What makes a hotel into a luxury hotel? By now, most savvy travelers are aware of the service aspect of luxury hotels - how they remember you, and customize your experience. While a lot has been written about luxury hotels from the traveler's point of view, and some has been written from the hotelier's point of view, no one has written about luxury hotel design from a designer's point of view. As a designer with over 30 years experience, and someone who has stayed in a few of these places, I'll try to portray the design world and what informs these hotels.
One of my first luxury hotels was the Tampa Bay Hotel, which I renovated in 1991. The hotel was built a century prior and catered to prosperous late Victorian middle class travelers, advertised by Henry Plant to boost passenger travel on his rail line down the west coast of Florida. The wood verandah stretched along the exterior brick face of the hotel along the Hillsborough River with the skyline of Tampa across the river.
Along the shoreline of the river, a lawn was designed as a promenade garden leading up to the verandah. I was designated as the project architect for the restoration of the wood veranda which had deteriorated in the heat and humidity.
Florida, at the time, was considered exotic and a little dangerous. A Moorish theme was selected by Plant and his wife to echo the architecture of Moorish Spain, and they populated the interior with furnshings, fixtures, and artwork from buying trips that they took to Spain and north Africa.
The main lobby and restaurants occupied the ground floor and opened out onto the verandah, which descended to the sloping lawn. The ballrooms were on the opposite side of the building facing away from the lawn, and the entire plan functioned as a complex but well-designed social interaction machine.
The main ballroom level was topped with five levels of rooms, and a sixth level of tiny rooms up inside the roof's rafters. On the second floor a few public rooms were found at the top of the grand stairs - the card room, a women's parlor, and a library.
Who stayed in the small attic rooms? Why, the servants of course. This is a remnant of the prewar, two-tier economy that existed in Victorian times. For the wealthiest patrons of the hotel, suites on the fourth floor had views over the tops of the trees to the city looking eastward, and on the west side possibly had a glimpse of the Gulf.
Tiny stairs in these suites led up to - you guessed it - small dorm rooms designed for their accompanying help. These rooms, just under the roof, were cramped, dark and sweltering. Good thing there wasn't social media back then.
The restoration work was very straightforward. I measured the elements of the facade, identified what parts needed replacement, and detailed them. While measuring them, I found some parts of the veranda carved wood - never painted - underneath the elevated deck. They could have simply fallen off the scaffold, or were possibly cut wrong (remember the carpenter's motto: measure twice, and cut once). I found bottles, broken plates, and spoons under another part of the porch. All of these were turned over to the Henry B. Plant Museum where they likely sit today.
The Tampa Bay Hotel's design is a physical manifestation of the wealth and class system of late 19th century America. Theming was used to intensify and enhance an experience, as the traveling public was jaded and Florida had a lot of competition back then for the tourist dollar. A grand arrival experience along the front veranda made an indelible impact. The river, acting as an organizing element, created layers of space so that social functions - receptions, parties, proclamations, and other events - could take place on a stage with a backdrop. And finally the rooms themselves were organized to express wealth with the best views going to the wealthiest.
The designers of the Tampa Bay Hotel, John Wood, knew a thing or two about hotels, having designed multiple resort hotels and many in New York City as part of his hospitality design practice. So these little design principles came second nature to him. Many of these features are still in use today. Are the rich different than us? They live differently, we know that; and they vacation differently, too.
What is left behind, if it is of architectural value, can be used like an artifact for new functions. Thus the hotel - which failed in the Great Depression like so many others - has adapted quite nicely to become the University of Tampa.
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