The Fauve-inspired poster of Louise Brooks on the back wall should be your first indication that the Seville isn't your average Minneapolis skin shack. Then there's the exposed brick, the elegant design scheme, and the shockingly non-surly staff. All the best elements of stripclubbery (candlelight, boobs, enthusiastic DJ) are present and accounted for, while the worst (bad drinks, hideous logo merchandise, the whiff of desperation) are mercifully absent. Couples and co-workers are just as likely to frequent the Seville as the letch-next-door, and the overall vibe is more Adrian Lyne than T.T. Boy. Even a quaking strip club novice—or reluctant wife—could easily get comfortable in this atmosphere. Best of all, the entertainers seem relaxed and pampered: There's no aggressive lap-dance hustle. If you crave top-shelf vodka, shelflike bosoms, and an intimate nightclub atmosphere, then the Seville is your joint—just don't expect to see any pole tricks.