As soon as I clicked open the party invitation, I googled this bar, as a Gen-Y would. And to my surprise, there appeared to be absolutely nothing. A few personal reviews here and there, but no proof of existence otherwise. Known for it exclusivity – there is a iron bar door, a street number and nothing else. A man in a business shirt, shorts and loafers has one look at you, questions you, either nods or shakes and shuffles you down the stairs. You’re either here for someone or you’re not here at all.
Inside, it feels as though you’ve walked into someone’s trashy apartment. Mismatched chairs, checked tablecloths, antique lampshades, lanterns, the framed famous, boas and leis scattered absolutely, everywhere. The beats are good, the drinks are moderate, but as it’s a mates only invite – there can be a very mixed crowd…
169 Darlinghurst Rd