As a person who insists on waking up at 6 AM every morning, I’m not what would be considered a “party girl.” I properly got that out of my system in New York City, where one could find excellent parties three to four times a week. Paris’s kinky parties and clubs have been less than inspiring. They are nothing like San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York, London, or Berlin. I blame the lack of BDSM culture in Paris. There is a community growing, but it is still new. Inspired by visiting New Yorkers and how NYC has risen from the ashes of 2008 to become one of the healthiest FemDom communities I have ever seen, I decided to take it upon myself to re-venture into the Paris BDSM party scene.

This. . .this is going to take some work.

Immediately, I started my research last Saturday at Nuit Élastique. The tiered admission scheme is 10-25€ for single women, 30-60€ for couples, and 25-60€ for single men. When I purchased my ticket, the balance of the three seemed reasonable, and I looked forward to seeing some couples play, mingling with other women on their own, and meeting some stray subs.

While I have been in Europe for 14 years now, I have to sit on my hands to keep myself from showing up when the club opens, or the party starts on the dot. I fussed and forced myself to show up a little after 21h, 30+ minutes after opening. It felt late, but I was early enough to have an opportunity to scout out the place. The night had already started out with my neurosis out front, but it allowed for time to observe and report back.

Firstly, it was in a nice neighborhood, the 9éme just north of Palais Garnier, and I felt perfectly comfortable walking the whole way there. (Some parties are in neighborhoods where I feel exposed from the Uber door to the venue.) There was no signage from the street, but I figured out the building containing apartments and offices also housed a club. I also figured it was Sauna-Provence hosting the Nuit Élastique party from a process of elimination, not that there was any indication.

During the day, this location is a standard libertine (swingers) club. It still strikes me as strange to have BDSM play parties in swingers’ clubs, but here we are. It is significant in size, 220 square meters, with 12 little nooks and hidden rooms, unremarkably decorated but very clean. I am more than happy to endure tacky erotic posters if everything is clean. Built-in beds and beds with vinyl cushions and mattresses aren’t aesthetically great, but they function well. The only BDSM equipment appears to be a St Andrews cross and a sturdy spanking bench. It’s a space, but nothing that will inspire; definitely bring your own gear.

Bland pop songs played over a television streaming Captured Male videos. Fair enough. The staff was friendly, if not disinterested. The “beau buffet” was outright offensive, with pretzels and imitation crab sticks on paper plates and not the incentive for people to arrive early as advertised. Soft drinks, a variety of beer, champagne, and a small selection of mixed drinks were offered for 3-10€. I chose the champagne because, of course, I did, and I paid 10€ for a 15cl flute. It was drinkable, though.

At 21h30, very few people were at the party, and no women besides me. I was keenly aware I was being scrutinized as I explored the space with my champagne flute in hand, though most of the men chatted with each other over beer like it was a dinner party and as if they weren’t wearing stockings, lacey knickers, and nothing else. It wasn’t long before I was approached with an opportunity to practice my French small talk.

Chatting with the men was pleasant in the beginning. Many of them could hold actual conversations, but the usual few guys immediately went to find out if I would play with them. Getting to the point is a way to get what one wants, but perhaps not a great way. I politely explained I was a professional and was just here to chat and see some inspiring play.

Around 23h, some couples and a lot more men showed up. The couples didn’t jump right in but instead talked amongst themselves. The place started to get full and the air stuffy, but still, no one was playing, probably due partly to the men outnumbering women 20 to 1. A sea of men stopped talking to each other and eyed the couples and me. While I paid a fraction of the cover as the men, I still paid. I was not receiving payment or promotion, but I began to feel a tangible pressure to start entertaining the crowd. I had seen enough, and it was uncomfortably hot and uncomfortable in general, so I skipped out before midnight.

Perhaps more play happened in the remaining 3 hours of the party, but I doubt it. It may feel like a strange observation, but I walked over to the bar area to get a glass of champagne three times. Each time, a man interested in continuing the conversation about playing followed me. None offered to buy me a glass, let alone fetch one while I relaxed. I can, obviously, get myself up and buy my own damn drinks, but I would have appreciated the gesture. After all, these men bombarded me with their needs and expectations. I like playing, but the entitlement turned me off. My educated guess is the lack of self-awareness keeps these guys from finding play partners. A lower cover price wasn’t enticing single women into the party. The entitlement was directly driving them away.

Paris is a fashion-forward city. These parties might serve themselves better by focusing less on what people wear and more on attitudes. They are making money from the many men there, but I wonder how many return after spending 60€, plus drinks, to stand around with other men in a hot club. I wonder how Nuit Élastique could make it more women-friendly and thus more pleasurable for everyone involved.