‘A hair-blowing-back experience’: Go inside Las Vegas’ most exclusive gym

About the only thing missing from Kilo Club is a velvet rope.

Or, possibly, a moat, which would complement its many custom-made exercise machines that bring to mind medieval torture devices — down to the spikes that have been added atop some of their frames.

The gym, the most exclusive in the valley, has done just about everything else to keep the general public at bay.

Jea Jung, who previously owned City Athletic Club, says he realized Las Vegas lacked a gym “that guaranteed that it would never be busy.” So he capped the number of members at 1,000 (hence the Kilo branding), required those members to be at least 21 years old, didn’t offer day passes and set monthly fees at a price — $285 as of the latest increase — that would make many an eye water.

Kilo Club opened in Tivoli Village in 2019. There’s been a waiting list to join ever since.

Difference between good and great

Jung has spent thousands upon thousands of hours in gyms, lifting weights and training others, going back to his years as a competitive bodybuilder. For Kilo Club, he bought the machines he knew he liked. He commissioned or created others, sometimes Frankenstein-ing existing equipment together, to fill the void.

“I’ve got probably the coolest selection of equipment there is,” Jung says, noting that roughly half of the machines have been custom built. “Now that we have educated consumers that go to gyms, and they know the difference between good equipment and great equipment, I think that’s one of our great selling points.”

Along the way, Jung also redesigned the dumbbell.

Kilo Club is stocked with jBells, the visually striking devices that support the wrist and distribute their weight evenly on four sides.

“It’s really just a physics solution to a design that’s just kind of been carried over for no reason, except that’s the way you’ve always done it,” Jung says.

The jBells allow for a wider range of motion and lessen the reliance on the strength of the user’s wrists and grip — both of which, he notes, we tend to lose as we get older.

The result resembles the type of gauntlet you’d want at your disposal if you’re ever called upon to fight monsters on a distant planet.

Things you won’t find elsewhere

“It’s just, like, toys on toys on toys on toys,” club manager Sierra Mangus says of Kilo Club’s equipment. “We’re just nerds. We wanted fun stuff to play with.”

In one section of the gym, you’ll find weighted logs, steel maces like the ones used by ancient Persian warriors and war hammers that would give Thor’s Mjölnir a run for its money.

Bring them into the MMA room, which includes a partial cage, and you can replicate the training montage from any of the movies in which Jean-Claude Van Damme travels to a foreign land to fight to the death.

“I gave a tour to this gentleman the other day,” Mangus says, “and he goes, ‘I’ve been working out for 40 years, and I’ve never seen half of these things before.’ It was a hair-blowing-back experience for him.”

Topping the list of things you won’t find at other local gyms are the hulking statues of twin winged warriors, made from scrap metal by artists in Thailand, that keep watch over the place.

They also lean into the overall aesthetic that provides the sensation of working out in a Buddhist retreat — and its neighboring sex dungeon.

Kilo Club’s curtains are made from bicycle chains. An upholsterer replaces the standard padding on each machine for a uniform look of stitched black leather. Custom-made hurricane machines are positioned in front of walls of roses.

And, much like in the “Fifty Shades” series, Kilo Club’s hottest room is bathed in red.

That would be the infrared room, where it’s always 93 degrees. Designed to prepare the body for a lifting session, it’s big enough to also house lighted crystal trees as well as stretch cages that would leave a Cirque performer tied in knots. The room is so spacious, Jung says, “I think there’s maybe one in Florida” that compares.

There’s even a library stocked with everything from the Bhagavad Gita to “I’m OK — You’re OK.”

Mangus recalls a recent conversation in which a member quoted a certain Danish theologian.

“At what (other) gym,” she asks, “are you going to have a spontaneous discussion about Kierkegaard at the front desk?”

‘A gym for introverts’

So who is all of this for?

According to Jung, celebrities, athletes and anyone who generally wants to be left alone to work out.

“I often joke that it’s a gym for introverts,” he says.

Given Kilo Club’s limited enrollment and 24-hour schedule, members can expect to see fewer than 30 others spread out over its 30,000 square feet at any given time.

“That hour that you have for your workout — whether it’s for your health, whether you’re trying to recover from an injury, whether you’re an athlete — it’s the most sacred hour of the day,” Jung says.

He’s gone all out to limit distractions, keeping the lights low, the color scheme muted and the music of a style and volume you’d expect to find at a spa.

There are no classes and no personal trainers on staff. No child care, no climbing wall and no swimming pool.

“It’s for a very specific person,” Jung admits. “But if you’re that person, there’s nothing else like it.”