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This no-longer-so-underground bar is tucked beneath the hipstaurant Kingswood. Knowing which door to use (it’s on Greenwich Ave) and set of hallways to follow (down the stairs to your right) will certainly up your chances of entry, but you may still be greeted by a bouncer brusquely declaring it a “private party only” night. The bar keeps it simple, with few design touches: unfinished walls, raw metal floors spruced up by sports car prints, glass shelves filled with opal crystals. Limited space means dancing is difficult, and seating options are a smattering of dark leather couches and zebra-skin benches. The bartenders, all of whom look plucked straight from a Sydney surf shop, aren’t afraid to join the party, which might go a way towards explaining all the ladies present. The crowd is late twenties and heavily international—Australians and Danes and Parisians, oh my!—meaning the fashion rivals anything at Beatrice on any given Thursday night. The tunes run the gamut from “Come on Eileen” to “I Get Around.” — Melissa Lafsky