The Beaumont: London’s Best Hotel Room?

“They’ve got something really special for you,” the concierge teases me in her pleasant French accent.

Welcome to The Beaumont, a pearl’s throw away from Oxford Street and gloriously situated in Mayfair. Far from your Travelodge, The Beaumont allows guests to live like they’re at a Gatsby party in oppressively fancy decor.


From guys in suits and formal hats manning theatre brass rotating door to the sound of heels – most likely Louboutins – tapping against marble floors, stepping into The Beaumont sends you into a completely different world.

With 77 rooms, the hotel facilitates from a not so modest £500 a night all the way up into the £3000s. This is the creme-de-la-creme of the creme-de-la-creme.



Room 215, in the south west corner of the powerhouse of a hotel would be where I would reside that evening. Greeted with a private hallway, littered with fine art, one instantly gets the feeling like our concierge was immediately living up to her previous statement.

The hallway lead to our living region, with the usual desk, television, minibar and exquisitely comfortable sofas and chairs. Subtly decorated with encyclopaedias of London interest, fruit bowls (with figs) and other amenities, attention to detail was impeccable.


The dark and classic tones to the living room completely contrasted the bathroom. A peroxide marble display of rainforest showers, baths in TV and a large, lit mirror. With complimentary bath salts, The Beaumont stick to what you expect from a hotel, but throw a curveball and manage to out-speak everywhere else I’ve visited over the summer.

After being shown the living quarters and marbled bathroom, we are greeted with a white staircase leading up to a looming blackout velvet curtain. This is where the magic was hidden.


Opening the curtain lead us into a tall, bare room, consisting only a bed. The hotel had allowed me to sleep inside Antony Gormley’s exquisite sculpture; suitably named Room. I obviously acknowledged the sculpture from the outside, I mean, it’s hard to miss the giant block man atop the hotel, but I didn’t know that it was where I were to sleep the evening.



The belly of the beast’s interior gave a whole new meaning to “edgy”, with alcoves of different sized poking out at different intervals of the room. A chasm of solitude, the bedroom is taller than it is wide, providing a tranquil sense of detachment, but the undying feeling of lurking. It’s simultaneously a sanctuary of dream and nightmare. Oh, it’s so poetic, isn’t it? It makes a striking juxtaposition to the stainless steel exterior, which represents a giant crouching cuboid based on Gormley’s body.

It’s adult lego, something from a Transformers movie dressed in platinum, what happened to the Tin Man after Oz and London council’s initiative to promote the recycling of tin foil.


The room allows perfect, pure and perpetual darkness, completely establishing what pitch black truly is. Gormley’s room is what poet’s have been trying to write for centuries. It rethinks the purpose of art and twists the traditional methods the rest of the hotel thrives off of. For this, I take my hat off to Gormley. I’m impressed.

Lined with German oak and furnished with just a double bed, the interior of the bedroom is intentionally sparse so it can, cater to guests’ “need for withdrawal”, rather than overwhelm them with the noise of busy interiors.

In an interview with The Guardian, Gormley explained: “I would say that luxury is a sense of total peace, silence and a place that is removed from the incessant demands of the world.

What I’ve tried to do is make that space you experience when you close your eyes, and real space, somehow closer together, ” he said.

Pricing is wince worthy, rumoured at £2,250 a night a night. I mean, of course luxury can be redefined at that price.

Food & Drink

If Gary Barlow one side is enjoying his food, and half of Disclosure enjoying his on the other, what I was about to taste must be good, right?

With access to the public, The Colony Room grounds itself as a trans-Atlantic grill room. The classy room’s walls are lined with images of 20s and 30s celebrities, looking down upon current patrons.

I was greeted by Henny, the grill’s head waitress who assured us that we’d have a lovely evening. Any evening with a bottomless bread basket is going to be a good evening. Period. The grill is the kind to serve Hors d’Oeuvres, instead of starters. With a simple prawn cocktail and minestrone soup, it’s hard to complain. Everything is served in silver, apart from the service, which is nothing less than gold. The grill should pride themselves on the hard working and dedicated set of waiters and waitresses it has.

Immaculately served lamb cutlets with fries – in silver – made its happy way to my table (£33). The Colony Grill allows diners who are staying in the hotel, to order sundaes to be delivered to their room. However, making the most of our surroundings, we ordered two sundaes – served with handmade salted caramel, the best honeycomb that has passed my lips and enough ice-cream to make the world happy.

Somehow, time freezes on both the hotel and grill. I half expected to bump into James Dean, Marliyn Monroe or Fitzgerald himself down Bauhaus corridors.

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Words – Dean Eastmond