Paris may be the most romantic city on Earth, but it also has a proud tradition of highbrow kink and naughty pursuits. But many of them have, of course. Most chic Parisiennes eventually land up there in an attempt to stave off inevitable deathly couple-sex doldrums. The theory holds water, because love at first site is unlikely chez Les Chandelles. A club libertin , as the club proclaims itself, is indeed the more accurate description. The establishment caters to essentially straight patrons performing traditional sex roles, with women's dress code requiring a skirt and heels.
An unmarked street entrance leads to a claustrophobic foyer. This is a discreet version of the red velvet rope where your entry or not is decided upon via video camera.
Not a private club, Chandelles is open to the public, but many are turned away, even if respecting the dress code, as happens at other clubs like Le Baron.
They want to keep it select. At the coat check, you surrender your coat, purse, wallet, telephone. When the attendant clarified that phone confiscation guarded against photos, I had to stifle a laugh. Hadn't thought of that. Then, you give your first name.
My companion shared his and deferred to me to share my own invented one. Whereupon the attendant admonishes that though he is very chilled out, his colleague would have thrown us out because prostitutes are not allowed. Merci, thought I. Apparently he judges my silk kimono and Sergio Rossi stilettos to be in exceptionally good taste. Heart beating, you proceed downstairs. The red-cushioned interior design aims for a tasteful, updated wink at boudoir.
