Like the bronzed and barely clad bodies that saunter up and down Collins Avenue and Ocean Drive, South Beach is in a constant state of self-improvement. That’s especially true this season, as a wave of new bars, lounges and clubs put up their velvet ropes and jockey for the affection of South Beach’s famously hedonistic party people.
All eyes are currently on SET (320 Lincoln Road; 305-531-2800; www.setmiami.com), the latest clubland spectacle from the Opium Group, the heavyweights behind Mansion and Privé, two of South Beach’s most enduring nightclubs. SET has no dance floor; instead, clubgoers shimmy atop the macassar ebony tables, the Pucci-fabric sofas and the imitation tortoiseshell bar, where dancers in burlesque-inspired lingerie strike poses in futuristic Plexiglas tubes.
“Nightlife is so crazy here,” said François Frossard, the club’s designer, who speaks with a heavy French accent. “There’s so much energy — everyone wants to dance up high. They jump on anything they can reach.”
Another new hotspot, Cameo (1445 Washington Avenue; 305-532-2667; www.cameomiami.com), celebrated its opening on Feb. 2. Carved out of a historic Art Deco theater, the two-story club features a D.J. booth in a giant disco-ball bowl, graffiti-style art that creeps up the stairwells, and five distinctively designed bars (one inspired by “Barbarella,” another by the Rubik’s Cube) that corkscrew around the dance floor.
For those who find Cameo’s door policy too egalitarian, there’s a separate street entrance for Vice (www.vicesouthbeach.com), a club-within-a-club on the mezzanine level. It is marginally more exclusive and bucketloads naughtier: witness the writhing pole dancers and mirrored floor under the bar, which seems to get more and more scandalous as the night wears on.
Equally unsubtle is Snatch (1437 Washington Avenue; 305-604-3644; www.snatchmiami.com), a rock ‘n’ roll club with cocktail waitresses who prance around in matching red-and-black corsets and, in the corner, a mechanical bull that has bucked everyone from Tommy Lee to Mischa Barton. It is also the new home of Back Door Bamby, the longest-running and arguably most debauched party in Miami, held every Monday night.
Upstairs, the sister club Suite (1439 Washington Avenue; 305-604-3644; www.suiteloungemiami.com) caters to V.V.I.P.s and a young Hollywood elite — Paris Hilton, Jessica Alba, Hillary Duff — whose predilection for scaling the banquettes in stilettos forces the club to reupholster the velvet every two weeks.
Local beauties favor Mokaï (235 23rd Street; 305-531-4166; www.mokaimiami.com), a dark and sexy lounge with an intimate, house party feel (albeit one with $600-minimum table service). Expect large crowds clamoring to get in; it’s one of the smallest places in town, with a maximum capacity of 210.
“We have to take care of the locals who are regulars and, unfortunately, that doesn’t leave a lot of room for anyone else,” said Alain Olivier, the club’s general manager. Not exactly — Mr. Olivier takes referrals from boldfaced hotels like the Hotel Victor, Setai, Shore Club and Delano. If your hotel key is less fashionable, better your chances by arriving early (before midnight), or on an off night like Sunday.
And heed the golden rule of South Beach — need we even mention it? —dress to impress.
For a mellower night out, head to Lincoln Road, a pedestrian-only promenade teeming with bladers, runners and an endless parade of small, pampered dogs: dogs on rhinestone leashes, dogs in arms, dogs in baby strollers. Overlooking this circus is Quattro (1014 Lincoln Road; 305-531-4833; www.quattromiami.com), an upscale Northern Italian restaurant frequented by European jet setters. The kitchen closes at midnight, but the bartender Capri Colello holds court behind the cathedral-like bar until 1:30 a.m., turning out perfect cucumber martinis and prosecco cocktails.
Down the street is Gemma (529 Lincoln Road; 305-534-3662), an intimate, low-key lounge secreted away above an Italian restaurant and a jewelry store. To find it, slip through a door marked by a discrete metal plaque and a cadre of handsome black-clad bouncers. Traverse a marble hallway, climb a flight of stairs, and enter a jewel of a space illuminated only by candlelight and flickering silent films. Expect guys with shirts unbuttoned to mid-chest, flirting with gals in skintight $300 jeans.
The best views, however, are on the balcony, where you can survey the action on the street below, sip your Veuve Clicquot and feel like you’ve achieved V.I.P. status, if only for a night.