The meatpacking district is past its risqué days, but the Raven is trying anyway. The 2,400-square-foot subterranean lounge offers mirrors dusted with words cut from faux cocaine, a skull made with condom wrappers and a quilt stitched with an expletive. Red lighting, low ceilings and waitresses clad in black dresses made of rubber further suggest a sex den.
New York’s hottest club is Raven! Can you believe this is NOT an excerpt from a Stefon sketch and is actually a real place, reviewed in the NY Times?
If simply reading about these new clubs is exhausting me, I can’t imagine what going would be like.