Living in the southern US has turned me into a wuss, I fear. I was a far hardier soul during my college days in Chicago. That said, I don't think I ever had the imperviousness to wear a pink, midriff-baring halter top in a nightclub queue (glimpsed in the line outside of Cafe Vaudeville. To the BYM's credit, he murmured something that sounded like, "I'm thinking I didn't want to go there after all"), but that would require me having the patience and want-to-be-seen to wait in such a queue in the first place.