Club Review: Libertine, Fitzrovia

Libertine is one of Fitzrovia’s newest clubs, having recently eaten up the space which once was Chinawhite.

 

I never went to Chinawhite, mainly because it sounded like a sort of swarovski-encrusted hellhole frequented by Barbie girls and that certain class of males, who we will, for now, call ‘the poachers’*.

 

Libertine, though, is a whole nother story. There’s not a smattering of sparkle to be found in the place. Instead there are bizarre signs, screaming profanities in glaring shades of neon.

 

libertine-club-fitzrovia

 

Downstairs it’s your average crappy club. It conforms to the London club rules, namely by presenting bottles of Dom Perignon to its wankered guests whilst they’re ON FIRE, and allowing a DJ who thinks its kind of cool in a totally ironic way to play Gangnam Style out loud.

 

Photo 15-02-2014 01 33 33

 

Upstairs, however, it’s entirely different – and entirely brilliant. The music, for instance, sounds good even to sober people. The room is smaller, and less full of sweaty bodies. And there is a special lift, where travellers are permitted to DRAW ON THE WALLS. It’s like all the fun of Frankie & Benny’s paper tablecloths and all the fun of vodka TOGETHER.

 

libertine-club-fitzrovia

 

Seriously. You could (and should) go to Libertine just for a trip in the lift. It’s sensational.

 

libertine-club-fitzrovia

 

P.S. I must issue a sincere apology for the lack of photos – I did take upwards of 30 during my visit but, upon waking the next morning, I found them all to be capturing only darkness. This is what happens when drunk people try to work phones, I’m afraid. It cannot be avoided.

 

Have you visited Libertine? Tell me of your thoughts. Share your troubles and your strife. Leave me a comment. 

 

*The poachers are easily identified. They wear suits, but keep it casual by undoing one too many buttons, exposing a matted carpet of hair so upsetting only the briefest glances could spell the end of your night. They wear enormous, weighty timepieces, leaving many unable to lift their arms as they attempt to summon serving wenches to their tables. You’ll find them slithering through crowds at the bar, unbearably drunk, offering to purchase novelty overpriced cocktails for females young enough to be their daughters. Best avoided, these ones. 

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