I am not a member of the Soho House Barcelona. I am not a member of any Soho House around the world. And yet, here I am — about to saunter through the front doors without a second glance.
It's been almost exactly 30 years since the first Soho House opened in London. Since then, the trendy, members-only institution has expanded to some 45 properties around the world. Time has not diminished its reputation, nor its exclusivity. In 2024, over 100,000 hopefuls remain on the waitlist to join worldwide. If you manage to meet the club’s qualifications, outlast the waitlist, and impress the selection committee, you’ll pay a few thousand dollars a year for full membership.
But there’s a secret entryway. At Soho Houses around the world, a hotel component has been added to the roster. Pay for a night, and you’re as good as a member. In Barcelona for a day, I decide to see just what it’s like. I'll admit just a touch of trepidation.
At check out, my privileges vanish like Cinderella’s carriage.
This account is written strictly from memory. Among the Soho House rules is a ban on any video, photography, tablets, or PCs, with only a few exceptions. But even without a phone full of photos, the location just outside of the historic Barrio Gotico neighborhood (facing the Marina Port Vell at the corner of the Duc de Medinaceli Square) is impossible to forget. Walk inside and the house style washes over you, a bohemian aesthetic inside an 18th century building stocked with Catalan bricks and opulent ceramics.
But with the clock ticking down on my membership, I don't have time to stare.
I would typically take this time to read the morning paper and munch a tostada, but at Soho Club, it becomes apparent, the morning is for the gym. Already, it’s the teeming site of runners, cyclers, and weight lifters: a collection of people who have seemingly never even heard of tostadas.
Before I’m guilted into the treadmill, I head to the basement for a look at the large indoor pool, lined with tiles in the style of Catalan architect Lluís Domènech i Montaner (whose work can be found at the historic Sant Pau Art Nouveau Site). The Cowshed Spa has the feel of a 1930s barber shop, and a nearby staff member cheerfully explains that the name dates back to 1995 and the second Soho House ever founded. In that Georgian manor house in Somerset, the first Soho House spa was born — set in the manor’s old stable.
This one’s a more exclusive stable than I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’m tempted to book the “Pre-Party Workout,” a facial exercise that promises to restore the radiance of the skin. I have no party planned tonight, though, so I bid the spa adieu and continue my journey into the Soho world.
The Club is the beating heart of every Soho House around the world, and I grasp the energy of this place immediately. This is not the spot to read a book. This is no ashram. This is an elegant, yet informal, club in which to designers, stylists, architects, and artists sip Soho Mules and pop olives. If you’re hoping to jump into a conversation, make sure to have an anecdote outside the world of finance. One qualification of Soho House membership: employment in a field of creativity or art.
A few floors up is the spectacular rooftop terrace, among the most beautiful in the city, with its own bar/restaurant and a nicely sized pool. I stop here myself for an avocado toast with a view, and struggle not to sneak my phone for a photograph.
At last, I head to my accommodation, one of the unabashedly named Tiny Rooms. At 21 square meters, it’s enough to fall in love. A charming space in shades of ochre, black, brown, and deep green, the old-fashioned atmosphere is peppered with the modern comforts (bedside bluetooth speakers and usb plugs) you expect from the brand. The bathroom is lined with two-toned ceramics and equipped with a courtesy set the likes of which I’ve never seen, bursting with creams, serums, and shampoos. My view is an ordinary side street, but I hardly mind. If I get the urge for breathtaking views, I'll head back to the terrace.
I’m writing this very article when a knock at the door calls me back, followed by the lively call to “cocktail service!” Behind the door, a mixologist accompanied by a bar cart offers me a welcome drink of choice. With the prospect of another hour to write this piece, I ask for something light and receive a house caipirinha. Those who aren’t spending their holidays at a writing desk don’t need to fret — you can summon a bartender at your convenience, any time between 7 and 9:30 pm, to mix you a room side aperitif.
It’s a great perk — and as I sip the caipirinha, I reflect on the Soho. Most likely, I’m not quite the target member: the artsy, well-to-do, elegant creative. And yet, even for me, the Soho House Barcelona is truly a special place. The amenities are a resounding enticement, the room a thoughtful refuge, and the public spaces among the most sparkling in the city. The view from the terrace, alone, is worth the price of admission. And no one will force you to use the gym. ▪
