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United States of America
We Came to Swing
When Justin drags his long-suffering wife Vicki to a Swingers Club in Vegas, he’s not entirely sure what to expect — key parties? Pineapples? Regret? Instead, they stumble into the world’s wildest mini-golf course, where cocktails flow, disco lights flash, and innuendo is par for the course. Welcome to Swingers Mandalay Bay: part golf, part nightclub, all filthy fun.
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“Are we really going to a Swingers Club in Vegas?” Vicki asks, giving me the kind of look that usually ends with me sleeping on the couch.
“Technically yes,” I reply. “But keep your pants on — it’s a mini-golf course. Mostly.”
We’re at Mandalay Bay, where Swingers — the newest, naughtiest addition to the Las Vegas nightlife scene — has just opened its doors after a star-studded VIP launch. And trust me, it’s not your average putt-putt.
Swingers started out in a dodgy London basement back in 2014 — a pop-up in Shoreditch where two blokes, Matt Grech-Smith and Jeremy Simmonds, thought “Why not combine crazy golf with cocktails, DJs and street food?” Because of course they did. London loved it. Next thing you know, Swingers has taken over New York, Washington D.C., and now, with its global flagship in Vegas, it's bigger, bolder, and hornier than ever.
And yes — it’s still about golf. Technically.
The second we walk in, we’re hit with a neon glow, thumping beats, and a giant sign screaming Get Ready to Swing. I glance at Vicki. “Not what you thought, hey?” She eyes the disco-lit windmill and mutters, “I was kinda hoping for more nudity.”
We’re ushered in by a hostess wearing fishnets and a knowing smile, and handed cocktails with names like “Foreplay” and “Stroke of Genius.” There are four outrageous courses to choose from — each one more suggestively themed than the last — plus an old-school carnival arcade and a pizza joint slinging slices sexier than they have any right to be.
We start on “The Velvet Course,” which sounds like a Barry White album and plays like a fever dream. Hole Two features a giant pair of furry dice swinging above a heart-shaped bed. Hole Five’s called “The Love Tunnel” and involves a rotating tunnel, low ceilings, and a questionable grip on your balls. Vicki smashes it. I nearly fall in.
Everywhere we go, people are laughing, dancing, flirting and swinging — clubs, hips, conversations. The energy is unhinged in the best way possible. You’re not here to win. You’re here to lose your inhibitions and possibly your dignity.
By the time we reach Hole Twelve — “The Money Shot” — I’m sweating, two cocktails deep, and trying to line up a putt between a pair of glittering legs. Vicki’s howling. “You’ve never looked so focused,” she says. “Is it the pressure… or the heels?”
I sink the putt. She applauds. Somewhere, Barry White plays softly in the background.
As we collapse in a velvet cabana with spicy margaritas and pizza, I finally get what the founders meant. “We wanted to create the most ridiculously fun venue possible,” Matt Grech-Smith said. Mission well and truly accomplished, Matt.
Swingers isn’t about swapping partners. It’s about swapping boredom for chaos, cocktails, and a very different kind of foreplay.
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And Vicki? She’s already asking if we can come back tomorrow night. “Might even wear a blindfold next time,” she teases.
Vegas, you filthy genius. Never change.
Words Justin Jamieson
Photos Justin Jamieson
Tags: golf, United States, vegas
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