A friend sent me an article recently about how hotels were changing — and would change — in the face and aftermath of the COVID-19 pandemic. The article featured a quote from the general manager of the Four Seasons Hotel in New York (which has been hosting front line medical professionals in its rooms) who said, “We used to be known for the human touch, but now we’re all about no touch at all.”

“We used to be known for the human touch, but now we’re all about no touch at all.”

I’m a regular at the NoMad in downtown Los Angeles. I’ve stayed there for at least one night — and generally for quite a few more than that — about once a month for at least the past year, likely longer. There was a stretch when, while on trips to LA, I bounced around to other DTLA hotels (and, briefly, to AirBnBs) — the Freehand, the Ace, the Figueroa, the Line over in Koreatown — until I decided that it was pointless; the NoMad was where I wanted to be.

It’s a beautiful building; it was built in 1923 for The Bank of Italy and maintains the grandness this connotes — high ceilings, lush tapestries — while also managing to be welcoming and comfortable.

But really, the reason I don’t want to stay anywhere else when I am in Los Angeles is Marguerite.

Marguerite is the Director of the hotel’s front office. I don’t remember when I first met her; I think we may have exchanged emails about an upcoming stay before I introduced myself to her in person at the front desk. But now, when I book a room at the NoMad — or before I do — I reach out to her to let her know I’m coming. She always gets me a good rate and a room upgrade, knowing that I like the room at the end of the hall because it’s quieter than the others. But she also always looks out for me in other ways.

I think it was this October when I checked in after having a particularly long Uber ride from the airport. I was happy to see Marguerite at the front desk and shared with her that my plan that evening was to go straight to bed; I was exhausted. And I did. But I woke up in the middle of the night to pee and fainted, hitting my head on the floor when I did. My doctor, whom I visited when I got back home, diagnosed me with dehydration — an issue I have had in the past — which I shared with Marguerite when she followed up to make sure I was doing okay. The next time I checked in, she had my room stocked with multiple bottles of water and let me know she would send more if I needed it.

This February was my last trip to LA before the world came to a standstill. I booked a seven-night stay at the NoMad; my best friend was in town and it was my birthday. My boyfriend — unbeknownst to me — let Marguerite know that it was my birthday and she surprised both of us with a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of wine, a small gift, and a box filled with cupcakes.

It’s not always about health crises or celebrations. It’s a cliche, but the “little things” do matter: Marguerite tells me when my curls are looking particularly good, which means something coming from someone with a beautiful head of her own curls.

I know that Marguerite does these things because it’s her job; I’m not deluded into thinking that we’re friends, although I like her quite a bit. But that’s the point. Marguerite is gracious and welcoming and attentive and helpful to me because Marguerite is REALLY GOOD at her job. I’m confident that there are other people who choose to stay at the NoMad because of her, because she makes them feel good, because she is REALLY GOOD at her job.

On March 15, Marguerite emailed me to let me know that “due to the reduced occupancy” she would be on temporary leave from the NoMad. Since then, the NoMad has closed all of its hotels and restaurants “until further notice” and Marguerite is either still furloughed or is now out of a job. I sincerely hope she’s okay.

I’ve said it before here: design is people. A well-designed hotel is not a hotel that is “Instagram-ready;” it’s a hotel that understands, anticipates, and meets people’s needs. And often — and it couldn’t be any clearer than it is in this moment in my life — people need to feel that someone is looking out for them. While you can stand six feet away while you’re doing it, we all need “high touch".

There are certainly bigger issues that we’re going to need to overcome, but I’ve been thinking a great deal about all of the changes that will be made in hospitality, either for public health reasons or because we’re just all going to be a little more afraid of each other than we ever were before. And I’ve been thinking about whether this pandemic will mean that my love for hotels becomes a thing of the past.

But I hope not. When it’s safe to do so, I hope to book a room at the NoMad — and I hope Marguerite is standing behind the front desk when it is time to check in.

And I hope, on that day, that both of us have a really good head of curls.