Do Young People Still Go Out to Party? A Millennial Investigates

As a Millennial who came of age when a night out meant lining up on Granville Street, losing track of time under strobe lights and ending the evening with greasy food and ringing ears, I’ve been quietly asking myself a question I know many Vancouverites are wondering, too: does clubbing still exist in this city, or did it disappear while we weren’t looking?

The short answer: yes, people are still going out. The longer, more complicated answer is that nightlife in Vancouver hasn’t vanished: it’s fractured, matured, redistributed and, in some cases, gone underground.

“Young people are absolutely still clubbing in Vancouver,” says Steven Gamboa, senior marketing and promotions manager at Blueprint Events, which oversees Fortune Sound Club, where packed dance floors remain a regular occurrence. “But the landscape has evolved. The biggest shift is how and why people go out.”

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Today’s younger crowds, they explain, are more intentional with their time, more health-conscious and less likely to drink heavily just for the sake of it. That doesn’t mean they don’t want nightlife—it means they want a reason to show up.

“When venues lead with strong programming, young people show up in large numbers,” says Nate Sabine, director of business development at Blueprint and a DVBIA board director, pointing to the success of theme-driven nights and even a thriving weeknight party aimed squarely at younger audiences.

That emphasis on programming is a far cry from the Vancouver of decades past, when simply opening the doors on a Friday (or, in The Wild Coyote’s case, a Thursday—if you know, you know) guaranteed a crowd. Fiona Forbes, an award-winning TV host and longtime cultural observer, remembers a nightlife scene defined by spontaneity rather than strategy.

“You’d make a plan and just hope your friends showed up,” she recalls. “There were no phones, no social media—nothing was performative. Every night felt like an adventure.”

Forbes spent her nights dancing at now-legendary venues like Luvafair and Graceland, places that functioned as cultural hubs as much as clubs. Today, she sees something different: fewer traditional nightclubs and more people gravitating toward pubs, restaurants and curated events.

“Clubbing hasn’t disappeared—it’s shifted,” she says. “Right now, smaller, more intentional experiences are where the demand is.”

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That shift isn’t just cultural—it’s structural. Rising rents, staffing costs, licensing fees and strict noise bylaws have fundamentally reshaped what nightlife operators can realistically sustain.

“The costs—rent, insurance, staff—have been steadily rising for years, with a sudden spike during COVID that hasn’t ceased,” Sabine notes. “Strong operators have left the industry, and there’s a shallow pool of entrepreneurs to replace them.”

The result is fewer licensed venues overall, which creates pressure on the ones that remain. At the same time, demand hasn’t disappeared—it’s just being redistributed. According to the pair: “Nightlife culture hasn’t fractured. It’s matured and diversified.”

Alongside flagship rooms, a thriving underground scene has stepped in to fill gaps, experimenting with formats, locations and sounds outside the constraints of traditional venues. From a hospitality standpoint, that evolution is impossible to ignore.

Francis Pendon, vice-president of food and beverage at Parq Vancouver, says clubbing has moved away from being a weekly habit toward something more event-driven. “Late nights are now more about birthdays, bachelor or bachelorette parties, or ticketed events,” he explains.

Younger crowds in particular are looking for hybrid spaces—lounges with strong food programs, thoughtful cocktails (including non-alcoholic options) and music that feels curated rather than chaotic. “It’s about atmosphere and vibe,” Pendon says. “We’ve also seen a big uptick in ticketed DJ events tied to social media personalities.”

With only a couple of nights each week capable of generating real revenue, many operators have little choice but to concentrate activity—and raise prices—on weekends. Weeknight clubbing, once a Vancouver staple (anyone else remember Kits Pub on a Monday?), is now the exception rather than the rule.

So what does all of this say about Vancouver’s after-dark identity in 2026? According to Pendon, it’s no longer about high-volume, Vegas-style excess. “Nightlife here is becoming increasingly neighbourhood-driven,” he says. “It’s focused on culture, creativity and community.”

Forbes agrees—though with a hint of nostalgia. “What looks like a cultural shift is partly people adapting to what’s actually possible in this city,” she says. Vancouver’s reputation as a “No Fun City” isn’t entirely earned, but it’s reinforced by policies that make nightlife hard to sustain.

Still, the dance floor isn’t gone—it’s just harder to find, and more intentional when you do. Vancouver’s nightlife hasn’t disappeared so much as grown up, splintered into niches and retreated from the mainstream spotlight. For those willing to seek it out—whether in a ticketed event, a themed party, a listening bar or an underground warehouse—the city still moves after dark. It just does so on its own terms now.

And maybe that’s the real answer: clubbing didn’t die. It just stopped looking the way we remember.