Buddha Mag's exclusive house party. Or how Sweden's youths find any excuse to dress up and get drunk.

By: Kai Teo

Photos: César Ortiz

Event: Buddha Mag's House Party – Undisclosed location
Date: Saturday, 6 April ‘13
Theme: Jungle. Or cats. Everyone came as a cat.
Our rating: No. We don’t rate our own shit.

The house party stands at the very core of the Swedish party scene. Because it’s too expensive to get drunk at a pub, and it looks too stupid when you dress up as a gorilla and go dancing at the clubs.

Buy 10 cheap 50cl cans of Blågul from Systembolaget and you’re set for an evening of pure debauchery, senseless intoxication and an almost guaranteed bad hangover.

And we love themes. 80s, 90s, hippie, carnival, circus or whatever that allows you to come dressed up. This time, it’s jungle. Yea. Tarzans, gorillas, tigers, tapirs, dugongs, or birds. We wanted to embrace our inner animals.

And sure we did.

I transformed myself into a mysterious jungle shaman. And somehow, after painting my face, I was possessed with a madness that felt very natural, very comfortable and extremely powerful. Shaman mode was on. And I looked freaky as fuck.

My housemate morphed into a hybrid of a jaguar, leopard and cheetah (haha, bet you don’t know the difference among these three), but let’s just call him the Leoguatah. It was pretty hardcore. And it was beautiful. Just one thing: the stupid body paint that he got stained everything he touched. So as you can figure, by the time our guests arrived, we’ve got yellow stuff all over the apartment.

And our party people were even more impressive.

First to arrive was a plant with leaves stuck all over her. A pig appeared after that. We had no idea what a farm animal would be doing in the jungle. But hey, we don’t discriminate.

Then came Mother Nature, properly adorned with sakura branches and vines. She was accompanied by our first cat of the evening. Leopard print tights are a must. Then, a few cats came with a magnificent parrot. More cats, more birds, mafia-style faux tiger fur coats, a Colombian zebra man, a beautiful toucan, and gothic black cats that make cat woman look like a tame house pet.

And strong drum and bass. Very strong jungle sounds that echoed into the streets. We weren’t sure if our neighbours agreed with our music choice, but they didn’t complain, nor did they call the cops. So they must’ve loved it.

The thing about house parties here is that guests like to hit the clubs after being totally sloshed. Not this one. This wasn’t a pre-party. This was THE party. Indeed, the kitchen table turned into a full bar: vodka, rum, wine, countless beers, ciders, and that dubious moonshine that no one claimed to have brought.

With every house party, there’re people who get too drunk or too tired. By the end of the evening, we’ve got new couchsurfers, new bed sharers, new friends, new lovers and a new day of intensive cleaning.

If you’ve never been to a Swedish house party, you’ve never been to the real Sweden.