You guys. I have a story.
So the other night, I was wandering down a side street in Williamsburg—because, you know, I said I was “going for a walk to clear my head” but accidentally ended up thrifting and emotionally attaching myself to a sequin clutch from 1989. Anyway, I had my oat milk latte in one hand, vintage find tucked under the other, when I realized—oh no—my dry cleaning!
Because apparently being thirty-something means your errands are like little emotional roller coasters. 🙃
When Your Night Starts with Laundry…
I spotted what looked like the cutest little laundromat—like old-school pastel machines kind of vibe. Definitely not my regular spot, but I was in the mood for a life twist. So, naturally, I push open the door, fully expecting the smell of Tide and mild existential dread. Instead?
Silence.
Well, silence and a guy in a leather jacket folding one (1) very crisp white shirt with an… intensity. I did what anyone would do. I smiled, asked where to find the drop-off counter, and before he even answered—he gave me this tiny smirk—the kind of smirk that says, “You have no idea what you just walked into.”
Friends, I had walked into a speakeasy.
The Secret Door Was Actually a Dryer
Let me back up. As I’m looking around, trying to not look like someone who just wandered into the wrong decade, I notice a woman literally open a dryer door and step through it. Like Alice in freaking Wonderland. There was even a sudden whisper of bass—the kind that says this is not your average laundromat, honey.
So of course I follow her. (Would past me have done this? Maybe not. But New York Rachel? Oh, she’s curious.)
I pull open the same dryer, and behind it? A dark hallway lined with velvet curtains and tiny chandeliers. A doorman in suspenders nods. Somewhere, a saxophone is playing a sexy version of "No Scrubs" by TLC.
Guys, I had found it: the hidden bar of my dreams.
Welcome to Suds & Spirits
Yes. That’s really what it’s called.
The bar is this smoky, moody miracle. Think 1920s with a sprinkle of Brooklyn cool and just a dusting of Old Hollywood glam. The menu came tucked in a retro detergent box. I ordered a “Spin Cycle”—bourbon, lavender honey, bitters, and a twist served in a glass shaped like a mini washing machine. I swear I’m not making this up.
Quote of the night came from a girl sitting next to me at the bar wearing a sequin beret and drinking neat mezcal:
“Honestly, I only come here when Mercury is in retrograde… which explains the dryer portal.”
I laughed so hard I almost dropped my drink. Almost. I may be impulsive, but I’m not wasteful.
Other NYC things I'm currently loving:
Here’s a tiny list, because everyone loves a New York moment:
- 🍝 Pasta at Lilia that made me rethink every carb-related decision I’ve ever made.
- 🖼️ Wandering the Lower East Side gallery scene. Yes, I took a photo in front of a minimalist piece and yes, I pretended to understand it.
- 👟 Long walks through Central Park while listening to old voicemail recordings. (Don’t judge. It’s therapeutic.)
- 👜 Sourcing vintage bags and pretending I'm a fashion editor in 1995. Honestly, very effective.
Final Thoughts from a Girl Who Thought She Was Doing Laundry
That night I had zero intention of discovering a secret hideaway or drinking a martini garnished with edible soap bubbles (yes, that happened too). But that’s the thing with this city—it surprises you when you least expect it. You set out to do something simple… and end up wrapped in velvet curtains sipping bourbon-lavender magic.
Would I go back? Oh, I’ve already booked a girls’ night there next Thursday.
Would I do laundry there? Hmm. Debatable.
xo,
Rachel 💋
P.S. If you go, wear something fabulous. Just because it looks like a laundromat doesn’t mean the vibes aren’t red carpet.
