Will the members' club boom reach Milan too?

To the untrained eye, members’ clubs may simply appear as a new model of luxury hospitality: a refined blend of restaurant, bar, and hotel, yet capable of offering a fundamental sense of belonging. And it is precisely this that has been the winning key of the private club formula, which has led cities like New York to experience a significant boom in “elite third places” over the past year. A rather unusual surge in interest, considering that members’ clubs have always existed in the American city, but in recent decades, they have remained anchored to outdated and dusty concepts and have been unable to connect with new generations. According to a recent report by Business of Fashion, the turning point came in the post-pandemic period. While much of traditional hospitality was facing a deep crisis, members’ clubs — thanks to their closed and controlled structure — managed to remain operational. Interest then began to grow among younger audiences, who started to see the “private club” not as a relic of the past century, but as an economic and cultural tool capable of adapting to the needs of a changing society. Hospitality and dining giants like Aman, Tao, and Fasano seized the opportunity and began to reshape and modernize not only the offering but the very essence of members’ clubs. Today, these are no longer exclusive salons in nineteenth-century London style, but authentic cultural incubators that often reflect — even symbolically — the identity of their members. So, it is almost natural to ask: after London and New York, could the next capital of members’ clubs be Milan? The announced opening of Soho House in Milan in the coming years, along with the emergence of similar spaces, seems to suggest so. But are they here to stay, or is this yet another fleeting trend in metropolitan hospitality?

In truth, even in Milan, the concept of a private club is nothing new. It was in the Lombard capital, in fact, that the most exclusive club in Italy was founded in 1901: the Clubino Dadi. A reality that still today represents a model almost opposite to that of contemporary members’ clubs. Gender exclusivity, no guests allowed in reserved areas, and strict selection procedures continue to define it. Just consider that in the historic headquarters of Casa degli Omenoni, a sixteenth-century palace behind Piazza della Scala, as reported in a La Stampa article from 2007, for the admission of just ten new members, within only 48 hours, 150 existing members had already cast their irreversible vote — a process reminiscent of a Conclave. Although it seems that even Clubino Dadi has sought a form of modernization over time, it remains an emblem of the traditional Italian club vision. Understanding the history of such places is essential to interpreting the present: as Nadine Choe, founder of The Stanza Media, notes, members’ clubs are still today a testing ground in a city like Milan. Yet, according to Choe, it is hard to imagine a true boom of these spaces, due to the city’s limited size and a distinctly Italian cultural resistance to anything new. The main difference from the American model lies in the culture itself: while individualism is a foundational value in the United States and justifies paying high fees to access exclusive spaces, in Italy the sense of community is more ingrained, and for many Milanese, the idea of spending 2,000 euros a year to access a restaurant simply doesn’t make sense. After all, Milan is already full of restaurants and bars that function as real social landmarks, even without a membership system.

At the same time, the defining feature of members’ clubs goes well beyond simple dining functions: they are emerging as social hot spots. Their strength lies not so much in hospitality itself, but in the sense of collectivity they build around a selected community. This network of contacts, affinities, and shared references represents the true value of membership, often with a high price tag. It’s not just about accessing a curated and functional space, but about entering a cultural and social circuit that speaks a common language. In this sense, the concept of a “third place” — a space that is neither home nor work, but a point of reference in daily life — becomes central. As Choe emphasizes, what makes these places truly irresistible is their reliability as social spaces and the symbolic power they carry. Belonging to a certain club becomes a form of social and cultural validation, an extension of individual identity through a precise consumer choice that goes far beyond monetary value: “If you had $5,000 to spend, would you buy a new bag you might tire of within a year? Or would you pay for an annual membership that gives you access to like-minded people, a reliable restaurant, and possibly a gym and spa?” An argument that, now more than ever, remains fundamentally relevant within the luxury landscape, where clients are increasingly moving away from “material” goods in favor of the concept of experiential luxury.

And yet, something in Milan’s essence is shifting. Between the ever-growing influence of social media, viral aesthetics, and evolving demographic dynamics, new actors are transforming the city into a cultural laboratory more open to the hybridization of international models. Actors who, unlike the vast majority of the local population, belong to a very different socio-economic class. In recent months, Milan has become increasingly appealing as a haven for the ultra-wealthy — a trend confirmed by the Private Wealth Migration Report by Henley & Partners, which ranked Italy sixth globally for incoming millionaires, with Milan emerging as the top European destination after Portofino. It is precisely this influx of nouveaux-Milanesi — including expats, international professionals, and returning Italians with a global mindset — that is generating new needs and expectations. For this demographic, the members’ club is not an anachronism, but a real opportunity to build connections, access a certain lifestyle, and identify with a selected community. In other words, to be among peers. A change that could redefine, at least in part, how the city understands its urban sociality. After all, even if Italians are not yet entirely ready for the widespread arrival of members’ clubs, Milan certainly is — as evidenced by the openings of venues such as Casa Cipriani, The Wilde, and The Core Club. Are these the “third places” so eagerly sought after by the younger generations?

But if the idea of the “third place” becomes accessible only through payment, it is worth asking: is it truly a space for everyone, or rather a territory reserved for an elite? The proliferation of members’ clubs promotes a subtle yet powerful notion: that in order to network, access high-quality cultural stimuli, and experience a recognizable sense of community, one must have a membership — and thus, economic privilege. This risks delegitimizing everything that spontaneously emerges in public spaces, devaluing the collective, free, and inclusive dimension of urban social life. Streets, squares, cultural centers, and neighborhood cafés still represent fundamental places for gathering and cultural resistance, especially for those who cannot — or do not wish to — enter exclusive circles. The need for a “third place” is broad and transversal; it is not limited to a wealthy few willing to spend significant sums. Now more than ever, not only in Milan but in many global cities, young adults express a growing desire for intermediate spaces capable of blending authentic relationships, accessibility, and a sense of belonging. And it is precisely in these public, shared spaces that perhaps the most important challenge lies: not to replicate Anglo-Saxon models, but to create places where social life can truly be a common good.