The Beat

W-holic

September 15, 2011 The Beat

We love the anonymity of hotels, the perfectly piqued generic atmosphere, a buzz of locals and people passing through. Nowhere is this climate more poignant than at the W (any of them), a brand that floats effortlessly on whatever city it anchors. Our first W was Union Square New York, with its corner lounge sanctuary from the protests and flash mobs punctuating Union Square. We passed hours with friends over martinis and thin crust pizza before breezing downtown, hanging on the scent of the lobby.

Our next W was Los Angeles, swollen with house music and the airy crowd at French Tuesday. We weaved through the lounge beds on the patio, balancing a clutch and a glass of champagne, dancing every beat. We forgot we were in Westwood, in Los Angeles, in America. Cloaked in a trail of L’Artisan Parfumeur and the fizz of Laurent Perrier we were (our young mind insisted) almost French.

And we landed at the W San Francisco. Comprehensively urban and as anonymous as an airport, it was thrillingly easy to forget which city we were in, which year. When we moved back to LA it was the W San Francisco we’d make our temporary base, testing everything from the hot chocolate (delicious!) to the spa (every bit Blissful), to the stock of pink champagne and half of the room service menu.

But the best part? The opening of a W in Hollywood, so close we could zipline in.

Our very own W.

Trip to Carasoin

September 14, 2011 Spaaah, The Beat

Carasoin is a beautiful spot located on Robertson Blvd. next to Newsroom Cafe. Appointed in tapestry wallpaper with lacquer sidetables and comfortable beige couches, the waiting room has both the formality of a living room and the comfort of a lounge. We were warmly welcomed, and offered tea or water both before our treatment and after.

Located off the main corridor, our treatment room had a luxuriously high ceiling and a black box theater feel. Deliciously scented candles (pomegranate?) gave warmth to the space, and the treatment bed was appointed with a sheet and full duvet, with a piece of chocolate on the pillow.

Some spa treatments are as old as time (massage anyone?) and some are dubiously cutting edge. Leaning heavily on technology, Carasoin’s signature Intraceuticals Oxygen Facial with Rejuvenate serum would have been considered plastic surgery fifteen years ago. Involving a machine that delivers a vitamin-rich antioxidant serum to skin through a stimulating, deeply penetrating blast of oxygen, the Oxygen Facial promises rejuvenation and hydration, and it delivers.

Our treatment began with a Eucalyptus cleanse and warm foot rub, then proceeded to a second cleanse and Pumpkin Enzyme scrub. Spiced like gingerbread and slightly tingly, the pumpkin scrub combined the efforts of jojoba beads to physically remove dead skin cells and fruit enzymes to chemically address them. We moved next through a series of gentle extractions (so gentle that we fell asleep) but we revived sufficiently for the hyperbaric oxygen spray. Lasting approximately fifteen minutes, the machine’s nozzle mowed the surface of our face with a fine spray of oxygen and serum. We loved the cool smothering of oxygen, (though it did tickle our neck).

We were told at the end of treatment that the serum would absorb fully in the next day, and we’re happy to report that our skin feels tighter and looks clearer.

Maybe there is something to science, after all.

A Night At the Races

September 12, 2011 Hollywood, Speakeasy Swank, The Beat

photo of the french 75 champagne drink at sayers club hollywood By Hollywood standards it was a slow drip. A Tuesday or Thursday at the height of summer, a night here or there for the rest of July and August. But with our devotion to Sayers Club deep in full pitch, we’re verging on a level of attendance seen only in educational settings or the workplace. It’s rare that a nightclub is this good, and like the thrill of your first concert or trip backstage, we’re happy to report that it’s downright exhilarating.

Ambience: A black box theater with tufted leather couches, 1920s light fixtures, a gripping sound system, and rigorous sense of lighting nuance. We’ve compared Sayers to a scaled version of the Edison during its moment (Lucent Dossier, 1920s film projected on the walls). Drinks are classic speakeasy, like our favorite, the French 75 (pictured left). A mixed drink made with gin and tart with lemon juice, the slightly sweet concoction is finished with champagne and a strawberry.

DJ: We’re known for DJing three or four genres a night, moving in and out of each at full blast. The same mentality goes here, where the DJ will spin the Ronettes, the Presets, and Biggie in the same half hour. Seamless, and perfectly on point. The late ’90s/early ’00s concept of Eighties night or hip-hop night is completely irrelevant here, and the single-genre boredom is absent as well.

Live Music: The reason everyone is here. Thursday night Sessions and Tuesday night funk are infamously good, with knock-out cover performances that have the entire crowd on their feet, breathless and stunning guest performances (like Prince last Tuesday) that leave everyone feeling smarter, taller, better-looking, and on a bender of good fortune.

Crowd: 100% music. The best parties revolve around a superordinate purpose beyond straight pick-up dynamics. It might be a great DJ or a weekly residency, but everybody is united by something more ephemeral than their next drink.

Control Freak or In Control?

September 8, 2011 Bliss, Spaaah, The Beat, Yummy

Don’t get us wrong, we at HotelCrush love to delegate like the best of them. (Dress hems? Tailor. Driving? Taxi. Cooking? Well…usually take-out.) But there are certain things when absolutely nothing else will do, and that’s when we take matters into our own hands.

Beauty Treatments: We love the spa, but for moments when we really want to brighten up, we head into the shower with a tub of Bliss’s Blood Orange + White Pepper Sugar Scrub. Exhilaratingly scented and dense with the exfoliating natural alpha hydroxy acids found in sugar cane, we emerge with a new layer of skin, moisturized and back in the game.

Manicures: We’ve met women who swear by their weekly manicures, but we can’t say we’ve seen the light. Aside from being pricey, a regular manicure degrades quickly and a gel manicure runs at least $10-$15 more. Taking matters into our own hands, we purchased a Thermal Spa professional UV lamp, an Opi Axxium starter kit, and CND Shellac nail colors. We have the methodology refined from years of doing our own nails, with a couple of salon gel manicures to learn from the pros. We’re relieved to not be at the whim of the salon’s color selection (a little too ballet pink for our Vendetta taste), nor do we have that disappointing feeling of "My nail is peeling and it’s only been four days." But the best part? We’re able to prep our hands with sunblock before plunging them into the mini tanning booth of the UV nail lamp, something we’ve never seen at a salon.

Birthday Cakes: Though we admit to weekly Magnolia trips when we lived in New York ten years ago, with the cupcake, bundt cake, red velvet craze being what it is, we’re relieved to escape such a competitive sport. We don’t need a lot of birthday cake fuss for our birthday, but when it comes to others, we love to do something homemade. Whether it’s five-dozen mini vanilla cupcakes with chocolate frosting or a chocolate layer cake from scratch, it says "you’re the best" like nothing else.

Lemonade: This one is very dear to us. We love fresh lemonade as much as we hate the bottled kind (it’s as polarizing as the Coke/Pepsi war). So we are jumping-off-the-couch excited for the lemon tree that will soon be growing in the completely renovated backyard. We’re excited for all of the fresh lemonade, lemonade carbonated with SodaStream, lemonade with vodka, lemonade with strawberries that we can take. Now if we could just get a hold of our sugar intake..

The Smoking Scent of Fall

September 5, 2011 The Beat, Yummy

l'artisan parfumeur amber ball Our love of L’Artisan Parfumeur began with the scent of French Tuesday. Sultry, enveloping, imbued with the same charm as the heavy French accents and toasts of Laurent Perrier. It was the fragrance of L’Eau d’Ambre – gorgeous and swelteringly addictive, daring as a first kiss and intimate as candlelight. We sipped champagne and drank each room, infatuated.

Our devotion deepened when we received a gift from French Tuesday. It was an exquisite, triangular red box with three candles, two Mimosa Maurin and one Mure Sauvage. We nurtured them like a bottle of Louis XIV – opening the cap, sniffing, indulgently taking a sip. We burned them sparingly, gently returning them to the box and retying the gold ribbon.

As Fall descends and temperatures get colder, the smells change too. Rain seeping through dry leaves, wet asphalt, spices in place of citrus, hot chocolate instead of lemonade. But if there’s one scent we’d like to leave with you, it’s the aroma of Ambre, tingling like the first cold chill, warm as a beach bonfire, decadent, endless.