It’s 9:50 a.m. and this first line is, as always, the last one I write before hitting send.
And I’m late.
Late because the end of the year is turning into organized chaos, projects piling up, hard questions about what we’re building, a move back to the coast, leaving Paris behind.
But this late feels right.
Because reconnecting with the coast also means reconnecting with the kind of hospitality that made me start LOBBY in the first place.
The raw one. The human one. The one that breathes at the rhythm of a place.
And maybe that’s why this week’s topic hits differently.
For years, the industry believed the magic lived inside the building.
The pool, the minibar, the playlist, the rooftop.
Designers kept adding layers, operators kept adding amenities, founders kept adding complexity. Everyone chasing the next little wow.
But here’s what nobody tells you:
the most powerful amenity of your project isn’t inside your walls.
It’s outside. It’s the town.
Because when you remove the noise, one truth remains:
An inspiring town can amplify your concept better than anything you’ll ever design.
And that’s why the next chapter of hospitality won’t be won by the biggest budgets or coolest renders.
It’ll be won by the founders who understand territory.
Who choose places that breathe.
Who don’t try to dominate the town but collaborate with it.
The town is no longer the backdrop but should be considered as a feature
Like the proper narrative engine, the true luxury, belonging somewhere real.
And if that sentence bothers some people in the industry, good.
It means we’re touching a nerve that needed touching.
Let’s go deeper.
Cities reached their limit. Towns didn’t.
I really think cities became algorithmic. Everything has been optimized, indexed, copy-pasted, commercialized. The indie founder disappears inside that noise, the craft gets swallowed by scale, the intention gets crushed by rent, and the stories get diluted by the constant pressure to be instagrammable.
Meanwhile, towns are still wide open. They’re imperfect, unpredictable, human.
Prices make sense. Spaces have square meters. People still talk to each other.
A small town gives you something priceless: margin for creativity.
Room to experiment without burning the house down.
Room to build something with edges. And if you want your place to breathe, go where the air is still real.