When Lower East Side hideaway Chloe 81 opened last fall, it quickly won a coterie of fashionable fans via its Wednesday-night party, the Ivy. The press followed suit, admiring the vintage tiling, the low ceiling, the candlelight—the intimacy in general. But then a funny thing happened. In a quest to say anything interesting about an apparently likable bar with apparently likable owners, members of the media began tripping all over themselves to issue grander superlatives than the last, resulting in a hot-spot dogpile of cringe-worthy proportions—and an incredibly tight... More >>>