La Folie Barbizon sits just beyond the edge of the village, where the road fades and the trees take over. Inside, nothing matches and everything makes sense. Stained glass made from eggplant skins, hand-painted frescoes, ceramic frogs on the walls.

The rooms are signed by artists, the garden grows more ideas than flowers, and weekends drift between concerts, communal dinners, and kids painting in the grass. It’s a place that doesn’t ask for attention but keeps it anyway. Come with time. Leave with a story.

The sea drifts just beyond the windows and the rooms, only twenty-one in total, still carry the names and stories of those who passed through. Bardot, Romy, Vian. Inside, there’s a quiet elegance to the details: worn rugs underfoot, walnut wood, soft light against whitewashed walls.
Days slip easily from late breakfasts to long afternoons on the terrace, where the pace holds steady and the view never asks for attention. By night, the tables are set, the air shifts, and the bar picks up where it left off, with conversation humming just above the sound of the waves. Nothing here feels staged. It just is.

On a quiet stretch of coastline near the ports of Gallice and Crouton, Cap d’Antibes Beach Hotel carries that quiet Riviera ease, sunlight slipping through palms, salt in the air, and just enough space between things to breathe.
Architect Bernard Dubois reimagined the hotel with clean lines and a touch of Palm Springs geometry, softened by marble, white walls, and water at every turn. There are only 35 rooms, some with gardens, others opening straight to the sea.
By day, it’s the pool, the beach, or nowhere in particular. By night, BABA hums with energy while Les Pêcheurs settles into its own rhythm – fine dining, the sound of waves, and the feeling that tomorrow might look exactly the same, in the best possible way.

Set between Opéra Garnier and Place de la Bourse, it folds Japanese minimalism into the curves of a Belle Époque building—elegant, restrained, and slightly off-centre. There are twenty-six rooms, all calm surfaces and soft light, made for slow mornings and late-night pages. Down below, the spa pulls you under, while Hanabi shifts the mood with sharp cocktails and modern Japanese plates that light up the room. It’s a pause, not an escape, and sometimes that’s exactly what Paris needs.

Perched above the Aven, wrapped in trees and that soft Breton light, it’s a place that doesn’t need to explain itself. You wake to gulls and green reflections, drink coffee on the terrace where time stretches a little, then drift between the sauna, the indoor pool, and the scent of seaweed in the air.

Designed by Elodie Dumas and Augustin Decaux of WUNDER, who also happen to have family roots here, the house feels lived-in, precise, and free all at once. Five bedrooms and a cabanon, wood and water, history and horizon.
Everything quietly in its place, yet open to reinvention.

Behind its classic façade, Swedish designer Martin Brudnizki has created a world where pastel hues, floral wallpapers, and fringed lampshades mingle with the elegance of 18th-century salons. The effect is playful yet polished — literary grandeur reimagined with a wink, as though a Wes Anderson set had quietly drifted into Paris.

Across its 61 rooms and suites, curious objects and unexpected details unfold at every turn. Each space reveals another layer of theatricality, balancing fantasy with a distinctly lived-in charm.

Yet for all its whimsy, the hotel remains firmly rooted in the rhythm of Paris. Galleries, boutiques, and cafés sit just beyond the doors, inviting guests back into the city’s everyday theatre. It is the kind of place that never asks to be taken too seriously — only to be thoroughly enjoyed.

Designed to catch the light and the gaze, its generously sized rooms and suites pair soft Alpine references with bold lines and crisp modernity – each one framing uninterrupted views of the snow-covered peaks.

On the culinary side, guests drift between Beefbar, where rare cuts are served against a backdrop of pine and sunshine, and Biancaneve, where Italian comfort finds an elegant footing in the mountains. It’s a place where design, flavour, and altitude find common ground.

A patchwork of 17th and 18th century stone houses gathered around a church, it unfolds in quiet layers of vaulted passageways, sun-soaked terraces, and vine-covered façades.
Interior architect Charles Zana has reimagined the spaces with a light but confident hand, introducing earthy tones, bespoke furniture, and Provençal textures that speak to the region without repeating it. The rooms and suites are discreetly elegant, with windows that frame the rhythm of village life or the distant silhouette of Mont Ventoux.
At the restaurant, the view stretches across olive groves and vineyards, best taken in with a glass in hand and no plans for the afternoon. This is Provence slowed to its own pace.