It’s a snowy spring evening in Denver, and my husband and I are lounging on a plush sofa beneath opulent chandeliers while a pianist plucks out the notes of Wicked’s “Defying Gravity.” The room is buzzing with servers dressed in white skirts and suits carrying crystal trays and charcuterie boards, while managers wearing evening gowns and fitted jackets flit from one table to the next. At first glance, one could mistake this for a scene from The Great Gatsby—if DiCaprio ditched the champagne for bong rips. It’s all thanks to creator Arend Richard that residents of the Mile High City can now enjoy their ganja with a side of glamour at Cirrus Social Club.

The cannabis lounge, which opened on April 18, has been years in the making. Richard, a local entrepreneur who got his start in the marijuana scene through a weed-friendly YouTube channel, planned to open the Congress Park lounge in 2023, but red tape set him back two years. “City licensing cost me $500,000 in investment funds, so I had to spend a year finding new investors to take the project on,” Richard says. His persistence paid off, and he successfully raised an additional $2.5 million to convert the former tae kwon do studio into one of Denver’s only marijuana hospitality businesses.

The vibe is truly unlike any other, but it still has to play by the state’s rules. Like a traditional dispensary, Cirrus must have a restricted area limited to those over 21 years old, and employees must verify guests’ age twice. But unlike the sterile waiting rooms of a typical pot shop, walking into Cirrus feels like arriving at an elite club.

As soon as we step through the heavy black doors, the din of Colfax Avenue disappears. It’s replaced with soothing fresh roses, elegant paintings in gold picture frames, and a plush seating area. My husband and I hand our IDs to the front desk employee, who buzzes us into the lounge.

This is when my nerves kick in. The space itself, designed by Littleton-based Inside Stories, is illuminated by warm lights and Cirrus’ staff is welcoming, but I’ll be honest: I’m not much of a canna-connoiseur. Sure, everyone who’s gone to college in Colorado has had a joint at a party, but I consider myself a one-hit wonder. Thankfully, those jitters fade as our server slash budtender (dubbed “flight attendants” at Cirrus) guides us through the experience.

The lounge’s opening weekend features a six-course session ($75 per person) that begins with a starter—in this case, a single Wana gummy. My eyes dart to the THC and CBD percentages, trying to figure out which is more likely to knock out this rookie, but our flight attendant explains that the experience isn’t designed to leave you blitzed. Rather, the starter serves to either provide a “quick lift” or a “quick calm.” Then, she asks us where our cannabis experience falls, on a scale of one to five. When I admit I’m a newbie, she recommends I try the calming gummy, which at only one milligram of THC, acts like a small pour of wine.

As we wait for our gummies (which arrive in a small crystal dish), another flight attendant sets a strange bronze contraption that resembles a small coat rack next to our table. This, we learn, is our volcano bag stand. The servers heat cannabis flower with a vaporizer, and then fill a plastic bag topped with an orange valve and black mouthpiece with the resulting vapor. But unlike those frat parties of yore, where it might have been a challenge to inhale the bag’s contents in one sitting, at Cirrus, it’s like sipping on a cocktail. We take small puffs from our respective bags (mine is filled with a beginner-friendly strain from Denver’s L’Eagle dispensary) as we wait for the third course: a shareable charcuterie board.

The meats, cheeses, and olives disappear embarrassingly fast before our budtender delivers the main: a bong. Embellished with roses and lined with gold-colored hardware around the neck, this glass isn’t like the crusty one your former roommate left on your coffee table. We each pick our strain from three options (classified by both flavor profiles and THC strengths) in a bowl holder. For those uncomfortable sharing glass, Cirrus also provides mouthpieces.

This is the point in the evening where I start to feel delightfully toasted—but not in an uncomfortable way. To pass the time in between puffs, we work through a deck of conversation starter cards created by Cirrus and get stuck on Would you rather fight a horse-sized duck or one hundred duck-sized horses? “A horse-sized duck might be ferocious,” my husband says as we erupt into a five-minute giggle fit.

Our last two courses consist of small shareables and dessert—but don’t expect caviar service. While the atmosphere might exude extravagance, Richard describes the food at Cirrus as “elevated munchies.” The bagel bite trio topped with pepperoni, cheese, and a drizzle of honey is just what we need. Other options include deviled eggs, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and ants on a log. Dessert is simple but appreciated: an ice cream sundae with your selection of toppings (or an oatmilk sundae for vegans). And since marijuana establishments are prohibited from selling alcohol, we sip on a Shirley Temple and an Arnold Palmer throughout the evening.

“There’s literally nothing out there that exists like what we’re doing, and I’m so excited to finally bring it to people,” Richard says. But the people will need patience—the waitlist to get into Cirrus rivals Casa Bonita, with more than 6,000 names in the queue. Richard says his team will likely spend the whole year getting through the list of first-timers before looking to host events in the future and expand the exclusive membership program.

Until then, the novelty of Cirrus might be just the kind of revival Colorado needs. The local retail cannabis industry has been struggling for years, and marijuana sales hit a seven-year low last year. As the first state to legalize recreational marijuana, it’s about time Colorado lived up to its mile-high moniker. It seems Cirrus might be a step in the right direction.

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