Shirt Bar, Kent Street, Sydney CBD.
Many a shirt has been taken off after a rowdy night in a bar, but have you ever taken an extra shirt home with you? You can do just that at Sydney’s Shirt Bar.
I’ve spoken about my fascination with clever concepts and unique interiors before here and here but this bar is not just a hipster hangout, it’s a slashie establishment: cafe/bar/shirt shop. Yep, shirts. Forgot to wear a shirt to work this morning? Never mind! You can just pop down to Shirt Bar and buy one with you morning latte. Clever and practical. My kind of place.
At Shirt Bar – which by the way is conveniently located a stone’s throw from some of Sydney’s biggest corporate offices – apart from the usual café/bar fare, you can get measured for, and buy a shirt. It’s not just for the lads either – there are plenty of cute lady’s tailored shirts there too. Chances are you might need a few new shirts if you make a habit of eating Shirt Bar’s scrumptious dark chocolate and raspberry brownies too often. Continue reading
There’s nothing worse than travelling to another country and going to a themed bar right? Wrong.
As an Aussie, I would normally NEVER go to an ‘Aussie’ bar in another country. And there are plenty of them. Yep, I’m kind of a parochial bar snob. I’m not spending eight hours plus on a plane to go to bar that’s like home. (Ironically, they’re never really like a bar at home anyway, but I digress.)
So when my American friend suggested we go have a few drinks at The Sunburnt Calf on New York City’s Upper West Side, I was less than enthusiastic. The only thing keeping me hopeful was that my friend has great taste in bars and alcohol. Continue reading
Stitch Bar, Sydney, Australia
The doors of Stitch were wide, wide open – so we* slipped right in.
Actually, wide open might be a bit of an exaggeration because the doorway of Stitch Bar is actually a haberdashery shop front, complete with a rack of clothes. Oh, and a dark mysterious man playing the electric guitar. (Yes, really. We later find out he’s security.)
Despite feeling like, so not hip enough to walk into this bar, we pushed forward through the doorway. As we descend down the darkened stairs, I spotted 20 or so vintage Singer sewing machines holding the bar up. Very clever. If I didn’t know better (and if there wasn’t Johnny Cash blasting from the speakers) I’d have thought I had just walked into my grandmother’s sitting room. But Nan didn’t own multiple sewing machines and she certainly wasn’t a Johnny Cash fan. She was a fan of the lampshade though, as are the owners of Stitch, with many vintage-style light covers softening the glow around the bar.
Sew cool - the Singer