In the last decade, many of New York’s most prominent nightlife institutions have closed their doors for good. Yet somehow, Le Bain remains. Perched atop The Standard Hotel with panoramic views of the Hudson and downtown Manhattan, the iconic nightclub helped raise a generation of New York club kids—and has clearly stood the test of time.
Since opening in 2010, Le Bain has been one of Manhattan’s last true rooftop clubs, known for its fashionable New York-meets-European crowd—hence the creperie tucked away on the top level. On any given night, you might find models, DJs, tourists, and fashion editors sharing the same dance floor, all packed inside a space that feels both glamorous and slightly slutty.
I hadn’t been in years, but the moment I stepped back inside, it was clear: Le Bain still runs on the same chaotic New York energy it always has.
On Wednesday evening, my cousin Dane texted me:
Pull up with me to Le Bain tonight. No excuses.
I was surprised that the club I used to frequent once a month in my early twenties was still in the weekly club rotation. At first, I was going to decline. Le Bain is known to be mixy, and I knew there was a good chance I’d run into old friends and maybe old enemies. But then I remembered my friend Jordan, who had just relocated from LA, texting me earlier that he was “starving for a real New York night.” When someone moves to New York, there are plenty of trendy new clubs to take them to—but only a few that are considered a rite of passage. Webster Hall. The Box. Pianos. And of course Le Bain.
So I texted him:
Get ready. I’m popping your Le Bain cherry tonight.
My cousin said to meet him there at 11, which I knew really meant midnight. Living in LA for the past few years, I’d forgotten how late New Yorkers start the party. I’m six months into my thirties, and midnight on a Wednesday felt… wrong. But tonight wasn’t about me. It was about Jordan.
Jordan met me in Harlem, and we rode downtown to the Meatpacking District together. Dane and his boyfriend had just arrived when we pulled up, and the line was making its way down the block. But Dane paid no mind to the people waiting and made his way to the front.
Connie Fleming was working the door.
A legend. A Thierry Mugler muse. A nightlife icon.
Okay, Le Bain is still that girl, I thought. She looked at us—our outfits—up and down. I wore a bright yellow corset with a lace miniskirt, black knee-high boots, and a lace choker with a diamond-studded cross hanging from the center. I looked like a sexy gothic pin-up doll.
After a slight nod of approval, she asked, “Whose list are you on?” Although at that point it didn’t matter—she had already decided if we were in or out.
Clubs like Le Bain appreciate style above all else. If you’re pulling a look, you’re a priority. The line didn’t matter. The list didn’t matter. They made room for you.
We floated inside and took the elevator up. The doors opened to flashing lights, bodies dancing in a steamy cloud from the hot tub, and the sweeping panoramic windows that make you feel like you’re partying inside the skyline. I almost forgot how beautiful it was up here. Dane greeted everyone like he owned the place and led us straight to Juanita’s section, where he immediately started fixing us all drinks.
Juanita is Dane’s best friend and the woman you should know if you want to be anywhere worth being. She’s more than a host, she’s a vibe curator, an entertainer. When she spotted me, her smile as infectious as her energy, she pulled me in for a warm hug.
“Dare, I didn’t know you were back in the city!” she says.
“Yeah, I just got back a few months ago.”
“Well, welcome home, hunny,” she hands me a glass of champagne before drifting off to greet more of her guests. Nearby, I noticed Jordan taking it all in: the view, the hot tub, the music, the lights. The room was packed with the usual suspects: NYC socialites, models, DJs, and the kind of people who seem permanently glued to nightlife, but surprisingly, no one I recognized. So I relaxed a little and danced with Jordan for what felt like hours. Stopping only to refill drinks and touch up my makeup.
When it hit 2 a.m. I thought I was in the clear.
But I thought too soon.
As I was downing a shot of tequila, I saw my ex-best friends making their way towards the section. I hadn’t seen Maggie and Dru in years, and our fallout wasn’t easy. To this day, people, even in LA, still ask me about my former posse.
We all kept it cute and said our hellos. Maggie’s greeting was noticeably colder than Dru’s.
Dru is a well-known DJ and a major figure in the wave of internet-born artists who made a name for themselves in New York during the mid 2010s. She is actually the one who introduced me to New York nightlife. Maggie, a model, was still beautiful as ever and, as I could see, still hangs with the same people from our past.
Cody, her gay bestie, whom I never cared for, was with them. He’s a certified moocher who follows the well-off Maggie around like a dog.
“Dareeee!” he shouted when he saw me. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”
Yeah. That was the point.
I hugged him anyway, despite his phony energy.
“And who’s this?” he asked, eyeing Jordan.
I introduced them, and suddenly Cody was acting like he was such a good friend of mine while whisking Jordan away into the crowd. Same Cody.
I couldn’t be mad. I wanted Jordan to have fun, and Le Bain was on its best behavior tonight. But seeing my old friends at the club where we'd shared so many memories—and realizing we weren’t making any new ones—felt strangely sad.
I needed fresh air. I needed a spliff. Immediately.
I had to pull Jordan from under Cody’s claws so we could head upstairs to the open rooftop. As we made our way up, a guy with a familiar face stopped me.
“Dare?”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“You don’t remember me?”
He pulled out his phone and showed me his Instagram. I was still lost. Then he opened our DMs.
The last message he’d sent me was from 2019, and it read, and I quote:
“I wanna eat your booty like groceries.”
He leaned closer. I could smell the liquor and tobacco on his breath.
“The offer still stands,” he said.
I laughed nervously and told him I was there with someone, nodding toward Jordan. Jordan caught the cue immediately, linking his arm with mine as we slipped past him and continued upstairs.
The top level of the rooftop was quieter. There were just smokers, city lights, and the hum of the music below us.
I found two seats and lit the joint I had tucked away.
Jordan looked at me and smiled.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m having so much fun. Thanks for inviting me. Your friends are so sweet.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It was nice seeing old friends.”
And I mostly meant that.
Nightlife changes fast in New York. Clubs close, scenes disappear, people move on. Yet somehow Le Bain is forever.
A glittery monument to all the people you used to be in New York.