There's no hotel on earth like Chateau Marmont. The Los Angeleno haunt at 8221 Sunset Boulevard has long been something of a pop culture juggernaut by name alone–just its mention brings about a flicker of the eye. It’s where Hollywood goes to hide, for better or worse, and where an attenuated but lush 1930’s and ‘40’s glamour lives on in ironclad elevators, gothic lanterns, potted palm nooks, velvet cushions, tasseled keys, golden light, cigarette smoke lingering on the terraces and an overarching sense that you’re staying amongst friendly–if wild–ghosts.
It’s not a hotel you stay at for luxury trappings. At least, it doesn’t have luxury trappings as we understand them in their current zeitgeist. In lieu of floor to ceiling glass windows and minimalist sofas and trendy lobby scents and all the other tentpoles of upscale contemporary hotel extravagances, you get genuine vintage step-in showers, shabby-chic carpeting and no-frills furnishings. It’s a hotel you stay at to retreat into a long-in-the-rearview-mirror past–and to enjoy the fabulous privacy that comes with the patina.
If you’ve been, you have a story. It’s just that kind of spot. I first visited in college, in the aughts. It was the era of MTV’s The Hills, which visually streamlined West Hollywood into what was ostensibly a sexily packaged and slickly monied music video. As a result, the Chateau became a little bit of an obsession. I “had” to see it. I went for lunch with a friend, who was studying at FIDM, Downtown. I flew to L.A. from Miami basically for this lunch. We ended up seeing a very famous comedian in the driveway.
Another time, when actually staying at the Chateau, my best friend Daniela and I were celebrating her birthday. We drank too much and smoked too many cigarettes and I ended up getting a tattoo at 4:30AM with a bunch of people we met at the bar, and I can still taste the hangover. We loved it though, and, all these years later, still laugh about it. There’s a Polaroid of me somewhere from that night. In it, I’m conversing, whiskey drunk, to a very famous burlesque performer.
Another time, fresh off a flight from London, I checked in but my room wasn’t ready, so I went for a swim in a jet lag fog that felt comforted by the sunbaked pool area’s own lemony, quiet haze. The only other person there was a very famous actor, swimming “laps,” even though the pool is circular and not particularly big.
You get the picture.
This isn’t to say Chateau Marmont stands only on celebrity–I’ve been plenty of times and not had a star sighting. It’s more that it imparts a feeling of star adjacency, heightened by an unwavering emphasis on discretion. It’s real selling point is this: It’s the sort of setting and mood in which, no matter how many people are or aren't looking at you, you feel like you’re getting a break from the world. And that’s insanely important. Especially in this day and age.
In 2020, it was announced that Chateau Marmont would become a member’s club, sending a ripple effect amongst fans–what the hell would that mean? Thankfully, management scrapped the plan, and the hotel recently reopened its booking platforms in full. So here’s my little love-letter to the place, as such, and I hope it inspires you to go, too, and maybe fall in love with it as well. Even if you don’t, you’ll leave with a story to tell.
To book your stay at the Chateau Marmot, a MICHELIN Guide Hotel, click here.
Hero image: Jason Frank Rothenberg
All photos courtesy of Jason Frank Rothenberg
