Making small talk during lunch, an Italian designer and I discuss one of our favorite subjects: the fine hotels of the world. He’s an aficionado, seeking out grand foyers, plush comfort, and architectural distinction. His current favorite is the Beekman in New York’s financial district, with one of the most striking bars, in an atrium so high it makes you slightly woozy when you look up. But what’s a fashion designer doing in FiDi? “It’s right near a hospital,” he says.
He’s never had to visit the conveniently located emergency room; the man is perfectly healthy. “I’m a terrible hypochondriac,” he explains.