“Bad-Ass Vegas Ho”
Keith and Chris Barish’s
Light is the in-house club/lounge at Vegas’ most opulent
hotel, Bellagio. Designed by New York’s Ian Waisbord,
the interior is full of tapestry and wood, with sleek, simple
lines. The bars, tables, even the floor is made of imported
mahogany wood. The speaker system is an EAW Avalon –
the DCS2 subs sit right on the large dancefloor and serve
as go-go stands for the scantily clad dancers. That dancefloor
dominates the room, flanked by banquettes and low-slung lounge
seating, “perfect for seeing and being seen,”
says the press release. An elevated VIP area, swathed in royal
purple, sits off the floor to the side, giving the high rollers
a bird’s eye view of the commoners. But wait, this is
Vegas…no one is common.
We sent some particularly brave Stalkers into the nexus. One
never came back.
This place was not meant to hold this many people. The area
surrounding the dancefloor is so narrow that it’s basically
a cruel joke. Not to mention that every time I tried to move
a big boob got in my way. A big, fake, swollen, vein-y, partially
exposed boob. One girl sitting in the “special seats”
right around the floor even took her top off. That was my
Goodbye Light, apparently you’re not meant for the demure.
Maybe I should just go straight to the airport.
This place is too beautiful to be overrun with drunken messes.
The floors are gorgeous; the purple velvet of the seats is
too. It sounds really nice, really warm…maybe all the
wood helps in that department. And I must say that the DJ
was great – he banged through the popular hip-hop that
everyone wanted, but slid some house in there occasionally
too. Expert mixing. Totally on-point.
But on the whole, Light is a microcosm of Vegas. Women come
out looking to score a rich guy, so they’re dressed
to the nines with everything hanging out – those low-slung,
ass-crack showing jeans, deep-V tops, all that. Yeah, they’re
hot. And the guys just look like they can’t believe
their damned luck. It’s a weird little dance these people
Did I mention that Jay-Z was on the dancefloor hoisting a
bottle of Grey Goose over his head and grinding to Missy Elliot?
Well he was.
Jay-f*cking-Z. Wow. Him and his crew got the special VIP area
– big beefy guards made sure you didn’t get within
a yard of it. I myself was happy watching the whole show from
the sidelines. And let me tell you, it was a show. The place
was packed beyond packed. Girls danced like they had their
own personal poles. Men groped on them so hard that in California
they would have probably been accused of rape. Vegas is a
If I lived here, I couldn’t imagine Light being like
“the place where I hang out,” even if I was loaded
or whatever. It’s too crowded, too bright, just too
much. You can’t possibly get lost in it. Very in-your-face
and aware of its own phat-ness.
My favorite moment of the night was when the DJ played “Shiny
Disco Balls” and all the “Vegas ho’s”
sang along like they were proud to be. What a city.