When a Hotel Is Home: 10 Insiders on Living With Room Service

Throughout the years, many people have chosen to take up residence in hotel rooms, rather than rent an apartment. But is living in a hotel permanently, especially ones like The Ritz or the Four Seasons, really as glamorous as it sounds? The answers vary.

There are real-life Eloises, brought to live in hotels by their parents. Or travelers sent overseas, for whom a hotel is the ideal prefab base. For others, a stint living in a hotel helps them create a bridge across life’s tougher moments—it can even be a livelier alternative to a retirement community. Here are the stories of 10 people who have lived long-term in a hotel—each for a different reason.

Crashing in a shared room with others

Jules Feiler, 67, lived in New York City's Gershwin Hotel (now The Evelyn) for eight years in the 1980s. A publicist-turned-playwright, he now lives in an apartment on the Upper West Side.

I was separating from my then-wife in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. I had no place to go when a college friend told me to come and live at the Gershwin Hotel in New York, where he was the manager.

I was originally in a hostel room with several other [guests]. The hotel was very run down when I first arrived: Shared rooms were $20 a night, so the guests for the most part were backpackers, but there were sometimes some unsavory characters who would steal from other guests. Living there felt reminiscent of the movie Casablanca. After a while, the owner asked me to do public relations for the hotel, and I was given my own room as part of my payment for doing press.

The hotel was filled with young people and employees who had no money and no other options. At the time, I was one of them. But it quickly became a cool place to be. I was able to create whatever I wanted, as long as it generated press. I invented a models-only floor; I emptied out an abandoned hardware store, which was connected to the hotel, and turned it into an art gallery; we had parties with John Waters, Johnny Depp, and Lou Reed. I did the first séance for Andy Warhol.

[Living there] gave me the opportunity to build a business. At one point I was representing 10 hotels because of the press I was generating for The Gershwin. Eventually, though, I was fired when the owner discovered I was representing other hotels—he had been paying me a very small salary—but I also reconciled with my wife during that time. My former boss occasionally reaches out to me, though—in fact, he’s asked me to do press for a documentary film project he’s doing.

Living out of suitcases

Francisca Matteoli is the author of 11 travel books, including Hotel Stories. She spent part of her childhood living in a hotel in the center of Paris.

My family is from Chile, and when there were political problems there in the 1970s, they came to Paris, where my grandfather always stayed at the Hôtel du Louvre. He was a very eccentric, funny character. It was a way of living in that epoch, how wealthy people used to live—they stayed in hotels rather than apartments [to avoid] all the responsibilities. We settled there, finally, for for three years, a lot longer than we expected. My grandfather and grandmother lived on one floor, and I lived with my parents on another, in room 26. We used those huge suitcases you used to have, as furniture—like drawers—all over the place.

I was 10 or 11 years old, and the first thing I remember was being asked for my address at school and I said, "Hôtel du Louvre." I was very isolated, but that life was very special. I didn’t speak a word of French—I learned it from the staff, who became part of the family—but because we were mixed in with a lot of foreigners, I didn’t feel lost or alone. I felt surrounded by people like me, though there weren’t a lot of kids in the hotel. There was one older lady who had been divorced several times, and she was very original. She didn’t care about possessions, and she wanted to feel free.

Living there has had a deep impact on me. I have written many books about hotels, for example. And I have different qualities that came from that experience: I’m independent and I’m able to live with fewer possessions. We rushed to leave Chile, so we lost a lot; now I prefer living in furnished apartments rather than one where I use my own furniture. It made me more curious, more adaptable, and I love the idea of not having a permanent address.

I was sad to leave, but it was costing us a fortune and we were running out of money, so we moved to an apartment, which was a totally different way of life. My grandfather spent the last year of his life there, and when he died, the hotel [comped] that year-long stay.

I haven’t stayed there again myself because of the memories, good and bad. But I did a signing for one of my books at the Plaza Hotel in New York, and one of the women who came brought me the book Eloise. She said, "I read your book, and you are my Eloise. Here’s the book for you." That was the first time I read it.

Gaining cool-kid status

Mike Gnitecki’s dad was a consultant working for Fortune 500 companies who often had to move at a moment’s notice, which meant the family ended up living in a Residence Inn hotel for a year when he was a child.

My family would do occasional vacations and stay at hotels, so to me a hotel equaled a vacation; hotel stays were immeasurably fun as a result. I preferred it to living in a standard home. The hotel was tax-free on stays longer than 30 days in our state, Minnesota, and the hotel provided a deeply discounted monthly rate.

I was around 12 years old, and my friends thought it was extremely cool. There was a bit of trepidation among them at first—"You live at a hotel?"—but that disappeared when they came by. It was a two-story hotel suite, and my friends thought it was pretty awesome. The free hot breakfasts—I definitely gained some weight—and the in-room fireplace are my most enduring memories of the experience. They would give us new logs every day, the easy-to-light ones that burn so well. As a child, it was a blast.

I’m now a firefighter paramedic in Texas, but I still love hotels. I do a lot of travel hacking, looking for good deals, and I am happy to say I’ve stayed in some awesome hotels, like the Park Hyatt in Sydney, for free. I have a lot of free points available, and I am planning to continue doing free stays at top hotels.

Learning the true meaning of hotel service

Geoffrey Kent co-founded luxury adventure operator Abercrombie & Kent. He lived at the Ritz London for extended periods from 1972 until 1985. Now 77, he owns a house in London, and splits his time between there and Monaco.

I set up A&K in the U.K. in 1972, while I was still living in the U.S. I needed to spend more time in London and have a place to live and hold meetings, so I’d stay at The Ritz for two weeks, go traveling, and then boomerang straight back there.

I always had a suite with ample space and nice views of Green Park—I’d go for a run first thing in the morning there to kick start my day. In an apartment, you don’t have to be smartly [dressed] all the time, as you do in a hotel like The Ritz, but I think living in a hotel was in some ways superior. My favorite memory of living there is of being totally pampered. My work life was safaris, so to be in a hotel like the Ritz was pleasure itself after coming out of southern Sudan.

Living in a hotel also reinforced to me how important service is in the travel industry, and it taught me how to value a place. Always order room service, as that’s the weakest [link] in any hotel: If the room service is excellent, so will the hotel.

I moved out in 1986, after I started to rent a large house close to Windsor Great Park, as it was easier for me—I was playing polo with the Prince of Wales. I miss the excellent cappuccinos most, but the unexpected bonuses, however, were the people I would bump into in the main dining room and in the lobby; I met many old friends and made many new ones. I stayed in touch with the doorman for many years after I moved out—and I always made sure to say hello whenever I walked past.

Embracing the golden rule: Act like a guest

In 2009, Jon Santangelo began a nine-month stint living at the Doubletree by Hilton in Beijing while undergoing training in an international management program. It was his first job overseas—and it would change his life forever.

When I got the job offer, a nearly year-long stay abroad felt daunting.

This was my first time ever overseas, and I admit to being a bit naive about some things. I couldn’t do much customizing of the room, but I made a mini, makeshift bookshelf at my desk with a framed family picture. The bed took up most of the room. I like to grill, so not having a stove—or a kitchen—took some getting used to. I'd have to go down to the restaurant to warm up food. I tried to order room service sparingly. The first few weeks it felt novel. Eventually, I stopped ordering altogether and kept a protein shake or snacks in the room. But it was very easy to get accustomed to daily room cleaning and no monthly utility bills. I still preferred to use my own shampoo, though.

The golden rule [for living in a hotel]: Act as if you're a guest in someone's home. Everyone you'll meet in the hotel will benefit from this. I met an elderly Singaporean businessman named Mr. Ng: stern, but sweet at his core. He stayed the longest [of other guests]—several months, on and off. The entire Riverdance crew stayed there for about a week, including their jolly, rugged Celtic bagpipe player. There was an Iranian tour group who mistook me for an Iranian, too; I’m actually of Sicilian descent. It was the first time I ever knew, let alone befriended anyone, from Iran. They'd invite me to sit and talk with them at breakfast. Truly perspective-changing, indeed. One Iranian professor who taught English schooled me on a number of things.

Hotel life can be lavish and super convenient, but don't barricade yourself in. Prior to China I wasn't used to taxis at all; the bellman and concierge arranged them and made sure I got to and from the hotel without trouble. I'd also carry the hotel taxi card with its address. Once the weather warmed up in the spring I bought my first electric scooter and also started using the subway more. If you're living in a foreign country, it's best to not get too reliant on the hotel's concierge, and to learn some basic directional phrases and words.

You can't help but be awestruck by the enormity of China. I had no plans or ambitions to go to China before arriving the first time. But half a year in I knew China was where my foreseeable future would be. So much was (and still is) happening here. I worked at a travel startup, an Airbnb competitor, that tried to launch in China. The following years I was a foreign talent recruiter and consultant for hotels in China. Today, the destination wedding company my partner and I founded, The Chariot works with various luxury hotels and resorts and our clients are mainly Chinese.

Getting to know secret passages

Maria Hassler, 44, is a publicist for bed and breakfasts. The daughter of a hospitality executive, she grew up living in a hotel permanently—from the American in Chicago to Casa de Campo in the Dominican Republic and Mexico City's Crowne Plaza Hotel.

From the moment I came home from hospital as a newborn, until I left for college, I lived in hotels. As a kid, I envied those that lived "like the movies"—in a house with a big green tree by the window. I wondered what it would be like to have a hometown, friends you grew apart from and then reconciled with. At school, I was always the new kid.

It might seem incredible, and in many ways it really is, but it's not as incredible for the child as it is for the adult. As an adult you likely value culture, languages, new foods, new people. Kids want to watch the same movie, eat mac and cheese, and have their stuff left exactly how they left it.

I liked working my way around the back of the house. I disliked being waited on and watched. At times I felt like a fish inside a fishbowl. I preferred to slip through the back. Hotels were my personal giant maze. I felt special knowing a place’s secret passages. The biggest bonus of hotel living was the room service and that if you felt lonely, you could always open the door and see people.

Running into Audrey Hepburn, another regular

Roberto Wirth, 70, is the owner and manager of the Hassler Roma in Rome. He was born, however, at the Hotel Eden nearby; his father, Oscar, previously co-managed both hotels.

When I was a child, I often dreamt of being the captain of a large ship, full of passengers. I watched my father manage the hotel and the staff, greet guests, and I simply wanted to do the same. I was literally born in a hotel, from a family of hoteliers, and to me it seemed only normal that I would follow in my family's footsteps. I have always put all my passion and dedication to the "woman of my life”—that’s the Hassler—and treated it with velvet gloves and loved it with all my heart.

At Hotel Eden, we lived in an apartment in the mezzanine. From a window, I could see the reception and the concierge desks, the doormen who greeted the guests, and also cars coming back and forth. My Swiss nanny, who looked after me there, used to jump out from one of the windows of our apartment and go and meet her Roman lover.

One of the sweetest memories I have from my life at the Hassler is Audrey Hepburn walking down the stairs. She looked like a fairy princess to me. The Hassler was a second home for her. She first stayed here with Gregory Peck when they were filming Roman Holiday; she used to spend a lot of time in the hotel and I remember her beautiful smile and her kind, sweet ways. She used to personally send me Christmas greetings every year.

I’m deaf, and while I had always wanted to become a hotelier, it was not easy to achieve it, since I didn’t have support from my family. My father was convinced that my deafness would be an insuperable obstacle. But I never gave up. Hotels have always fascinated me, and there was no dissuading me from making this my life. I now live in an apartment not so far from the Hassler, and I still personally welcome and greet all the guests to try and make them feel at home.

Finding solace in a small hotel

Doug Gollan was under intense personal and professional pressure in January 2002. His marriage was collapsing, and he had just started a new company. One solution to ease the strain? Move into a hotel.

I was getting separated and needed a place to live. Before, I was living in northern Westchester and working 12- or 13-hour days; plus, my commute was an hour and 10 minutes. I knew New York hotels were still in a slump after 9/11, which had decimated business travel to the city, and January is one of the slowest months, anyway. The hotels were just trying to keep as many of the staff employed as possible. Through work, I knew the general manager at the Plaza Athenée, which is a very nice, high-end hotel on the Upper East Side. I called them up and said, "Listen, you know, would it be possible to do some type of deal?: It was a bad time for the hotel business, so we left it open-ended at the start. My commute went down to a 10-minute walk, and I got twice-daily maid service.

It’s a small hotel, and everyone got to know me after two days, let alone two weeks. The second time my kids—who were ages 4, 9, and 14 at the time—came down to visit me, the staff all knew their names, and what they wanted to eat at breakfast. It made a difficult situation much more luxurious.

Occasionally they would have to move me from one room to another, but I traveled a lot [for business], probably 50 percent of the time. I was apprehensive the first time, but I would come back after a trip, and if they had moved me, all my clothes would have been folded and pressed, my shoes shined. It was like I’d died and gone to heaven. When you’re first there alone, you’re lonely, and they have a nice little bar where you can get to know the bartender. I wasn’t ordering room service, though; I would pick up a sandwich on the way home and eat it in my room.

I’d see the general manager occasionally, when we’d run into each other and have a drink in that bar. But one night, I got back to a message that said he’d like to meet me for a coffee. It was like a note to go and see the principal. He told me business was coming back strongly enough that he could no longer have me in their foster home. That was in the fall.

I now live in Florida and run a new company, Private Jet Card Comparisons. If I came back to New York, though, I’d stay there again.

Living with no responsibilities whatsoever

Ninety-one-year-old Harvey Simpson is the only full-time resident at the Sonnenalp Hotel in Vail. He moved into his mountain-view room three years ago.

I first heard about the idea of living in a hotel when President Truman fired General MacArthur for disobedience; MacArthur moved into the top floor of the Waldorf Astoria. I thought, Wow, that’s a nice way to live.

I started skiing as soon as I got out of the Navy at the end of the Korean War, and my wife said, "You’ve got to learn." We both became fanatics. I first came to Vail in 1964, two years after it opened, to ski. We stayed at other hotels, but when they built the Sonnenalp in the early 1990s, we fell in love with this place. It’s a very special hotel, run by a family who really takes care of the quality. They’re technically from Bavaria, so it feels very much like Europe.

After retiring, any vacation we could, we would come to Vail. I got to know the family here at the Sonnenalp and one day, after my wife passed away, I asked Mr. Fessler, the owner: "Do you think I could and just live here, now that I’ve retired?" So I sold my house on Long Island, and now my permanent address is 20 Vail Road. I do still have some business back in New York, so I stay at the Cornell University Club when I go.

When I was living on Long Island I had a big house with a swimming pool, but now I have everything like that here—a swimming pool and a spa—and none of the responsibility whatsoever. I don’t have to think about it. The bellboys will drive you anywhere at any hour of the night. And I’m still skiing; there’s a big difference between New England and here as the quality of the snow is much better. During ski season, I use that ticket you hang on your door for [room service] breakfast a lot when I want to get out fast, and not linger too long before getting on the mountain. I’ve added a few years to my life, I hope, with the clean air here. In the summer you can hike without breaking a sweat, because of the low humidity.

They have a Sonnenalp Club Members program, and if you spend more than 100 nights here, you join the Gold Club. I’m close to having spent 4,000 nights total in this hotel. Right now, I'm sitting looking up at the mountain.

Dreaming of returning one day

Brand strategist Jaqui Lividini lives between Manhattan and a beach house in Connecticut. She not only grew up in a hotel—her father was the general manager of the Hotel Statler (now Hotel Pennsylvania) in New York—but went on to marry the GM of the Four Seasons in Texas, spending much of her early life living on property.

The apartment I grew up in was particularly large, especially for Manhattan: four bedrooms, five bathrooms. I still dream about it, and I think in some way I’ve been trying to recreate that apartment for my entire life. As for the daily housekeeping, with your laundry returned in baskets wrapped in tissue paper? I think that’s why I’m so neat.

I had a small white Maltese named Jamie, and he was the hotel mascot. We went to school in Westchester, so every afternoon when we arrived back to the city, he’d jump out of the car and we’d run to the private elevator that transported us to the 17th floor, where our apartment was. One afternoon, somehow, he got off his leash and started running through the lobby, round and round. Though he was only five pounds, and a ball of white fur, he caused quite a commotion: the doorman, bellman, the room clerks, me and my brother and sister, were all running after him trying to catch him before he ran out the door.

Because we lived across the street from Madison Square Garden and the hotel had a relationship with them, we went to everything: concerts, Knicks or Rangers games, the circus—you name it. My brother got to meet Muhammad Ali. That was a highlight of his life.

I did a stint as a room clerk at The Statler after school, when I started college at the Fashion Institute of Technology. I’m still in touch with the head room clerk, Freddy. I learned so much from him—he always had a cigarette dangling out of his mouth, and he was the master of matching rooms to the guests.

Even now, I think about checking into The Statler every time I pass it. It informed my life in so many ways. I wonder what happened to our apartment: if it stayed intact or if it was broken up. I would love to have another night there.

This story was originally published in November 2018. It has been updated with new information.