I started staying in the Beverly Hills Hotel in the early 1970s and was immediately swept away by the sheer glamor of it all. From the star-studded Polo Lounge off the lobby to the lush banana-leaf wallpaper lining the hallways to the Olympic pool flanked by cabanas filled with moguls cutting deals, the Beverly Hills Hotel was like no other. And then there was the lower-level Coffee Shop, where old-fashioned short-order cooks and waitresses served up the best pancakes, hot dogs, and milkshakes in town. And the dashing valet parkers in their pink polos and khaki shorts effortlessly gliding shiny Mustang convertibles around the white stretch limos popular with rock stars back in the day. The remarkable thing, the beautiful thing, is that the Pink Palace, as it fancies itself, still epitomizes that splendid Old Hollywood glamor five decades later. —Bob Colacello

Bob Colacello is an Editor at Large at AIR MAIL