In the neon, cigarette-haze era of old New York nightlife, Doll House was exactly what the name promised — glossy, provocative, and completely unapologetic. A straight strip club planted in the same downtown ecosystem as punk clubs, discos, and after-hours joints, it shared sidewalks and late nights with musicians, artists, hustlers, and insomniacs who treated the city like one long backstage corridor.
Back then, it was played straight: fantasy, bravado, big hair, loud music, and stage lights that never flattered but always revealed. Decades later, the name and graphics read differently — less about intention, more about aesthetic. All that excess, confidence, and theatricality has aged into something that feels almost accidentally camp.
