Gold Ã‚— we really wish they’d called it Gold Bar Ã‚— opened to a flutter of press about its outlandish, gold-covered interior and Dhs1,000 ticket prices that were there, the then-PR told us, Ã‚‘to keep out the riff-raff’. But press doesn’t equate to public interest, especially since post-recession Dubai lacks the perfect storm of rich and stupid that might have made this work in 2008. As a result, Gold is now operating a far more reasonable Dhs100 cover charge and a Tuesday ladies’ night. Market forces at work. So what does the newly proletarian-laden bar offer? UmÃ‚… Not very much, to be honest. Partly it’s the same problem that plagues Bartini at The Habtoor: scale. If you want to do gaudy, flashy, mad and glam, you need to do it big. Look at Cavalli Club, for example: it’s grotesque, but it’s so utterly shameless that it travels beyond mere bad taste and into some hitherto undiscovered dimension of gruesome beauty. Gold, meanwhile, is a petite and underwhelming place. The much-vaunted gold floor turns out to be restricted to the otherwise unremarkable VIP area; elsewhere the gold-finish bar and roof are hard to see in the coloured light that washes over everything. The rest of the bar Ã‚— the walls, the alligator-skin seats Ã‚— is white. The entrance impresses more than the bar proper. Once you’re inside and being attended to by the (young, pretty and female, of course) staff, it’s not an unpleasant experience. But it’s not an essential one either. Roll by if you’re at Okku or one of the other Monarch venues, but don’t go out of your way. As an aside, it’s hard not to feel like the owners should have gone in the other direction. The small, literally underground space would have made a perfect grungy indie club; something that would ignite some passion in a way that Gold, sadly, does not.