This is a story about dancing.
Specifically, about you dancing.
Well, you’re also drinking champagne and looking at erotic photography in this story. But we’ll get to that soon enough.
First, picture yourself at Mask, a dance hall filled with flashing lights and driving beats, opening Friday in Lincoln Park.
You’ll tumble in, oh, say around midnight-ish—they’re open until 4am (5am Saturdays), so no rush. In fact, you’ll probably find that this place is most useful during those spontaneous evenings when you and your friends develop a strange, sudden and deep-down itch to boogie. One that only Rihanna can scratch.
There’s something refreshingly simple and straightforward about this place. It’s mainly just the big room, some banquettes for bottle service, a big tiled bar and a dance floor in the back.
Well, okay, the artwork does have sort of an Eyes Wide Shut thing going on—it’s comprised entirely of photographs of masked women wearing... mostly just the mask. And if you pass through those doors to the right of the entrance (they look like they came from a medieval castle... you can’t miss them), you’ll enter what they call the Gallery. It’s a lounge with softer music and a closet covered with gilded bars. Inside: nothing but Veuve Clicquot.
If champagne had a prison, this would be it.
Specifically, about you dancing.
Well, you’re also drinking champagne and looking at erotic photography in this story. But we’ll get to that soon enough.
First, picture yourself at Mask, a dance hall filled with flashing lights and driving beats, opening Friday in Lincoln Park.
You’ll tumble in, oh, say around midnight-ish—they’re open until 4am (5am Saturdays), so no rush. In fact, you’ll probably find that this place is most useful during those spontaneous evenings when you and your friends develop a strange, sudden and deep-down itch to boogie. One that only Rihanna can scratch.
There’s something refreshingly simple and straightforward about this place. It’s mainly just the big room, some banquettes for bottle service, a big tiled bar and a dance floor in the back.
Well, okay, the artwork does have sort of an Eyes Wide Shut thing going on—it’s comprised entirely of photographs of masked women wearing... mostly just the mask. And if you pass through those doors to the right of the entrance (they look like they came from a medieval castle... you can’t miss them), you’ll enter what they call the Gallery. It’s a lounge with softer music and a closet covered with gilded bars. Inside: nothing but Veuve Clicquot.
If champagne had a prison, this would be it.
