There is no place in Atlanta quite like the Clermont Lounge. Tucked beneath the Clermont Hotel in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood, this basement bar has been operating continuously since 1965, making it the oldest strip club in Georgia and one of the most genuinely singular nightlife institutions in the entire South. But calling it merely a strip club does it a grave disservice. The Clermont is a living piece of Atlanta folklore, a dimly lit room where creative professionals, visiting celebrities, curious tourists, and die-hard regulars have been rubbing elbows for six decades.
The moment you descend those stairs and push through the heavy door, you feel it — that unmistakable charge of a place that has absolutely nothing to prove. The walls are covered in decades of memorabilia, the lighting is flattering in the way only red-tinted bulbs can be, and the jukebox leans hard into soul, classic rock, and outlaw country. Order a cold Pabst or a surprisingly well-made cocktail, find a spot along the bar or at one of the small tables, and just take it all in.
The performers here are not aspiring starlets waiting for their big break. They are veterans of the stage who command the room with effortless authority and genuine charisma. The most famous of them all, Blondie — a Clermont institution for more than thirty years — became something of an Atlanta icon in her own right, beloved by regulars and written up in national publications. The spirit she embodied, that of unapologetic self-possession and crowd-working expertise, lives on in every performer who takes the stage tonight.
What makes the Clermont so enduringly magnetic is its complete refusal to curate itself for any particular crowd. On any given night you might be seated next to a bachelorette party, a couple of local architects, a touring band killing time before their set across town, and a sixty-year-old regular who has been coming here since Carter was president. Nobody is putting on a performance for Instagram. Everyone is just there, and that realness is increasingly rare in a city that keeps building sleek rooftop bars and concept restaurants.
The Clermont Hotel upstairs, renovated beautifully in recent years, gives the whole block an interesting duality — you can check in to a design-forward boutique room, then walk downstairs in your pajamas for a nightcap if the mood strikes. The rooftop bar up top is lovely. But the basement is the legend.
Cover charges are reasonable, cash is preferred at the bar, and the dress code is best described as authentically yourself. Arrive after nine on a weekend if you want the full energy of the room, though weeknights have their own quieter, more conversational charm.
Atlanta has no shortage of places to drink, dance, and be entertained. But it only has one Clermont Lounge. Go at least once, and you will understand immediately why it has outlasted every trend that has swept through this city for the past sixty years.
