by Emily J. on This place is not my scene. This was stop #3 of a friend's bachelorette party. She wanted to dance to Lady Gaga and who am I to deny my good friend her bachelorette party wish? I also like dancing to Lady Gaga a bit myself. Granted, we weren't there until late night but this place was packed and the room was really sweaty. Based on others' reviews, it seems like my experience was standard. I didn't like having to touch a bunch of sweaty drunk strangers while fighting my way to the bathroom. I didn't like being run in to by sweaty drunk strangers while they simultaneously spilled their drinks all over me. I didn't like being pushed around by sweaty drunk strangers who have no concept that there are people next to them. I feel like I need a shower just writing about our time there. The reason I am giving them two stars is that the bouncers were super nice. They directed us to the Lady Gaga level with smiles and helped us to call cabs to get the bachelorette party back to the hotel. I would consider returning for happy hour because I trust Bill B. and I bet there aren't as many sweaty drunk people there between the hours of 5:00 pm - 8:00 pm.
by Melissa R. on Tried this place Friday after having a horrible experience at another club the week before. I had the most amazing night. We got there and there was a line, but not a huge one. For some reason they let us right in despite the line. I'm guessing it's because we were a group of 6 girls and everyone else waiting in line had guys with them. The inside of this place is amazing. It feels like a beach house instead of a Hollywood club. The DJ was so amazing I have blisters on my feet from dancing all night. Drinks are about $13 but the ones I had were strong so well worth the price. I can't believe I waited so long to try this place. Definitely my new Friday night spot.
by Chasity Langstraat on As a half-asleep student poring over complicated math equations on quiet Monday mornings, I always daydreamed of classrooms filled with beds instead of chairs. Even these days, on the slowest workdays, I sometimes wish that the conference table was a giant fluffy bed, where employees could nap on their lunch hour. Tonight, a few of my fantasies came true. "Take me to bed," I brushed back my hair and whispered in a throaty voice as we stood at the bar sipping on cranberry-vodkas. "OK." She grabbed my hand and led me a few feet over, and soon my friend and I were settling in at Duvet's seats -- giant beds. Now that's a cool concept. Granted, as soon as you sit down, you realize that these beds are tough as nails, and aren't really beds at all, but giant seats with sheets and pillows. Still, the idea is innovative. And the seats aren't even the main attraction. The dance floor enveloped by the beds is spacious enough to do any kind of dance you please that you can't do on the beds without getting kicked out in seconds. So I don't know why people gave Duvet such bad ratings. Perhaps they don't know how to dance... Don't worry, I didn't either. But tonight was a special night at Duvet, offering the deal of all deals: No cover, free buffet, and free dance lesson, followed by hours of dancing salsa and bachata. After an awkward stint of twirling with a random finance guy and a few dances between my friend and I, we spotted the instructor and joined the group following his steps behind him. Eventually, instructor man began to teach one-on-one, going from person to person. When he came to me, he stayed. We danced and danced, and I hoarded him all to myself uninhibited. His hands were firm and he meant business. At first, he yelled for me to be good and willing under his lead, under which I dutifully rebelled -- probably more because of my inexperience than my own independent creative spirit as I would like to imagine. I got nervous and started looking for the nearest exit over his shoulder. Then he laughed and told me to relax. I did not trust his laugh and realized that if I didn't relax, there wasn't going to be any leaving at all for me tonight. So I took a deep breath and flipped the switch in my brain. And then...the movement came alone. I wasn't making it up anymore, it was happening naturally, and we were going along so well, I felt like I was part of the cast of Dirty Dancing. And he began to see it. "Wow," "You got it!" "I'm going to make you my dance partner," "Do you feel it?" I couldn't tell what I was feeling at the moment: The essence of dance was happening, and I wasn't thinking. When it happens, it's like the dance of life -- dynamic, assertive, unified -- carried out flawlessly on the dance floor. And he brought it out in me. That's the thing about Latinos. They can be hot, and firm and pliant at the same time. Of course they have that "sleaze ball" reputation trailing behind them, slowing them down on their way to reaching their full potential. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Inane stereotypes. And yet the stereotypes don't spring up from nowhere. There's a reason for the notorious Latino standing, and I've been witness to too many instances and complaints from people I know: they are cheaters, they mistreat women, they can't keep their bananas in their pants (some can't even dance...in bed or out!). And it's these guys that screw it up for the rest of them. But not for all of them. Because like with every race, Latinos have their rights and flaws, no more than any other race does. I see the good in the Latinos in my life, and will continue to do so as long as I've got Zacarias Ferreira, Yoskar Sarante, Aventura, El Torito, and Juanes at work, and instructor man awakening my senses at Duvet. Whoever said you needed to get in bed with them to have a good time?
