If I could go back to the twenties and not be hanged or disenfranchised for being an outspoken minority with future technology, I would totally go grab a drink or two with some flat-chested hookers at a speakeasy.
That’s why the Foxhole seemed like such a great idea. There’s no sign, so if that bitch from Ace of Base was rolling around telling you she saw the sign then you’d know she’s a lying cunt. It’s just a nondescript door in a South Beach alley. Hell, I didn’t even know the name until I had been there for a good hour. I don’t remember the exact address, all I remember was walking toward the Mondrian on West Ave and someone in our party suggested this was the place we needed to go to. He’s like, “it’s called the hfhdsfbbjqlbyrjriqplh” and I was like, “oh, cool.”
Lemme tell you, when you arrive and stand by the door, you start getting ideas of what’s inside. You’re thinking of a bunch of flappers and guys with mustaches so thin they make John Waters look like Burt Reynolds and Groucho Marx had a hairy-lipped baby called Otto von Bismarck. You’re expecting black people to have to use the side entrance. You’re wondering if your liquor will come from some Canadian dude’s bath tub and the Kennedy patriarch is in there slyly winking at everyone who orders a drink. Then when you enter, you’re like “what the fuck?” Just like everywhere else in Miami, it’s just a bunch of dudes prowling for snatch.
You’re expecting black people to have to use the side entrance.
The problem with setting up a theme is no one is going to fucking follow it. This place should be a speakeasy. The decor should reflect the Roaring Twenties. But no, instead it’s another typical South Beach bar with overpriced drinks and more cigarette smoke than an Italian nursery. Anyone remember the Boiler Room, the restaurant which was next to Transit Lounge? For the three of you who ever went there during its shitty short life, they had the decor that Foxhole should have. That latter-turn-of-the-century post-steampunk look. Maybe play some music of that time, you know?
On the particular night I was there I looked upstairs on the second floor and my girlfriend said, “I think you can see down girl’s shirts from there.” So I went upstairs. Her statement was accurate because it was 99.999999997% dudes up there. It was also accurate because I could see down her shirt through the cleavage gap. This is the one redeeming factor. Come on guys, make me say a password at the door or something. Anything.
They’ve got themselves a pool table, jukebox, and flat screen TVs. It’s got all the makings of a sports bar, but I doubt they bill themselves as such. Instead, they put up this exclusive front only to greet you with mediocrity. Kind of like Hakkasan. The whole thing seems kinda manly, and that’s fine, but tell everyone that.
People who would enjoy it
People who would not enjoy it
- 1218 14th Ct
- Miami Beach, FL 33139
- (305) 534-3511