Listed in Bars
The burly, suited men hissing into their earpieces, over-the-clipboard frowning, and velvet ropes struck me as overkill, seeing as it was nearly empty (illusion is everything in this business, I suppose). In light of its ceremonial entrance, the card-carrying members of Model Mayhem bar staff, and the lingerie-wearing blow-up doll by the coat-check, the lukewarm reception wasn't just jarring; it was laughable.
The space is stylish in an early 2000s, from-television New York kind of way; Blair Waldorf would've lost her virginity here back when audiences still cared. Play is big and pristine, and its apparent cleanliness I can wholeheartedly endorse, but its all-white minimalism just served to highlight how sterile it was in comparison to the debauchery it promises.
Like Wicked, though, Play does try its hardest to encourage bad behaviour. A runway serves as the divide between the 'VIP' section, allowing many a sashay down the catwalk. There are actual swings hanging from the ceiling that are impossible to not associate with its neighbour (Play would do well in getting some form of insurance; falling off the thing seems probable for any sober person, let alone a drunk one).
The crowd will prove any crotchety long-time West Queen West/Ossington resident right: Starbucks is nothing compared to this eyesore of a venue.
Does Play live up to the venue's name? Sure, but only in ways that underline the amateurishness of it all. Much like an apartment decorated entirely in IKEA, Play serves more as a child's idea of a grown-up space rather than actually being one (the furniture giant looks like it could've sponsored the place, actually). If this is what you want, places on King West would do you better favours.