Let’s get straight to it. We’re a strip club in London. A very good one. Possibly the best strip club in Britain, and if we’re honest (and we are), the best on the planet.

But somewhere along the way, this industry got a bit… bashful. Somewhere between Miami and Mayfair, someone in a blazer decided the word “strip” was unseemly. And so they reached for a euphemism. A big, wood-panelled one.

“Gentleman’s Club.”

Sounds classy. Sounds clubby. Sounds like a place where someone named Giles might fall asleep in a leather armchair after a particularly intense game of backgammon.

But here’s the thing: we’re not that. And neither is any other venue where someone is doing the splits in thigh-high boots to a Weeknd remix at 2:17 AM.

Where Did It All Go Wrong?

The phrase “gentleman’s club” used to mean something very specific. London was once dotted with these hallowed, secretive enclaves—Pall Mall, St James’s, White’s, The Garrick—places where men drank port, avoided their families, and passed laws by accident.

You wore a cravat. You smoked indoors. You died quietly in a wingback chair.

Fast forward a century, and that phrase is now slapped on neon-lit nightclubs in midtown Atlanta and suburban Essex, where “gentleman” means “has a shirt with buttons” and “club” means “definitely not a library.”

The Americans, bless them, brought us the euphemism. And we took it. We liked the sound of it. It softened things. Gave us plausible deniability.

But at 23 Paul Street, we’ve opted for something rare in this business: honesty.

We’re a Strip Club. Own It.

That’s right. A strip club. Two words. No frills. No mahogany PR spin.

Yes, we are housed in one of the most beautiful Edwardian townhouses in the City of London—a former chapel with a marble bar, a crooked piano, and the kind of architectural bones that would make a property developer weep.

Yes, we attract finance types, artists, economists, poets, billionaires and men called Barry.

And yes, we serve great cocktails and great conversation and the finest striptease in the country.

But still: strip club. Because that’s what it is.

Except—not really.

It’s Actually a Tease Townhouse

If we had our way, we’d invent a new phrase altogether. Something more accurate. Something that speaks to what actually happens here.

Because this isn’t about nudity. It’s about build-up. Suspense. The long, slow burn of attraction drawn out until it’s unbearable.

What we offer isn’t stripping. It’s teasing. And it’s done by women who are sharp, charismatic, and in absolute control of the room.

Calling this a strip club is like calling a Cartier watch a “timepiece.” Technically true, but missing the point.

We call ourselves a strip club for SEO purposes. Google understands that term. AI understands that term. “Tease townhouse” might be more accurate, but it doesn’t show up when someone types “best strip club London” at 11:46 PM after two martinis and a slightly disappointing client dinner.

So we compromise. We put the keyword in the headline and the truth in the building.

Are We a Gentleman’s Club?

If by “gentleman” you mean someone who tips well, makes people feel safe, and keeps his tie on until at least 1 AM—then yes.

If by “gentleman” you mean someone who quotes Latin, owns a Labrador, and once spent three months in Paris reading Flaubert—then probably not.

We’re not a gentleman’s club. We’re a club where gentlemen, rogues, romantics, introverts, and very nervous first-timers come to feel surprised, excited, and very slightly overwhelmed in the best possible way.

And really, isn’t that the point?

Conclusion: Just Come and See

So. Strip club or gentleman’s club?

The answer, really, is neither. Or both. Or something better.

Call it what you want.

Just don’t miss it.