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About Mons

Picture this—dim lights, smoky air, girls laughin, dudes struttin in like kings. Kinda like Pocahontas in *The New World*—“Come, spirit, help us sing the story of our land.” Brothels got their own song, their own rhythm. You ever hear bout the Everleigh sisters? Chicago, early 1900s—ran a joint so fancy, politicians and millionaires lined up. Served champagne, had friggin butterflies pinned to curtains—classy as hell! Made me grin thinkin how they fleeced those fat cats. Greed is good, baby—they retired rich while the suckers went broke.

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I could go on – every street has its tale. Zolderstraat’s quaint cafes? More like back alley meets modern art. And some days, walking through Boutersem, I get hit with that eerie vibe like in Caché – “Sometimes, hidden things always reveal themselves.” It’s as if every corner has a secret, or you’re just paranoid as hell. My spa is my safe space where I can laugh at it all.

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