Earlier this month, the Sybaritic Single flew to Paris to pick-up 200 Pierre Hermé macarons named after him. The significant date coincided with the US Independence Day, the Paris haute couture week and also the great European heat wave to add to the drama. As a result, most luxury hotels were either sold out or charged exuberant rates so he decided to spend the night at a more affordable end of luxury called Hôtel Costes.
“Unlike anything else” proclaimed the establishment on its website – and it truly was, in good and bad. Usually, the bar at Costes is the Sybaritic Single’s final destination for a nightcap, strategically located on Rue Saint-Honoré between the Ritz and Le Meurice. Apparently, there are also rooms upstairs, heavily draped with textiles in all shades of seductive red. The unusual welcome amenities included a professional hairdryer and a pair of condoms, by Manix, presented in a box with visual instructions inside. Half an hour later, a bottle of mineral water arrived.
The Sybaritic Single adored the hotel’s deep crimson toiletries and the signature perfume. As anything else at Costes, it oozes passion and retails very well along with the hotel’s scarlet roses, red nail polish and gold leaf covered candles, specially created by Olivia Giacobetti for the hotel’s 20th anniversary. Apparently, there are Middle Eastern guests who fly in specially to stock on the perfume in almost industrial quantities (and, most probably, enjoy other elements of the Costes universe but that stays in the darkness of its long corridors and secret corners).
Day or night, the inner yard of the hotel is permanently packed with fashionistas or those who try to be them, drinking, chatting and some even attempting to dance. It almost felt like a concentrated version of Chateau Marmont, with less rooms and more debauchery. With the extravagant number of candles, curtains, drapes and careless dancers, one can only admire that the hotel lasted for so long.
Would the Sybaritic Single return to this luxury hotel? Only if for a glass of champagne. Trying to finish his signature hairdo in the morning turned into an hour-long challenge due to very poor lights and a totally inadequate air conditioner completely killed by the very powerful hairdryer – and bad hair in Paris cannot be excused.