New York’s social clubs are like that complicated ex you can’t quite quit: impossible to fully understand but way too entertaining to ignore.
It’s a living, breathing ecosystem where vibes clash and collide, from velvet-roped mystery to unapologetic caviar and cigar decadence.
These spots are equal parts power plays and posturing, where you’ll overhear conversations about vintage Audemars Piguet prices, a sudden obsession with biodynamic wine and that one friend who insists she’s “detoxing” but really just wants an excuse to exclusively eat celery.
If you’ve ever wanted to see ambition served with a side of curated indifference, here’s your guide to the clubs where New York’s most elite and most insufferable gather — the places we love to hate but secretly can’t stop watching.
If Alaïa, bubbles and whispered power plays had a baby.
New money wealth and just enough anxiety to keep things interesting.
London club kid grows up, gets therapy and moves to Tribeca.
Sexy dinner party where everyone’s had too much Barolo and a touch of Botox.
Gatsby if he cashed out in crypto and got veneers.
If quiet luxury had a private Instagram and a Beta Blocker prescription.
Tech VCs in navy suits and PR girls in oversized blazers.
Still explaining NFTs over omakase. No one asked.
Grown-up Dimes Square with a 401(k).
Men who left Goldman to "start something."
Exclusivity for the masses.
Girls who DJ in Paris but consult in New York.
Wives of billionaires who only drink $300 tequila.
Models who fake anonymity served with a side of Ozempic.