You walk down the stairs. It smells like stale PBR, decades of cigarette smoke—even though you can't light up in most places anymore—and a sort of history you just can't manufacture in a corporate boardroom. This is the basement of the Clermont Motor Hotel on Ponce de Leon Avenue. It’s gritty. It’s dark. And right there, usually near the jukebox or crushing a beer can between her breasts, is Blondie.
If you haven’t met Anita Rae Strange, better known to the world as Blondie, you haven’t actually seen Atlanta. She is the heartbeat of the Clermont Lounge, a place that has survived urban renewal, health department scares, and the gentrification of the entire Ponce corridor.
Most people come for the kitsch. They stay because Blondie is a force of nature. She isn’t your typical dancer. Honestly, she never was. She’s a poet, an entertainer, and a local folk hero who has outlasted nearly every other nightlife staple in the city.
Why the Clermont Lounge and Blondie Define Atlanta Culture
Atlanta is a city that loves to tear things down. We love new shiny glass towers. We love luxury apartments that all look exactly the same. But the Clermont Lounge is the refusal to change. Since 1965, this basement has operated as the city's oldest strip club, though calling it a "strip club" feels slightly inaccurate to anyone who has actually been there. It’s more of a communal living room where the rules of polite society go to die.
Blondie started working there in the late 1970s. Think about that for a second. She has been a fixture of the Atlanta nightlife scene for over forty years. In a world where "influencers" vanish after six months, Blondie’s longevity is practically miraculous.
She became famous for her signature move: crushing empty Pabst Blue Ribbon cans with her breasts. It’s a feat of strength that has been witnessed by everyone from Anthony Bourdain to Morgan Freeman. It’s weird. It’s impressive. It’s quintessentially Clermont. But there is a depth to her that the "can-crushing" headlines often miss. She writes poetry. She’s observant. She has seen the city transition from a gritty Southern hub to a sprawling international metropolis, and she’s done it all from the same stage.
The Mystery of the Clermont Motor Hotel
For years, the hotel above the lounge was a wreck. It was a literal flophouse. If you were staying at the Clermont Hotel in the early 2000s, things probably weren't going great for you. The city eventually shut the hotel portion down in 2009 due to numerous health and safety violations. It sat rotting for years, a hulking grey ghost on Ponce.
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Everyone assumed the lounge would die with it.
Investors eventually bought the building and turned the upstairs into a high-end boutique hotel with a rooftop bar that serves $15 cocktails. It’s fancy. It has "Hotel Clermont" in bright neon letters. But the basement? The developers knew better than to touch the basement. They left the Clermont Lounge and Blondie exactly where they were.
It creates this bizarre, beautiful contrast. You have wealthy tourists upstairs sipping French 75s, and then they wander downstairs to get shouted at by a drag queen or watch Blondie recite a poem before flattening a piece of aluminum. It’s the only place in Atlanta where a billionaire and a bike courier are treated with the exact same level of respectful indifference.
The Reality of the "Blondie" Legend
Let's be real about the vibe. If you go to the Clermont expecting a polished Vegas show, you’re going to be horrified. This is a place with duct tape on the cushions and a bathroom that you’ll want to tell your doctor about later. Blondie is the queen of this chaos.
She’s often seen wearing her signature blonde wig and a collection of eclectic outfits. She’s blunt. She’s funny. She’s also a reminder that aging doesn't mean disappearing. In an industry—and a society—that is obsessed with youth, Blondie’s refusal to stop performing is a radical act. She has turned herself into a living landmark.
There’s a common misconception that the Clermont is a "sad" place. People who haven't been there think it's some sort of exploitative dive. It's actually the opposite. There is a fierce sense of protection around the dancers, especially Blondie. The regular crowd doesn't tolerate disrespect. You don't go there to gawp; you go there to participate in a ritual.
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Dealing with the "New" Atlanta
The area around the lounge has changed beyond recognition. Across the street is Ponce City Market, a massive, upscale food hall and office complex located in the old Sears, Roebuck & Co. building. Ten years ago, that stretch of Ponce was considered "dangerous" by some. Now, it’s where you go to buy $100 candles.
Through all of this, the Clermont Lounge has remained a sanctuary for the weird. Blondie has spoken in various interviews over the years—and in her published poetry—about the soul of the city. She’s seen the "street" get scrubbed away.
"I’m the last of the Mohicans," she once told a local reporter.
She isn't wrong. Most of the other legendary dives are gone. The Masquerade moved. Numerous bars have been leveled for parking lots. Yet, the basement persists.
What to Expect When You Visit
If you're planning to head down to see Blondie at the Clermont Lounge, there are some unwritten rules you should probably know. First, it’s cash only. There’s an ATM, but the fees are exactly what you’d expect from a basement bar. Don’t be that person.
Second, don't take photos. They are very, very strict about this. In the age of Instagram, it’s one of the few places left where you can actually be in the moment without a thousand screens glowing in your face. If you try to sneak a picture of Blondie, you’ll likely get kicked out, and honestly, you’d deserve it. Respect the privacy of the space.
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- The Music: The jukebox is legendary. It’s a mix of classic rock, soul, and stuff you haven't heard in twenty years.
- The Drinks: Stick to beer or simple mixed drinks. This isn't the place for a complex mojito.
- The Cover Charge: It varies, but it’s usually affordable. It goes toward keeping the lights on (barely) and the dancers paid.
- Blondie’s Poetry: If you’re lucky, she’ll read to you. Pay attention. It’s raw, honest, and usually pretty funny.
The E-E-A-T Factor: Why This Matters
Journalists like Anthony Bourdain didn't just visit the Clermont because it was "edgy." They went because it represented something authentic. In his Parts Unknown episode on Atlanta, Bourdain sat with Blondie and recognized her as a peer—a fellow traveler in the world of the gritty and the real.
Experts in urban sociology often point to the Clermont as a "third space." It’s not home, it’s not work, it’s a place where social hierarchies flatten. Blondie is the facilitator of that flattening. Whether you’re a celebrity like Robert De Niro or a local cook finishing a shift, she treats you with the same gravelly charm.
There are limitations to the "dive bar" glamor, though. It’s loud. It’s crowded. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. But for many Atlantans, the fear isn't that the Clermont is "too much"—it's the fear that one day it will be gone. When Blondie eventually decides to hang up the wig, a massive piece of the city's identity will go with her.
How to Support Local Icons
Supporting the Clermont Lounge and performers like Blondie isn't just about buying a beer. It’s about acknowledging that "grit" has value. In 2026, as AI and digital experiences take over more of our lives, the physical, messy reality of a place like the Clermont becomes even more precious.
You can actually find Blondie’s book of poetry, The Blondie Papers, if you look hard enough in local Atlanta bookstores or online. It gives a much clearer picture of the woman behind the "can-crushing" myth. She is a storyteller.
Actionable Insights for Your Visit
- Bring Small Bills: You're going to want to tip the dancers. It’s how the ecosystem works.
- Go on a Weeknight: If you want a chance to actually talk to Blondie or the staff, Friday and Saturday nights are too chaotic. A Tuesday night at the Clermont is a completely different, and often better, experience.
- Check the Schedule: While Blondie is there most nights, she’s a human being. She takes nights off. Don't be devastated if she's not there; the other dancers are equally part of the lounge's fabric.
- Respect the "No Photos" Rule: I cannot stress this enough. Put your phone away. Look at the walls. Look at the people. Soak in the history.
- Park Carefully: The parking lot for the hotel and lounge can be a nightmare. Consider a rideshare. It's safer anyway if you're planning on having a few PBRs.
The Clermont Lounge isn't just a bar. Blondie isn't just a dancer. They are the guardians of a version of Atlanta that refuses to be erased. They remind us that beauty isn't always polished, and that sometimes, the most important stories are told in the basement.
When you leave, walking back up those stairs into the humid Atlanta night, you’ll feel a little bit different. Maybe a little bit stickier. But you’ll have seen something real. In a world of filters and "curated experiences," that’s worth the cover charge every single time.