EVERY ONCE in a while, it's instructive to remember just how swiftly American fantasies change. Going to the movies is one thing -- movies are supposed to be non-realistic, so they go over the top in more archetypal ways -- and trend bars are expected to come and go; but longer-term nightclubs that have to cater to patrons' changing view of the pursuit of happiness reveal more about the American dream than we want to remember.

At Studebaker's, the quintessential middle-class singles' and office workers' haven in Rockville, life is virtual reality. Studebaker's is the nightclub as astral projection, a funny mixture of faith healer Emile Coue (every day in every way, we're getting better and better) and Alice in Wonderland (the forwarder we go, the farther back we get). It's the off-hours equivalent of invented memory -- surreality bites.

The Studebaker's chain began by catering to '70s fantasies about the '50s, then plugged into '80s fantasies about the '60s and having pretty swiftly discovered how difficult re-creating the '70s is -- it's like mixing fem-lib and Prozac-pop into "Debbie Does Disco" -- Studebaker's is now trying to juggle '90s fantasies about the '80s.

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Modeled on the "American Graffiti" iconography of slick-chrome bumpers and glass-block bars, Studebaker's started out here already retro-retro, opening in the summer of '87 with the chain's choreographed poodle-skirted waitresses and its sock-hop fast-patter deejay shtick pretty much intact. It was unabashedly hokey, but in those unabashedly consumer-boomer days, its bowdlerized Americana had surprising appeal. (And that shiny-diner design was just about to boom in earnest.)

Studebaker's was about suburban, not urban, renewal. It was about flirting, maybe even hooking up but probably not sleeping over, about full makeup and big hair and lite beer. It was all artificial stimuli, hyperactive and loud and neon -- but all programmed, a relatively safe distraction. The long buffets of cheese cubes and crudites and after-hours office parties were primed for the "new" Rockvillians, the short-sleeve data processors and retailers looking for a middle ground between beer-pitcher bars and restaurant dates.

As the go-for-gold, flash-the-green '80s progressed, some of the sweetness seemed to wear off. Happy hour got a little hotter. Cheerleaders in America now looked to the Dallas Cowboys' pin-up squad (speaking of choreographed fantasies) for inspiration, and all those religiously aerobicizing "20 Minute" types weren't planning to waste their Spandex on secretaries' night out.

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Even the most conservative computer programmers were memorizing all the words to '60s rock, thanks to oldies radio, and praying for a second coming of free love. Studebaker's was suddenly back in the cruise lane, but instead of coming in groups and leaving as singles more people were coming in singles, doubling the shooters and leaving in pairs. And Rockville was booming. Competition picked up, the pace of promotions picked up and the prurience quotient picked up, especially after Hooters took sports-shorts about as far as they could go.

Then sex, which had already stopped being free, stopped being safe. It wasn't cool to pledge the DUI frat anymore. Downtown urban renewal was newer again. And at Studebaker's, the emotional times, and the tone, have changed again -- not all the way back to flirting, but at least to the questionnaire stage. There are more body-builders on the staff than on the stools. And the guys hovering near the door with the Olympic grading cards have learned a little subtlety.

Hair is a mix of sports buzzes and high rises and slacker mops and "Melrose" neo-shags. There is a lot of sports-bar hangover clothing -- rugby stripes and lace-ups -- a little Spandex, a bit of that neo-hippie retro-natural sheer organza layering, a fair number of bright Floribbean shirts on the weekends and an irregular seasoning of Syms' dress for success. T-shirts are unwelcome, as are frayed or cut-off jeans and dirty or sloppy athletic shoes.

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It's a mixed-age crowd, too, primarily twentysomethings with oddly thirties-ish shadows hoping to outrun them; a few uneasy business travelers and a few forties who really did love the old days.

Studebaker's entertainment also covers all the old bases: Tuesday is the oldest oldies night, featuring swing and jitterbug music and West Coast swing lessons at 7. Wednesday is very '70s: ladies' night -- no cover, cheap drinks -- the "Mr. Studi-verse" beauty contest and at happy hour the latest stupid-human-trick-in-bars: knee volleyball, played by teams of two wearing gardening pads on their knees and attempting to serve up bandana-wrapped balloons. On Fridays and Saturdays the music starts in the '50s and moves into the '90s.

The staff is very hospitable and almost relentlessly upbeat (the Club Med fun-coach concept); the dancers are pretty good, and the bartenders are unusually careful to explain why a drink price may go up if you order a premium brand instead of a rail drink. Once upon a time, when civilized people were expected to know something about cocktails, that would have seemed silly, but now it's probably a good idea and worth imitating. The free buffet survives, 5 to 8 Tuesday through Friday.

Studebaker's is open 4:30 to 1 Tuesday through Thursday, 4:30 to 2 Fridays and 7 to 2 Saturdays. The club is in the front of the Crowne Plaza Holiday Inn at 1750 Rockville Pike and there are plans to open a Pike-side patio; call 301/881-7341.

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