5 questions with Hyatt Chief Creative Officer Amar Lalvani

You’re the president and creative director of the Lifestyle Group, which includes Thompson, Andaz, the Standard and Dream. For those of us who don’t speak corporatese, what is a “lifestyle hotel”?

To me, it starts with knowing exactly who your guest is and what it means to care for them. The simplest test is whether people who aren’t staying at the hotel still want to be there.

Do they want to eat there? Meet someone at the bar? You can’t manufacture that by painting the walls purple, serving craft beer and calling it lifestyle.

Which of those hotels is a personal favorite?

For Thompson, the Beekman. I lived across the street during COVID, so it holds a special place for me. It is also one of the most beautiful buildings ever made into a hotel. When I worked with [the Standard founder] André Balazs, we actually had it under contract but didn’t end up doing the deal. I regretted that for years.

Then, I came to Hyatt and, unexpectedly, it became part of my team’s portfolio.

Speaking of Balazs, in 2013 you acquired the Standard brand from him. What made it so special?

André created something with incredible soul. It was bold, irreverent, culturally plugged in and occasionally inappropriate, in the best possible way. The hotels weren’t where you slept after experiencing the city. They were where you went out. When we bought the company, the first responsibility was not to screw that up.

You opened the Manner in Soho in 2024, a really unique hotel inspired by a stay with your coolest friend. New boutique concepts like that are rare. What’s hospitality’s biggest challenge today?

Sameness. And I think we created it ourselves. There are more hotel brands than ever, yet a lot of hotels feel more alike than ever. Everybody uses the same words, hires the same agencies, follows the same trends and then wonders why the guest chooses on price.

What’s the best thing a hotel can do, and what’s the worst?

I was staying at a hotel in Istanbul. It was about 4 o’clock in the afternoon and I got a knock on the door. There was someone with a dry martini. I said, “I didn’t order that.” They said, “We know.” That was so interesting because there’s at least a 50% chance you don’t drink it. But the spirit of that is amazing because it’s very hospitable and it puts you in a certain mood.

The worst thing is a line. You just spent eight hours getting somewhere, and the hotel’s first act of hospitality is asking you to stand behind six other people while somebody types into a computer. Almost as bad is an elaborate check-in ritual you didn’t ask for.

I don’t need a speech about the hotel. I need somebody to look at me, understand what I need at that moment and act accordingly. Sometimes that’s a conversation. Sometimes it’s a martini. Sometimes it’s simply the room key.