People were sauntering about the pinkish-red tinted main room, sipping their steep drinks and mingling. And the societal boundaries may be stripped away, but the Parisian air of genteel sophistication remains: There is no judgment here. Champagne in hand, we all looked at each other and raised our glasses in salute to whatever the hell just happened. On my visit to Les Chandelles, I was filming for a French series.
There is no judgment here. The dress code is strict and mandatory. Porn stars and political stars rub shoulders, swill glasses of Deutz, and eat ravenously from plates of caviar and steak tartare. A part of me expected to descend into a lusty lagoon of HPV, but such was not the case. Lastly there is a hallway that leads from this group bedroom through a darkly lit space. Some of these bright young things are fully immersed in the libertine culture, while some are merely testing the lascivious waters. On my visit to Les Chandelles, I was filming for a French series. And when you enter Les Chandelles you are gently reminded of the fact that you are in the most select part of town. She looked up, wide-eyed—gasped—and then we made eye contact. Here you strip off any reservations about having fun with strangers, and those expensive clothes to boot. And people are less dressed, less inhibited, and less preoccupied with what they are eating and drinking. Like most upscale nightclubs. We were in the eye of the storm. They are the equivalent of elite sexual speakeasies. A series of rooms, some showers, some private hideaways to be entertained or handcuffed, and a bathroom all await. That moment will be forever etched into my memory. Six of us three men, three women went together, as you are only allowed to enter as couples. Sidelong come-hither glances shoot from one couple to another in the reflections of the huge floor-length mirrors on every wall. People brush by me, gently patting my shoulder or arm, or even reaching around my waist. On one side of the corridor are dark enclaves with chairs and tables occupied by modish people smoking and murmuring to each other. We all took a deep breath and walked in. There are two rooms on either end of a long, dimly-lit corridor where le fucking is done. Note to those adventurous types salivating at the idea of visiting one of these clubs: Men are instructed to wear suits or, at the very least, dark pants and a jacket. Courtesy of Les Chandelles. Dress code is top designer…then it eventually becomes au naturel. Across from the bed sits a smaller sofa bed, equally plush and inviting to the adventurous types.
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Red light district in Paris
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