After a hiatus, Mansions is back — and doubling down on the power of a carpeted nightclub
New York's strangest nightclub is riding its disorienting decor into its next era
Your grandmother’s living room is alive and well out on a desolate stretch of Metropolitan Avenue. Positioned next to the Western Beef outlet and across the street from a chop shop is a wine bar called Mansions that transforms itself each weekend into New York City’s strangest nightclub.
Wood paneling, lace curtains, and Goodwill-esque framed art line the walls of the room where DJs play acid house and trance music until the city’s 4 a.m. bar curfew. There are no lasers, no stage sets, and the only lighting is a cluster of red and orange glowing orbs that hang from the ceiling. The glow cuts through an intense and persistent fog. Mansions’ most famous feature — and the thing that ties together the entire schtick — is a short, dense carpet that lines the dance floor.
The aesthetic is highly intentional. Originally, the space looked like this.
The bar closed for three months over the winter for renovations and reopened last weekend with three consecutive nights of at-capacity crowds. The original peach-ish colored carpet was replaced with a new (thematically appropriate) wine-colored carpet— and there was an apparent frenzy by Mansions die-hards to own a square of the original one, per a bar employee working the front door.
(Mansions is now selling t-shirts with a lengthy internet review on the back, and the first 50 buyers can get a piece of the old carpet.)
The “VIP” area is behind the DJ booth, and while it’s technically “outside” of the bar, it’s fenced in and most of the space is taken up by two Callahead porta potties. It’s not a glamorous place for your sense of smell, but it does afford more privacy than the bathroom lines. Post-renovation, the area is now covered in a neon squiggly mural.
The bar is clearly embracing its status as a cult favorite, and leaning into the absurdity.
Mansions is, by both necessity and vibe, a destination bar. There are only two real reasons that lead people who don’t already live in the neighborhood to this part of Maspeth: Either you have plans that night at the Knockdown Center, which is only a 10-minute walk away, or you want to be in the most “on acid” place you’ve ever experienced in your life.
The clientele seems to work in shifts on a weekend. For some people, it’s a warmup bar with a minimal cover to hit up before hitting noted superclub Basement — the former glass factory right below Knockdown Center that’s as close as New York City gets to a Berlin-style club. Other Mansions patrons show up after a performance at the above-ground part Knockdown. Either way, it’s the best and closest place to party if you’re going to be in the area anyway.
Plus, the carpeted floor saves your knees from aching throughout the next day.
Mansions is an experience like nowhere else in the city. It stands in contrast to the warehouse–style clubs in Bushwick or even Dead Letter No. 9 in Williamsburg, which has also nestled a dance room amongst its curious and kitschy decor. It could be compared to Bossa Nova Civic Club but really, part of the appeal is its distance from everything else.
Rick Paulas
A Reddit comment on the ravesNYC subreddit from three years ago described it this way: “My friend describes Mansions as ‘Bossa for 30-somethings,’ which has been pretty accurate when I've been.
I love it there!”
A decade ago, the spot at 46-63 Metropolitan Ave was the original outpost of Bun-Ker — a popular Vietnamese restaurant that expanded into East Williamsburg and shut down entirely in 2022. Mansions began booking events in May 2022, according to Resident Advisor. But a break for renovations is a common precursor to the death of a club or restaurant.
Paragon shut down for three months last year due to what it described as untenable operational costs — though it was reopened over the summer under new ownership. The triangle-shaped Market Hotel has shut down for years on end, come back, and has now reinvented itself into a safe space for party-tame Zoomers to listen to MGMT on a nostalgia night. Now, the unthinkably ambitious expansion of the Brooklyn Mirage has become the Fyre Fest of NYC’s nightlife scene.
But Mansions wasn’t putting up $30 million to improve its venue. Instead, the bar owners really, really needed to replace the dance floor carpet. So, packed to capacity throughout its re-opening weekend, Mansions is back in business — and riding its disorienting decor into its next era.
***
On Saturday, I arrived at Mansions at 10:15 p.m. and waited 45 minutes to get inside. I think this was relatively quick compared to the wait times the rest of the weekend. Every hardened New Yorker knows there are few things more embarrassing than waiting in line for something in a city with this much variety. Yet I heard someone in line say that their friend had waited at least 90 minutes the previous night to get in for the official re-opening.
In the days leading up to the reopening of Mansions, I’d been asking myself why I was determined to get in there on opening weekend instead of waiting a few weeks for the surge to settle down. I recalled every time I had told my friends that we had to go to Mansions sometime. They have all responded with: “you want me to go to fucking Maspeth?” Yes, I do. Still, I couldn’t quite figure out why I feel so passionate about this weird bar.
Dave Colon
I made it inside finally, saw the lava lamps on the bar and the packed dance floor and outdoor area. Mansions had, by my hazy recall, become more and more crowded over the last few years — but this was far beyond what I had seen before.
I wondered how first-timers were experiencing two of the perpetual oddities of the bar: an old-school, unchecked coat rack near the entrance (hallelujah) and, the only indoor bathrooms being adjacent to the dance floor. A bit of institutional knowledge probably went a long way during that wild opening weekend.
(Comically enough, I don’t drink alcohol. But I hear their bar selection is pretty damn good.)
I watched (and danced to) the set by DJ Primo — whose parties I went to in San Francisco in my early 20s. He’s now a staple of the “weird club” scene out here, and is essentially a resident DJ at Mansions. It was a nice throwback for me in a space designed for the essence of a throwback.
After a few hours, a light case of visual hallucinations, and a lot of time spent dancing next to one of those signature lace curtains, I figured out what makes this place so absurd and special.
“Liminal space,” says my notes app. “It’s like a bubble where nothing exists and nothing is real.” (Amusing, embarrassing, absolutely true.)
I left Mansions before 2 a.m. and in the Uber back to Brooklyn, my friend looked bewildered and said: “I feel seriously disoriented. What even was that?”
Exactly, I responded, satisfied by the validation. It turns out there is a place that specializes in relieving you from reality. All you have to do is make it out to Maspeth.
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