Growing up, I was hopelessly enchanted by the life of Eloise – the ever elusive and self-assured fictional six-year-old sophisticate who lives on the “tippy-top floor” of The Plaza Hotel. To live like the children’s literary character, Eloise – “skittering” in and out of elevators, twirling about under the grand lobby’s dripping crystal chandeliers, and calling a splendid pink suite “home” – was an infinitely romantic notion. It still is.
To step into a hotel’s gilded revolving doors is to pass into another, much lovelier world. One where crisp linens, plump pillows, and dimly lit bars that boast impressive lists of imaginative cocktails envelop us into the utmost comfort and indulgence.
