I am not Johnny Marco in Somewhere. I do not have a Ferrari, a broken arm, or an acting career. Phoenix’s “Love Like a Sunset, Pt. 1” doesn’t quietly play in the background as I sip sparkling water and stare out the window wistfully at a palm tree. Hotel living has been romanticized in film, television, and my brain since I can remember. The glamour of shuffling down to the pool in a robe and slippers, a crisp New York Times under your arm, feels luxurious and simple.
COVID-19 is wreaking havoc on routines, offices, and maybe even the traditional signing of a lease on an apartment. But this limbo we are living in is giving us some unexpected and welcomed freedoms. We don’t have to be anywhere, so why not float? For those looking to invest in a change of scenery, longish-term hotel-style living is more realistic than ever. Rolling Zoom calls in your pajamas is much more pleasant from a hotel bed with crisp linens. The glaring privilege of this outlook is not lost on me.
For the last month, displaced from New York by choice, I have been bunked up in a studio at Villa Carlotta in the Franklin Village section of Los Angeles. The Spanish Colonial–style building, constructed in 1926 by the developer Luther T. Mayo, was renovated to keep the original charm and reopened in 2018. And yes, there is a crystal blue saltwater pool.
My room is spacious and air-conditioned, has a kitchen, a walk-in closet, and Byredo Gypsy Water–scented products in the bathroom. Room 210 overlooks that pool, which is serene and quiet most days. If I need to do laundry, I take it downstairs and handle it myself; they provide detergent. I park on the street. There is no room service or scene-causing bar. It’s well appointed and comfortable, quiet and nondescript. The gym has a full set of kettlebells and two Peloton bikes.
Is this the perfect way to live?
The investment firm behind Villa Carlotta thinks so. They recently opened a second property, the James, down the street. Designed as a 1920s Mediterranean Revival–style apartment-hotel, this property offers a few classic hotel rooms, but the rest are meant for 30 days or more. Since the public health crisis began escalating in mid February in the U.S., the American Hotel and Lodging Association reports that hotels have lost more than $46 billion in room revenue. In New York City, the Standard East Village has sent out emails for monthly stays at $3,000—not bad, considering the average rent on a one-bedroom in the neighborhood. Will we see a boom in these types of extended stays with our passports rendered useless for the foreseeable future? Forget a permanent (and lame) move to the suburbs, flee to sunny Los Angeles for a month or two to decompress, work remotely, get a tan, and channel your Johnny Marco. Sequester yourself in a high-floor East Village suite, surrounded by plenty of al fresco dining options. You will forget all about Westchester or Fairfield.
I have settled in nicely. I’m feeling more productive and creative than ever. Not having my things, piles of clothes, books, magazines, and general comforting clutter is jarring and then freeing. The people I encounter are friendly and can hold a quick conversation but aren’t trying to become best friends or pitch a script. It’s a strange little community that feels grounding and healthy in a time of chaos and uncertainty. Replacing our grim reality with a sunny fantasy is the best decision I have made in a long time. The world’s ills persist, but in this environment I feel more equipped to handle them. Plus, time outside prevents incessant doom scrolling.