The old Trust—brainchild of Weekend owner Marcus Trojan, Cookie’s head honcho Cookie and photographer Sascha Kramer—was a place where Mitte’s movers and shakers went to be seen and heard. So naturally when the most exclusive mini-club on Torstraße closed its doors in 2012 many a scenester was left wondering where their nightlife would go from there…

They needn’t have worried. Fast forward a few months and messrs Trojan, Cookie and Kramer are at it again in a new, bigger location that sprawls underneath the railway tracks at Hackescher Markt. It’s still that unmarked-door-and-peephole sort of exclusive, but to immerse yourself in what lies within is more than worth enduring those scrutinizing eyes—a straight up lesson in urban cool, expertly realized over two floors of exposed concrete and flashes of gold.

Drinks-wise, like the Trust of old, it’s all about bottles of Champagne and spirits (available in 0.2 or 0.7 liter) and they’ve even made the concession of stocking beers as well. If you order one, though, you’ve missed the point and will have to endure the ignominy of having it served in a brown paper bag. Because nothing decimates a hip cat’s image more than drinking hobo-street style.

Parisian parties took a serious nosedive somewhere in the noughties. Everything was all becoming a bit samey until Concrete blew a massive boat-sized hole in the city’s nightlife. So much so that it isn’t even at night any more. With a game-changing Seine-side locale, they can max out their Funktion One speakers for one filthy 19-hour mashup, and there’s not a peep out of the neighbors, simply ‘cos there aren’t any. Thoughts of this being some dark ’n loud after-hour gurn-fest, should be (at least partly) erased from your mind however. Lots of light reaches into the venue and in the summer, well, it’s all feet on deck! The techno-house soundtrack is marshalled by some real international ringers—no space to drop names here though, the word count won’t allow it. And everything takes place on the sleepiest of family days, so get your Sunday dinner excuse in early.

David Lynch has switched his focus—once consumed by mystifying moviegoers with subversive, surreal film, it’s Paris nightowls who are now ripe for some existential confusion. Club Silencio, owned by the man himself, is his eponymous version of the bar in ‘Mulholland Drive’, hidden in the subterranean depths of a building that has a grande amount of cultural va-va-voom to speak of itself—old headquarters of leftie rag L’Aurore, and where French electronic-duo Justice recorded their debut.

Intimate, golden and shrouded in artificial lighting, in truth Club Silencio doesn’t plunge the ultimate depths of Lynchian weirdness—there’s no red-suited dwarves lurking about—but it’s got the atmosphere bang-on. The mission is creative expression, stretching from the concert hall and private theater to the constantly-evolving cocktail menu. The big task—getting membership. Pre 12am, Silencio is a highly exclusive spot for top creatives to mingle, and maybe, just maybe find some divine inspiration for their pet project.