Okay, okay, okay. So it might not be all it's cracked up to be. You might turn out real bad - real spoilt, real self-absorbed, real removed from the rigours of the real world - but I just can't help it. Ever since I first read the Eloise books I've wanted to live in a hotel. And Somewhere and Lost in Translation didn't help at all. So those movies were supposed to turn you off hotels, right? Well they never looked more glamorous. It's the dream to live in a hotel, even just for a little while, right? The dream of all romantic, star-gazing teenagers who read Vanity Fair and long for someone to make the bed for them and a room of your own that's not really your own in a building where you live but that's not yours. I'm a bit silly, you know. But I read Teen Vogue religiously every years since 2003 and that's gotta affect a girl, somehow. When I long for travel I think that, somewhere in that longing, it is also a longing for the crisp white sheets, the big wide beds, the perfect bathrooms with the little amenities, the 'good mornings' and the 'good afternoons', the key you have to tap in the lift. So while I'm longing for New York I'm longing for a new hotel, too, and the one that's caught my eye is the Wythe. Bizarrely, first mentioned to me by my mum, who shares (inspires?) my love of hotels, as with so much else. She was going to suggest it to a friend of hers but it turned out to be a bit too hipster. But for me? Well, I think it looks pretty damn good.
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