For someone who thrives on movement, I travel with purpose. And when it comes to where I stay, I want more than proximity or polish. I want something that echoes the pleasures of home. Not a replica, but a resonance. A place where the lighting is warm, the towels thick, and the welcome—however discreet—feels heartfelt.

Luxury, for me, isn’t about how grand the chandelier is. It’s about whether the staff knows your name by the second morning. Whether breakfast arrives without needing to ask twice. Whether there’s a chair in the room that actually invites you to read.

The older I get, the less impressed I am by cavernous lobbies, bellhop theatrics, or room keys disguised as avant-garde sculpture. What I crave instead is a hotel that greets me not just with polish—but with presence. A place where I exhale upon entering. A place that understands the difference between style and showmanship.

When people ask how I choose where to stay, the answer is simple: I book the hotel that feels most like home. Not my literal house, of course—but the values my home embodies: calm, curation, comfort, and thoughtful beauty.

Details That Whisper, Not Shout
I’m not dazzled by flash. I look for intelligent details: crisp white linens edged with the faintest embroidery. A reading lamp placed exactly where I’d have one at home. A bathroom that makes morning rituals feel indulgent, not industrial.

I gravitate to places with a sense of narrative—where design nods to local culture without descending into theme. And when I find that just right place, I return again and again.

The Familiarity Factor
We often assume travel is about the unfamiliar. But for me, the best trips are anchored by one familiar constant: a hotel that makes me feel seen. When a robe actually fits, or when a bedside carafe has just enough lemon, I feel instantly at ease.

Hotel as Home Base—and Mirror
A well-chosen hotel reflects your values back to you. I favor spaces that are softly lit, quietly elegant, and furnished with a collector’s eye. Even far from Chicago, these rooms remind me of who I am and how I like to move through the world.

Once, at a Bangkok hotel, I was greeted by a handwritten quote on my bedside table from the evening’s turndown service: “Luxury must be comfortable, otherwise it is not luxury.” (Coco Chanel, naturally.) I tucked it into my wallet. That’s what a great hotel does—it sends you home with more than a receipt.

My Go-To Hotels
Here are a few places I return to again and again—not just for their beauty, but because they understand something deeper: that hospitality is less about performance and more about presence.

• JK Place, Paris. Tucked off the Seine, JK Place feels like your impossibly stylish friend’s Left Bank apartment—if your friend also had a sommelier on speed dial. The lobby is layered with design books and conversation-starting sculpture. The rooms? Soft-edged, light-dappled, perfectly appointed. Luxury whispers here.
• Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc, Antibes. Yes, it’s iconic. But what I love isn’t the glamour—it’s the quiet. Morning coffee by the sea feels nearly spiritual. I’ve rethought marketing campaigns watching waves lap the rocks and drafted negotiation strategies on the back of a poolside menu. Beauty this focused clears the mind.
• The Connaught, London. A brilliant mix of British tradition and modern calm. The floral arrangements are sculptural, the martinis artful. And the rooms—especially corner suites—make you feel like you live in Mayfair. I once fell asleep mid-call, lulled by the weight of the drapery and serenity of good design.
• Hotel de Russie, Rome. Steps from the Piazza del Popolo, it somehow feels both like an urban palace and a secret garden. Breakfast in the courtyard is a ritual. The rooms, all soft linen and marble, reflect Rome’s ancient soul without shouting it.
• The Norman Hotel, Tel Aviv. This is my Tel Aviv reset button. Bauhaus bones, a rooftop pool, and mint tea served like a love letter. Every detail is thoughtful. It’s not just about staying—it’s about feeling welcomed back, even on your first visit.

The Pattern Behind the Places
Each of these hotels speaks the same language: discretion, delight, and design that understands how people actually live. No excess for the sake of it. No brand signatures that scream. Just balance. Softness. And the sense that someone imagined not just what would impress, but what would restore.

Happily Ever Always™, Room Service Edition
What these hotels teach me—and what I bring home to real estate—is this: the best environments aren’t the flashiest. They’re the ones that help you feel most like yourself. That remember your favorite tea. That make room for both beauty and exhale.

So whether you’re traveling for work or pleasure, seek out places that feel less like a performance and more like a promise. A promise that comfort, elegance, and familiarity can coexist. That home, wherever you are, is a feeling you can pack.

Because Happily Ever Always™ isn’t confined to your zip code. It’s a mindset—and the best hotels know how to host it.