No Sex In The City: Getting Laid Like A Panda At A Kigu Party

In an effort to break my dry spell I went to a onesie party Dalston dressed as a panda – an animal so poor at having sex they’re now at serious risk of dying out…
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In an effort to break my dry spell I went to a onesie party Dalston dressed as a panda – an animal so poor at having sex they’re now at serious risk of dying out…

It’s been so long since I last had sex I’m pretty sure they’ve changed it.  My best friend told me about this new thing called the “Tesla Coil”, it sounds highly illegal with risk of injury if you don’t roll when you land. In an attempt to remedy this, to paraphrase Robert Downey Jr. in Tropic Thunder “I went full hipster”.

It’s a Friday night and I’m in the smoking area of a night club in Dalston dressed as a Panda listening to an eighteen year old female photography student tells me about their idea for an edgy experimental short film that’s a bad rip off of La Jetee.

How did I end up here? As part of the burgeoning onesie craze that’s sweeping the nation (one million onesies were sold from Asda alone last Christmas) Kigu, a company that creates costumed animal character onesies, put on an event in Dalston wittily named “Pandamonium” and I found myself lucky enough to be invited. Go to a hipster capital of East London where I’ll be regarded as a God for being a writer who actually writes stuff (90s pop trivia but still, better than many “novelists”) AND get a free kigu that’ll be perfect for the hangover the morning after? How could I resist?

Held in Dalston’s Bar A Bar, as I walk in I see…  well lots of people dressed as pandas. Big ones, smalls ones, reverse ones and the odd zebra from the person who thinks as long as the colour scheme is the same, who care what animal they are. There’s always one…. With local DJs Loefah, Yella, SGT Pokes, Raffle Mafia, Klose One and  Noisses on the decks and pumping out some of the best playlists I’ve in a club night, I begin to work my magic….


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And get pied off.  Repeatedly. Flying solo without a wingman (“What to go to a panda party mate?” “Is that an underground sex club Carl?”) I’m dying on my feet.  I walk up to a girl to say hello only to get a “No thanks.” I try explaining I wasn’t trying to get her to dance, again, “No thanks.” I get some success breaking a circle of Swedish girls who eventually burst out laughing when I tell them my name – turns out Kalle Anka is what Donald Duck is called in Sweden.  Cheers Mum and Dad…

Enter the photography student… Taking a phonecall in the smoking area I notice a girl staggering fag in hand. “ Oop, someone’s staggering” I quip before getting a death glare from said drunken panda. “Let’s see you walk in heels after six Becks!”  By this time I’m so far gone that I take the challenge and swap shoes with her. “You are so funny!” she remarks as I get more and more confused as whether I’m being chatted up or not. She talks into sobriety and as I dust off fag ash that’s fallen into her lap she screams “Carl you are such a gent! You haven’t looked at my boobs once!” and plants a kiss on me.

Success! “Carl do you need these glasses to see?” YOINK. Glasses gone.  “These are only 0.5, you don’t need these! I’m keeping them! I’m going downstairs I’ll see you later.”  And I look for her, and look for her, I even do my best  Predator impression by walking up and down the outside of the club come closing time. But it’s all for naught, I never see her again. It’s pretty hard it is to find someone in a cloudy nightclub with no glasses when everyone is dressed as a panda.

At the end of the night I’m down £30 odd in beer money to turn off my self awareness, got pied four or five times, and the only girl who took an interest in me stole my spectacles leaving me blurry eyed. Still, I’m up one panda kigu that really was comfortable to wake up in the morning after. Baby steps…

If you fancy purchasing a Kigu, they can be found here, on their website