, I proudly blurted, “THE CIRCUS CIRCUS!” He immediately relaxed his iron grip on my body and let me go.

For you see, those of you who don’t know, The Circus Circus is the dankiest, crappiest, most dilapidated themed hotel on the strip. It’s popular among families, budget travelers, serial killers, and people who love rocking mullets and fanny packs in tandem. Nothing singled us out as losers more quickly. My tip to you is, in order to avoid unwanted attention, tell people that you’re staying at The Circus Circus even if you’re not.

Unfortunately, this guy was hardly the first groper of the day. Tired of being ogled, harassed, and dehydrated from drinking booze in the oppressive sun we eagerly absconded from the pool and tried to seek shade. There was none. Not one shady spot in the entire fucking compound. We walked to the bartender and begged her for water, we were even willing to pay for it. NO. We were told to go find the, “water cooler.” What do you picture in your mind when you hear the phrase, “water cooler?” I want you to hold onto that image for this next paragraph.

With no exaggeration, I can safely say that for thirty minutes we searched the entirety of the place for this mythical water cooler. We asked staff and other guests, but they largely ignored us. As our dehydration grew worse, the more panicked we became that we needed water. Our skin was growing hot and red and burned. I personally felt the pangs of nausea and near fainting setting in. Man! I’m not made for the desert. Finally, with squinted eyes and dried out brains, we found it. Kind of.

For the hundreds if not thousands of people at the pool party, there was ONE PITCHER of water. The exact kind of pitcher that your mom puts out when you have exactly one friend over to play. Oh, and some little dixie cups were next to it. I wish that I could say I was kidding. As angry as we were, I’ll never know if it was the sun, alcohol, or both, but upon seeing the pitcher we could not stop laughing despite our frustration. We giggled as we took turns slugging down every last drop in the pitcher out of spite.

After drinking the only ration of water in all of the Encore Beach club, we meandered over to where Princess David Guetta was finally set up to do his subpar performance of shitty music. He played one song and immediately took a break for a drink right after. As he did his number, I was able to get kind of close to him. Upon seeing his dumb, derpy face, I grew bitter. I thought I would be full of joy and excitement at seeing a real celebrity at a remarkable beach club.

In reality, it was three o’clock in the afternoon when he finally went on. I was already hungover, sun burned, and exhausted. He was four hours late, because you know — the tough life of a DJ. And he sucked. A lot. Everyone was so overly drunk by that point, I don’t think a single person even knew that it was him playing. A lumberjack smashing an ax into furniture at random would have made better music. Terrible, just terrible.

With a splitting headache, sweat pouring down our bodies, and close to zero desire to get back in a pool where there was bodily fluids, urine, and Lord knows what else floating around, we left.

My Gripe.

I’m not strictly an egalitarian. That is to say, I don’t think exclusivity is necessarily bad in some respects. I live in New York City, and it’s very fun to save up enough money to visit a fancy restaurant or lounge where you can’t get in wearing your sneakers and leggings. Some people can afford to frequent those types of places every night. For me, it’s maybe once a year. For others, it’s once in a lifetime, and that’s OK.

What I’m not cool with is exclusivity concerning physical appearance. This is typically how some beach bars determine who can enter and who cannot. The fact that bouncers still moderate guests based on weight, race, ethnicity, and “beauty” is pathetic. This excuse that, “where pretty women go, paying men will follow” is tired and seriously antiquated.  All that this does is feed into rape culture (I.E. I paid for your drink, now you owe me a kiss or sexual favor). Moreover, most women have careers nowadays and can pay their own tabs. Newsflash, women don’t want some creep to buy them their drinks in seemingly a “good will” gesture only to follow them around for the rest of the day/evening.

I swear, the people who set the standard for, “whose looks are worthy enough to enter” are the same people who spent all of high school shoved inside a locker and now in their adult life have a little taste of power.

It’s a predatory practice. Do you ever wonder why it’s mostly young people in their twenties at these parties?

It’s true that older people have lifestyles that don’t necessarily permit for these types of outings. However, it’s also because people in their twenties are naive and care about other people liking them, and the clubs know this.

There’s a reason that real millionaires and celebrities…and even just typical older people hang out at actual exclusive bars and not Tao Fucking Beach Club. Real people of importance and with self confidence go where they can assure quality, not where bottom shelf booze is too expensive and certainly not where people pee in the damn pool.

For the most part, people in their early twenties don’t know any better and are easier to fool. It’s remarkable that a young person can believe that they’re paying for a privilege. Young folks will shell out money they don’t have for shitty drinks, to be around shitty people, and for shitty service all for the sake of looking important. It’s a sucker’s game.

It’s even more disturbing that in most photos of these “pool parties” you can probably count on one finger the number of people of color that you see. I doubt the reason for that is because POC don’t like partying in Vegas just as much as anyone else. Let’s face it, the scene is trash in that regard.

Should You Go Anyway?

So, are Vegas pool parties worth it? That depends on the type of person that you happen to be.

Maybe I’m just older, but I can’t believe that places like this are still, “en vogue” and in business. It’s a sucker’s paradise. People are willing to pay an arm and a leg to, “feel like somebody important” or to feel like they’re partaking in something exclusive. When you consider the details, doesn’t it just inherently sound unappealing? Dirty, sweaty people are on top of you. Everyone acts like complete idiots and forgoes any sense of decency. The staff tends to be pretty douchey as well and act like you owe them something for breathing in their air.

The irony is that this type of zoo-like experience feels quite the opposite of exclusivity. I’d rather be at a pool where there is almost nobody, with drinks that are half the price and double the booze. I’d rather be reading a book or listening to music that doesn’t sound like glitter-covered raccoons throwing around garbage cans.

However, at twenty three I didn’t feel that way. I’m looking back at photos from this time in my life as I write this post. I would never want to do it again, but I get it…I can see the appeal. There’s a certain freedom and anonymity that drinking in such a large crowd affords. A young man or woman can kiss a stranger, swim around topless, act a fool, and hardly anyone would give them a second glance because they are drinking and behaving just as wildly.

Vegas pool parties also just seem fun if you’re not at all from the area.

Drinking and dancing with your friends at a thriving party in the gorgeous sun during spring break is really inviting if you live on the East Coast like I do, where it’s still cold during April vacation.

So what’s the answer to the question, are Vegas pool parties worth it? It depends. If you’re in your early 20’s, I say to hell with MY post and go. You’re only young once and these types of places are worth seeing at least once as a young person. Be smart, don’t shell out too much of your money, and be diligent.

If you’re older and never got to live out your “Hangover” film fantasy as a twenty something year old, I say also go for it. With real life experience under your belt, you’re less likely to fork over hundreds of dollars for cheap booze. You’re also less likely to give a damn what some Pillsbury Dough Boy bouncer says about your appearance at the door.

Even if you have a shitty time, you’ll definitely make memories that you can look back on years later and laugh at. In my opinion, however, I say, “one and done.” I have no desire to attend a Vegas pool party ever again.