Our resident Beat blogger, Dan Shapiro, shaves off his moustache and tests the Shanghai nightlife scene to see if he is treated any differently without his distinguishable crumb catcher.

Used to be, a crazy moustache would get you everywhere in these parts. Doormen at M1NT would let me cut the line, their counterparts at Sin would waive entry fees, and it definitely wasn’t uncommon to score a free drink from time to time at Cantina Agave, Not Me or, of all places, Bukhara, where the handlebar was a staff favorite.

While I was always very aware that my facial-follicle prowess was responsible for a fair amount of preferential treatment, I was curious if my distinguishable upper lip was the sole reason bar and club owners were always so friendly, and if local establishments were really so pretentious and vapid.

So, on July 2nd at 5 pm, I did the unthinkable, and shaved my beloved stache’ completely: straight skin.

My experiment in common humility began terribly, when the bouncer at Mao Livehouse wouldn’t allow me to enter my own show, accosting me at the door; the bar staff then denied my request for water backstage. Great room, sweet sound system, very little respect for the people who help make that place what it is.

Conversely, down the road at LOgO, the staff barely flinched, offering the same warm reception they always do, cold, large Tiger waiting on the bar, and a few days later at Yuyintang I had no problems securing my regular spot in the sound booth: pretension absent.

Given that I’m somewhat a regular at all three of these venues, I decided to conduct a follow-up experiment and take a stab at some places where I may be a little more under the radar, so I headed off to El Coctel, and was quickly coc-blocked by the street-level door bitch.

I have no issue with waiting for a table, but the staff seemed almost insulted that I would even consider drinking at their lush, fancy-pants lounge while wearing a pair of Feiyue and a t-shirt; exclusive? perhaps . . . lavish? wouldn’t really know . . . noses in the air? no doubt.

Wanting to distance myself from such blatant snobbery, I rounded the corner on Fuxing Lu and strolled over to the Boxing Cat Brewery. Unlike el-Bloctel, Boxing Cat was welcoming, comfortable and relaxing, and while the bar staff aren’t exactly throwing around complimentary brews, their polite and attentive service made the RMB100 pitchers of IPA a straight up steal. Additionally, the atmosphere was the exact opposite of pompous -- just regular folks enjoying some heady brew.

It’s tough to say if this experiment really proved anything about pretentiousness in the Shanghai bar and club scene, but it’s definitely out there, it certainly exists, and it’s indeed quite lame.