New York City was in the toilet when the legendary club Danceteria first opened its doors in 1980. Murder, arson, drugs, corruption, mob violence, giant rats: Pick your poison, the city had it. It also had ridiculously cheap apartments, making New York a worldwide magnet for artists, musicians, and other talented misfits.

Where Studio 54’s vibe was velvet-rope exclusivity, Danceteria exuded a much more DIY, “let’s put on a show!” attitude. It was an anarchic playground for young outsiders. And some of these clubgoers were very young. I was far from the only high school kid to frequent it: Beastie Boys’ Adam Horovitz once described Danceteria as his version of a “metropolitan teen rec center.” Cops were too busy to waste their time on underage patrons (like me), and doorman Haoui Montaug was happy to usher in stylish kids who would infuse the place with untamed energy.

Danceteria called itself “the supermarket of style,” encouraging cultural tribes to intermingle. Across multiple floors, you could watch an art-punk group like the Bush Tetras; dance to a DJ spinning new wave and hip-hop; gawk at a confrontational performance artist like Karen Finley; or check out a cutting-edge fashion show. Maybe you’d also flirt with someone cute in the stairwell between floors.

READ ON AT VANITYFAIR