This venue is closed.
Hassle from suited bouncers behind velvet ropes may be par for the course at the megaclubs five blocks north, but it seems out of place at Mr. West, a small, far–West Chelsea nightspot with an outsized attitude. Would-be Carrie Bradshaws crowd the bar for pricey cucumber Cosmos, while several steps down, a young and self-satisfied set lounges on the bottle-service-only banquettes that ring the central floor. Mirrored walls, overlaid with cutout alligator paneling, allow plenty of opportunity for approving looks at one’s own reflection. Mr. West has many of the trappings of a larger club — heavily designed lighting in an elaborate network of LED-spiked lampshades, a powerful sound system that does justice to the big-name D.J.s spinning — but close quarters limit the dance floor. Clearly, the tables are the real game here; jumping right into the bottle-service arms race, Mr. West offers gold-plated jeroboams of 1995 Dom Perignon for a cool $25K — silver ice bucket not included.
Picnics with a view, roller-skating nostalgia, and a party for gay headbangers.