A Tale of Two Hotels
A case study in British maximalism
I am not, to put it mildly, the “you only sleep at the hotel” kind of traveler. No, I’m the kind of design-obsessed traveler who chooses properties based on their interior designers, snaps photos of design details like drawer pulls and wastebaskets, and keeps a miles-long “Hotel Bucket List” in my iPhone’s Notes app.
I bookended my recent trip to England with stays in two London properties from that very list: Broadwick Soho, the brainchild of interior designer and avowed maximalist Martin Brudnizki, and The Zetter Marylebone, a Georgian townhome-turned-boutique hotel by award-winning interior designer Russell Sage.
Both properties are unapologetically maximalist, though at first glance their manifestations could not be more different. The color schemes alone - peppy flamingo pinks and pistachio greens at Broadwick Soho, earthy brick reds and terracottas at The Zetter - feel diametrically opposed.
It wasn’t until I returned home and scrolled through my camera roll that I realized that, curiously, both Brudnizki and Sage used many of the same building blocks - shirred lampshades, brass accents, tassels. Though their design vocabularies were similar, the end results could not be more different.
One property felt designed - a perfectly planned, perfectly executed sherbert-colored fantasy - while the other felt collected over time - organically and a bit haphazardly, as though the objects on the walls had only recently emerged from a worn leather suitcase.
THE ARRIVALS
Friday, May 21, 10:55am - Soho, London
I’ve only just left Tottenham Court Road station, and I’m already out of breath. In my defense, I’m fresh off a redeye from Chicago, squinting at Google Maps and dragging a 43-pound suitcase over the cobblestones. Sweat drips down my back; I’ve arrived on the first day of a record-breaking heat wave.
It’s a good thing I’m watching the map, otherwise I would have breezed right past Broadwick Soho’s understated, unmarked red awning. As I approach, the doorman takes my bags and swings open the pink lacquered door.
Instantly, I’ve left the grungy streets of Soho and arrived in a dreamy, cotton candy-colored realm: my eyes take a moment to adjust to the glowy pink lighting, my nose is filled with the heady scent of tuberose and leather, and I fight the urge to collapse into a plush tweed slipper chair, relieved to have found my home for the next 24 hours. My tired eyes can’t decide where to look: the glitzy Murano chandelier, the exotic birds lining the wallpaper, the group portrait near the elevator. The AC, blessedly, is at full blast.
As I hand the receptionist my passport, I can’t help but notice how my travel uniform - a black mesh hoodie, black leggings, and black slip-on sneakers - clashes with my glamorous surroundings; I feel a bit like a goth girl rolling up to Barbie’s dream house. Luckily, a shower and a wardrobe change are in my immediate future: my room will be ready momentarily.
Thursday, May 28, 9pm - Marylebone, London
I flinch as the cabbie dumps our suitcases onto the sidewalk, hoping that my porcelain parrot candlesticks are still intact by the time we unpack. The evening air is still muggy; temps in London topped 88 degrees Fahrenheit today. The bird’s egg blue front door to The Zetter Marylebone is propped open; though our room is air-conditioned, the ground floor Parlour is not.
As soon as my mom and I cross the threshold, Armi, the dapper concierge in an immaculately tailored plaid suit, greets us as if we’re old friends returning from a long and arduous journey, waves us into a pair of antique Georgian armchairs and smoothly presses cool glasses of lemon water into our sweating palms.
I feel as though we’ve accidentally stumbled into a private townhome, rather than a hotel lobby. There is no check-in desk - only a rickety antique tea table outfitted with a Macbook. The floor is covered in Persian rugs, I’ve counted at least eight different historic styles of dining chairs along with the mustard velvet divan, and there is nary an overhead light in use - just wobbly sconces with tilted shades and an abundance of mismatched table lamps.
Every last inch of the deep brick red walls and ceilings is covered with art and artifacts: stone and plaster architectural elements that look like they’ve been excavated from an ancient Roman palazzo, elaborate frescos on the ceilings, shelves of leather bound books with faded gilt titles.
Armi hands us the key to our room - and of course there’s no electronic key card in sight, it’s a heavy brass key, worn along the handle with age and use.
THE CREATIVE BRIEFS
Curiously, the creative concepts for each property were more similar than I’d expected, as if they were distant cousins from opposite ends of the same family tree.
Brudnizki’s inspiration for Broadwick Soho? “Studio 54 meets your grandmother’s Soho townhouse,” the type of space where you’d “combine chintz with a disco ball.” I pictured this fictional proprietress as an English Iris Apfel: mostly glamorous and a bit bohemian, with an enviable jewelry collection and impeccable taste in art.
Sage’s design for The Zetter, by contrast, was inspired by the fictional wicked Uncle Seymour: an eccentric world traveler, avid collector, and obsessive gambler who is known to down a martini (or five) in his plush parlour that plays host to aristocrats and rascals alike (often in the same evening). I can practically picture Grandmother Iris dropping in on Uncle Seymour for a stiff gin and tonic and a hand of poker.
THE DESIGN DETAILS
Layered lighting
Both properties employ layered lighting to great effect, but in opposite directions: at Broadwick, shelves and moldings are uplit with recessed track lighting, creating a subtle disco ball-esque effect across the shiny lacquered ceilings. At The Zetter, the collection of mismatched table lamps and sconces cast warm pools of down light that are especially cozy after dark (warning: you may be tempted to order another cocktail).
Glass & mirrors
Broadwick’s interiors are practically a love letter to glittering Murano glass: the blush toned chandeliers in the lobby had my heart aflutter, while the sparkling emerald green mirror in my room felt fit for a mermaid. The effect is pure frivolity and fun.
By contrast, Sage uses mirrors at The Zetter to emphasize the property’s layers of patina: the mercury glass panels around the fireplace practically fade into the background as they reflect their storied surroundings. Convex mirrors - a style popular during the Regency era - lend a sense of gravitas, perched above bookshelves and between windows as though they’ve always been there.
Fringe & tassels
In Brudnizki’s capable hands, fringe is pure fun (and never fussy). Punchy pink tassels adorn the tweed slipper chairs in the lobby while pom-pom trim adorns the shades on the chandelier. Even the mirrored night stands are tasseled, though this time in unlacquered brass (and yes, I am searching for dupes of these knobs for my dining room sideboard).
At The Zetter, the embellishments are more old world: think heavy brocade drapes with tasseled ties, where there’s a chance that an ancient moth might fly out every time you close the curtains.
Books
One of the most magical spaces at Broadwick Soho is The Nook: an intimate, guests-only lounge and sitting room. The front wall is lined with built-in bookshelves stocked with glossy tomes: a range of exhibition catalogues, fashion books, and a pile of novels that seemed well-worn (though I’m not sure anyone actually comes to The Nook to read: every guest was buried in their phone when I arrived).
The books on the shelves at The Zetter, by contrast, appear to have been exceptionally well-loved - to the point where their leather binding may start to disintegrate in your hands. What looks to be an entire set of ancient encyclopedias are under lock and key in a glass cabinet in the Parlour.
Art
It’s difficult to overstate the volume of art on the walls at Broadwick Soho; I passed at least ten paintings between the elevator and my room. My personal favorite? The small seascape above my bed, courtesy of British painter Laura Gee (though I did also love the double portrait by Annie Kevans in the lobby). I may or may not have pulled the seascape off the wall to inspect the back; I was curious to see if I’d find any reference to the site it depicted.
At The Zetter, the art wasn’t just on the walls: it was literally painted onto the ceilings, too, with frescoes that were sometimes grand historical scenes, at other times purely decorative (I was partial to the royal swans in the hallway). A portrait - presumably of a sneering Uncle Seymour - hangs above the fireplace, while the walls are decorated with a mix of black-and-white family photographs, old world etchings, and an impressive collection of moldings and artifacts that would have been right at home as part of Sir John Soane’s collection.