Gatecrashing the Disastrous Opening Night of Polymarket’s ‘Situation Monitoring’ Bar

· Vice

Last Friday, the hottest ticket in Washington, D.C. was the opening of “The Situation Room,” a new bar concept from the brains at Polymarket, the world’s largest prediction market. With its name parodying the White House’s decision-making hub, the space was announced midweek on X, accompanied by AI-generated images of cigars, scotch, a giant electronic globe, and a flat screen with a “Nothing Ever Happens Index” set to “100% HAPPENING.” The company boasted that it would be “the world’s first bar dedicated to monitoring the situation,” complete with “live X feeds, flight radar, and Bloomberg terminals” alongside live betting odds. If you’re wondering what kind of person might frequent such an establishment, the critic Mike Crumplar tweeted that it looked like a great place to get sucked off by a “cross-eyed lanyard dude” and watch the [ongoing] suicide of the American empire.

I knew I needed to be there, and immediately texted contacts in the capital to secure an invite.

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The city was rife with speculation. Initially, few details about the opening were provided, and several of my sources hadn’t a clue what to expect. The announcement hadn’t even named a location. Was this for real? Or just a stunt? After a few dead ends, Kelly Chapman—a writer and socialite better known by her online pseudonym “Twitter’s Audrey Horne”—finally procured me the private Partiful link I had been looking for. I was in.

After RSVPing, I read through the listing. It detailed the event as lasting three days, implying it would be more of a temporary pop-up. The given venue was Proper 21, an upscale sports bar. Expanding the party description revealed a lengthy disclaimer in legalese promising that the event would be of an educational nature, that Polymarket would be on hand to explain how prediction markets work, that guests wouldn’t be expected to trade, and were encouraged to consult their employer’s ethics counsels before attending. 

polymarket took over THE BAR Proper 21 in Washington, D.C.

It made sense. “Monitoring the situation” has long been a term favored by politicians aiming to imply they’re doing something when usually they are not. More recently, it has evolved into a memetic, tongue-in-cheek catchphrase for terminally online political junkies who spend their free time surrounded by screens, observing and commentating on often-dismal real-world events for their own entertainment and occasional enrichment, as they respond to rolling TV news channels and flight trackers by placing bets and tweaking their investment portfolios.

Polymarket, alongside its competitor Kalshi, has monetized this pastime, providing these enthusiasts with a platform to gamble not just on sports or elections, but disarmament negotiations, developments in war, disease outbreaks, and many other matters of life and death, pricing cynicism in real time. Understandably, this practice has become a corruption concern for anyone who is actually able to influence policy, and recently, controversy has erupted over shady insider trading allegations. In January, one anonymous, newly-created account netted $400,000 by wagering on the removal of then-Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro, and later in February, high volume, highly profitable activity surrounding the timing of U.S. military strikes on Iran fueled speculation about potential conflict profiteering from those sequestered in war rooms at the White House.

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While prediction markets have long existed—dating all the way back to 16th century betting on papal elections—and have operated in the U.S. in various forms since the Civil War, this past half-decade they’ve become increasingly prominent in American life. Once considered unthinkable, major sports leagues and news outlets now advertise their business partnerships with them, and even the president’s son acts as an adviser and investor. And while American access to Polymarket was restricted in 2022 for lacking CFTC registration, this past year the company has achieved federal legality, and is steadily resuming full operations. 

WE went to find out if the situation room was a real bar or just a stunt

I arrived in D.C. around four, and after dropping my luggage off at a shitty youth hostel, reached the venue about an hour later. Its exterior was wrapped in royal blue, the Polymarket color, and adorned with little crests mimicking the Presidential Seal. Passersby were stopping and snapping pictures. “I pledge allegiance to the bag,” one said, making a brief salute. 

“Controversy has erupted over shady insider trading allegations”

Rounding the corner, I found the media—local, national, even some Europeans—had already massed outside. There were perhaps 50 in total, all in possession of the same investigative impulse. “Do you have the press pass?” A fellow journalist asked me. ‘Oh fuck,’ I thought. ‘What press pass?’ I didn’t even know there was one. All I had was a “Going” approval on Partiful, which I’d assumed would be enough. Luckily, before I could panic, the bouncer—a thin man who bore a striking resemblance to the rapper 2Hollis—recognized me. “You’re Nick Dove from New York, right?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, a little incredulous.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” he smiled, and guided me past the stanchions.

Neal Kumar dealt with journalists before the rain began to fall

I took my place amongst the other journos, and soon after, Neal Kumar, Polymarket’s Chief Legal Officer, came from inside to take some questions and dish out canned responses. “We view this as our ‘coming out’ party in D.C.,” he beamed. “We’ve proven that the concept of prediction markets exist, we’ve proven that the concept is here to stay, and we want to be a part of the conversations here in D.C. Where better to have the conversation than in a bar?”

“The bouncer bore a striking resemblance to 2Hollis”

After Kumar finished, having deftly dealt with allegations about propagating misinformation and potentially facilitating crime, the sky darkened and rain began to fall. The press clustered under the canopies to stay dry, and the photographers cautiously shielded their cameras, anxiously waiting to be let into the bar. 

journalistS were left to wait outside, betting on whether or not they’d eventually get in

We waited… And waited… And waited some more.

Eventually, Josh Tucker, Polymarket’s head of growth and the event’s official “emcee,” emerged from inside, and explained that they were having electrical issues, but to stay on standby. The crowd was half-amused, half-annoyed, swelling with glee that they’d get to report on this fuck-up, but also keen to avoid getting wet. As time passed, suppressed scorn gave way to visible schadenfreude, and some journos began to bet, presumably but not verifiably non-monetarily, on when, if it all, we’d be let inside.

There was a situation at The Situation Room, but ironically, we couldn’t monitor it, only trust the experts. Every ten minutes, we’d receive an update, and gratitude for our patience. “This is so embarrassing,” I overheard someone say. “We should’ve been able to bet on them fucking up,” another quipped. 

“As time passed, suppressed scorn gave way to visible schadenfreude”

Finally, at approximately 6.20PM, nearly an hour after expected, Tucker and Polymarket sheepishly conceded that they’d have to reduce bar functionality for the night, and instead showcase the full experience tomorrow.

The doors opened, and the press rushed inside, at last observing the sights. 

the event was full of journalists, but there were some real people there too

Not surprisingly, it was disappointing. The only working features were a giant globe nicknamed “the Orb,” with a rotating digital display showing flying saucers and miscellaneous futures markets, and an interactive table where one could guess the current odds for certain events. Peering up at the 80-plus pitch-black screens decorating the walls, I thought it a poetic failure. For all their purported foresight, and talk of these markets’ third eyes for the future, when the moment actually arrived, they—we—were all blind. With history, in the end, there’s nothing certain but the fog of the unknown, and dissolution of prior illusions. 

“In the end, there’s nothing certain but the fog of the unknown”

Possibly to apologize for the snafu—or, more likely, negate further bad press—Polymarket announced an open bar. Never able to reject free booze, I availed myself of their offer, and took a seat at the counter, from where I spent most of the night observing the scene.

an open bar did a little to lift the spirits

At first heavily imbalanced with journalists, the invited guests eventually arrived. Although I didn’t witness it, as I’d no desire to step back into the rain, I was told the line outside was long, and the doormen kept turning people away. Those who made it in were mostly who you’d expect: Georgetown students gambling Daddy’s money, blue-blazered crypto bros, tight-lipped administration strivers, some guy with a weird blue puppet asking conservative-coded gotchas, and scant few women. One exception was Stardust, a political streamer who proclaimed herself the “Imam for Wine Moms,” and appeared ideologically distinct from most other attendees. We exchanged socials. 

To be fair, the puppet was one of the better dressed people there

At around 9, likely to save face for its operational failure, Polymarket closed the bar early, inviting us back tomorrow with promises of a better time. Unfortunately (not really), I’d be unable to attend, due to plans in New York the next evening. After a night of pitiful, alcohol-affected sleep, I rode the Greyhound home, underwhelmed by my trip. 

The next night would be better, polymarket promised

On Monday morning, Stardust messaged me, telling me she returned to The Situation Room later that weekend, and giving me the postmortem. It wasn’t much. She said that it basically became a normal D.C. sports bar, the televisions displaying a mix of March Madness, cable news, and odds tickers for both. No great spectacle, and not a good bet for any sustained success. 

How predictable, I thought.

@manabovetown

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