I arrive in Savannah on an unseasonably humid Friday in mid-November. I am plane-gross and sweaty, still dressed for mid-November in Brooklyn. When I sit down at the check-in desk at Perry Lane Hotel, of the Luxury Collection, I instinctively turn down the champagne I’m offered; the idea of getting my luggage up to my room while also managing a full champagne flute fills me with dread. But as soon as I have my room key in hand, a smiley bellboy named Kelly appears to deliver me and my luggage directly to my door. My room is on the fourth floor, it has 180 degrees of windows, and it is, without a doubt, luxe. I quietly mourn my lack of champagne.
Everywhere the walls are a lovely slate blue. The furniture is marble-topped, gold-fixtured, and/or upholstered in rose-colored velvet. The really knee-weakening feature is an archway that connects the foyer to the bedroom. Most hotels have a certain utilitarian look to them by necessity; this arch is so blatantly anti-utilitarian that I fall in love with it immediately. This arch is all about style. It strikes me as very Southern.
In the bathroom, the walls darken to navy. The vanity is topped with black marble. There are two sinks. Since moving to New York, things that are normal to most Americans have become novel to me, like bathrooms with more than one sink. Not only does this bathroom have two sinks, it has two mirrors and a spacious shower stocked with Byredo bath products in proprietary scents. I make a mental note to take them all home with me. I use both sinks with relish.
I unpack and decide that the room is mid-century modern, definitely, but with more romance. It’s mid-century modern in love.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m back downstairs: The hotel has scheduled me a walking tour. My guide, Karen, offers me a to-go glass of white wine. The first thing I learn about the Perry Lane is that it honors the Oglethorpe Plan, a locally revered grid system of landscaped squares and residential blocks created by James Edward Oglethorpe, Savannah’s founder, in 1733. The Perry Lane spans two Oglethorpe blocks, but instead of creating a tower with an incongruous footprint, the owner divided the hotel in two and added a service road on the grid—Perry Lane, naturally.
The second thing I learn is that the Perry Lane is the only luxury hotel in historic downtown (and only the second hotel here altogether). Third: It opened in June 2018. Fourth: All 167 rooms are booked this weekend.
I sip my wine. The Perry Lane, I realize, lives and dies by two tenets: luxury and localness.
Over the next three days I eat dinner in the top-floor ballroom, order breakfast and lunch to my room from the ground-floor restaurant, the Emporium Kitchen & Wine Market, and drop by Peregrin and The Wayward, the hotel’s two bars. Peregrin is on the roof; I’m easily won by its checkerboard flooring and 360-degree skyline view. In addition to the spacious bar and wicker-based lounges, it has a section of turf complete with lawn games and a pool. The Wayward is racing-themed (Savannah has a rich history of car racing and motocross) and decked out in leather, definitely the sexier of the two.
Then there’s the lobby. The lobby is extravagant in both buildings, but especially in the larger one, where I’m staying. To the left and right of the check-in desk, it unfolds into a series of drawing rooms and piano rooms and reading rooms that are simultaneously expansive and private. Its maximalism feels specific, and invites exploration. You can order alcohol or coffee to the lobby. You can sip citrus-infused water. You can play the baby grand. You can browse the lending library, and if you fall in love with a book you’ve picked up, you can buy it. The lobby is the realm of the first impression, and the Perry Lane really impresses.
My marks against the Perry Lane are these: harsh elevator lighting, repeated brochure references to a button for in-room dining but a telephone with no apparent button, sad carpet, and the occasional gnome sculpture.
The curatorial team responsible for the decor is based out of Denver. To hone their vision and channel their inner belle—or, I suspect, to compensate for not being based in the South—they created a fictional Georgia-born muse named Adelaide. Adelaide is a former dancer in her seventies who traveled the world, lived well, and now calls Savannah her permanent home. Her extensive collection—art, wallpaper, antiques, knickknacks—has global and historical influences, and includes pieces by active Savannah-based artists. Prominent local sculptor and painter Marcus Kenney—a real person—for example, is responsible for the largest painting in the smaller lobby.
Everywhere I look, there’s evidence of the city. The lending library was co-curated by the owners of beloved downtown bookstores E. Shaver and The Book Lady. Emporium Kitchen stocks local wine, beer, and food products like pickles and coffee, and routinely opens its kitchen for cooking classes. And across the lane, Andie Kully boutique carries upscale Savannah brands like Sapelo skin care alongside an array of home goods and resortwear.
Guests can go on architectural tours with an expert from Savannah College of Art and Design, take studio classes with a number of the artists featured in Adelaide’s collection, tour the workspaces of a baker and a luthier, see live jazz, taste honey at Savannah Bee Company, and do guided yoga on the roof, all facilitated by the hotel.
The Perry Lane is as enamored with Savannah as it is with the public: A Southern-flavored joie de vivre seems to guide it in all that it does, and in return it welcomes not just its guests, but the whole of Savannah, back in.