The Standard London Review: A Hotel That's Become Part Of My Story

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There are certain hotels that become so specifically tied to moments in your life that they stop feeling like hotels altogether. They become landmarks in your own history. For me, The Standard Hotels have always carried that kind of significance.

I lived in London for 10 years before leaving for New York in 2014. Prior to my move, I stayed at The Standard High Line for a job interview — one of those pivotal, terrifying, exciting moments where your entire future quietly hangs in the balance. Evidently, it brought me luck.

Six months later, after securing my visa and moving to New York, I met my now-wife just two days after arriving. We met for lunch at 2 p.m., and by that weekend, I somehow found myself fully clothed in the pool at Le Bain on top of The Standard. My wife still refers to it as my “New York baptism,” and honestly, she’s not wrong. What possessed me to enter the pool remains a mystery, largely because the liquid courage consumed beforehand erased any reliable memory of the decision. The exact reasoning has long since been surrendered to the tequila gods. I was newly arrived in New York, celebrating a new job, new friendships, and a future that suddenly felt wide open. Whether it was optimism, tequila, or some dangerous combination of the two, I'll never know.

When I returned to London recently to shoot a cover for NYLON magazine, staying at The Standard, London felt less like a hotel choice and more like a continuation of a story already well in progress. But before this becomes an exercise in nostalgia, here are a few notes from my latest stay.

The Property

The hotel occupies a restored 1974 Brutalist building opposite St. Pancras station — formerly the Camden Town Hall annex — and somehow manages to feel both unmistakably London and completely transported from somewhere else entirely. The exterior is all imposing concrete lines and architectural confidence, softened by flashes of retro color, warm lighting, and The Standard’s signature irreverence. A bright red external lift climbs the facade like a piece of performance art. Inside, the mood shifts between ’70s Italian cinema, downtown New York, and the kind of effortless cool London does best when it isn’t trying too hard.

There’s an energy to the hotel that’s difficult to manufacture. The lobby always feels alive — creatives on laptops drinking martinis at 4 p.m., Eurostar travelers arriving from Paris, DJs setting up somewhere in the background. It’s busy without being chaotic. Stylish without feeling sterile.

And then there are the robes. This feels important to mention because I had, without exaggeration, one of the best naps of my entire life wrapped in a Standard robe. The kind of nap where you wake up briefly disoriented and convinced your life is significantly more together than it actually is. I bought one afterward and have owned one ever since.

The rooms themselves strike that rare balance between playful and genuinely comfortable. Thoughtful details replace unnecessary luxury theatrics. There’s enough design to remind you exactly where you are, but never at the expense of comfort. It feels curated rather than decorated.

I was particularly taken by the room’s curved architecture and impossibly pleated curtains, details that somehow felt both nostalgic and futuristic at once. The palette shouldn’t work on paper — bold blues alongside deep reds — yet it lands somewhere between a midcentury ocean liner and a downtown Manhattan apartment. The effect is surprisingly calming rather than chaotic. Every detail feels considered, from the generous storage to the atmospheric lighting and, perhaps most importantly, a proper American king bed. For all of Britain’s royal credentials, when it comes to beds, America still reigns supreme.

The bathroom products also deserve a quick mention. Hotel amenities rarely do anyone any favors, but these were products I could actually use, and crucially, they didn’t leave my hair feeling like it could keep the fields safe from crows.

Restaurants

Food and drink are equally central to the experience. Double Standard — the hotel’s ground-floor restaurant and bar — channels the energy of its New York counterparts with relaxed, cozy seating, DJs later in the week, and a service style that feels polished without ever becoming stiff. London’s cocktail scene has come a long way. Ten years ago, ordering tequila often arrived with a shot glass, a line of salt, and a lime wedge — a rite of passage for university students perhaps, but hardly sophisticated cocktail culture. Now, agave spirits headline some of the city’s best menus, and Double Standard more than holds its own.

British bartenders insist on serving their margaritas up rather than on the rocks, which makes them equal parts delicious and dangerous. Smooth enough to order a second before finishing the first, they arrive with a level of elegance that does an excellent job of disguising their potency.

The cocktails are excellent, but the burger deserves its own paragraph. Don’t second guess it. Have the carbs. They’re worth it. The wagyu burger on the bar menu is genuinely exceptional — rich, indulgent, and exactly the kind of thing you convince yourself you’ll only eat half of before immediately finishing the entire thing.

The wider menu at Isla leans indulgent in the best possible way. Anchovy toast, Jersey oysters, and impossibly crisp shoestring fries disappeared quickly at my table of media friends, followed by a parade of larger plates designed for sharing. Generous cuts of sirloin on the bone, beautifully cooked Corn-Fed Half Chicken, St. Austell Bay Mussels, and delicate slices of Sea Bream Crudo struck that difficult balance between comfort food and restaurant food — satisfying without feeling heavy, familiar while still feeling special. The menu embraces Americana but viewed through a distinctly London lens, and it works remarkably well.

Upstairs, Decimo — the hotel’s tenth-floor restaurant from chef Peter Sanchez-Iglesias — brings dramatic skyline views, mezcal cocktails, and Spanish-Mexican cooking, accessed via the hotel’s iconic exterior red lift. Above that, The Rooftop feels unmistakably pulled from The Standard’s New York playbook, with panoramic city views, cocktails, and the kind of atmosphere that makes you accidentally stay several hours longer than intended.

The Neighborhood

Fortunately, I happened to be in London during the recent heatwave. Unfortunately, it coincided with the Champions League final, meaning traversing the city came with a soundtrack of football chants familiar to anyone who grew up in a soccer household.

Locationwise, The Standard is difficult to beat. St. Pancras International sits directly opposite the hotel, offering Eurostar access to Paris, Brussels, and beyond, while King’s Cross station makes navigating London remarkably easy. The area itself has transformed dramatically over the years. Once associated with Dickensian London — Charles Dickens himself lived nearby, and the neighborhood famously inspired parts of Oliver Twist — King’s Cross later developed a rougher reputation through much of the 1980s and ’90s before becoming one of the city’s most impressive regenerations. Today, it sits at the center of one of London’s most exciting pockets, surrounded by Clerkenwell, Coal Drops Yard, Exmouth Market, and some of the city’s best restaurants and bars.

What makes The Standard, London, work so well, though, is that it understands modern travel isn’t just about somewhere to sleep. It’s about the atmosphere. About feeling connected to a city the second you walk through the door. And for someone constantly moving between London and New York, it somehow manages to embody both at once.

Some hotels impress you. Some hotels entertain you. The Standard properties, for me at least, have quietly marked entire chapters of my life. Returning to London and staying here again felt a little like returning to an earlier version of myself — only with better taste, significantly less chaos, and thankfully no pool incident this time.