America’s Top Hospitality Architects & Designers: Crafting Exceptional Spaces

‘I treat every project as ethnography. I watch how people move, pause, and interact. I sit in my own lobbies and restaurants at odd hours to observe behavior, the subtle gestures, the unspoken ergonomics. I learn from staff as much as guests.’ —Karim Rashid

Tomark the publication of Forbes’ inaugural America’s Top Hospitality Architects & Designers list, we gathered a group of distinguished principals from listed firms—each not only an award-winning designer but a thought leader in the field—for a conversation about the core issues and opportunities that define progressive hospitality design today. Our aim: To bring to life the vital relationship between business leaders and those who design their exceptional spaces.

The participants represent the best of the best in the field: Roman Alonso is Principal of Los Angeles’s Commune. Karim Rashid is founder of New York’s Karim Rashid, Inc. Gray Davis and Will Meyer are cofounders of the New York firm Meyer Davis. Michael Hsu is Principal of the Austin, Texas, firm Michael Hsu Office of Architecture. David Rockwell is Principal of Rockwell Group, a firm with offices internationally, including in New York and Los Angeles.

We plumbed this group’s experience and diversity of signature approaches to gain insight into how our hotels, restaurants, wineries, spa and wellness retreats, and other public spaces are orchestrated. But we received much more—not merely a picture of the future of design for shared experience, but insight into how Forbes readers can work with these visionaries to construct sublime settings for businesses and consumers alike.

RICHARD OLSEN, Forbes Senior Editor, Architecture: I don’t know that most consumers understand and appreciate the fundamental challenges faced by the architect and designer of hotels, restaurants and other public spaces, particularly at the luxury and fine-dining ends of the spectrum. Unlike the designer of houses, who deals in specifics tailored for an individual or family, the hospitality designer must identify and account for what will appeal to the masses—people from all walks of life. Surely no small amount of research comes into play. But specifically, how do you find ways to continually refine your understanding of how beauty is perceived by people you’ve never met?

ROMAN ALONSO: Beauty as a universal ideal is rarely part of the conversation for us, and we tend to bristle at the idea of luxury in its most conventional sense. We’re far more interested in creating spaces that feel authentic and genuinely functional—places that serve their purpose beautifully. That’s always our starting point, and it requires us to enter each project with real curiosity and a commitment to research. For us, true luxury lies in the experience of a space that has been so deeply and thoughtfully considered that every detail supports both its use and the feeling it evokes.

KARIM RASHID: Coming from industrial design, I’m very comfortable designing for mass markets. I’ve created everything from perfume bottles and cosmetic packaging to mobile phones, kitchen appliances and luggage. So the idea of designing for “the many” feels natural to me. Design, to me, is a selfless act, about creating better experiences for others. A personal home is much harder, because clients often push their own tastes and artifacts onto the space, leaving less room for creativity. In hospitality, I start with human universals such as comfort, legibility, light, acoustics and tactility, and then layer in the brand’s personality. We choreograph the journey: arrival, check-in, social zones, retreat. When function, emotion and narrative align, the result resonates with people I’ve never met. That’s how beauty becomes universal, when it’s about empathy, not ego. I also don’t follow trends. I create a language meant to inspire people, to provoke thought and to change mentalities. Design should evolve culture, not decorate it.

WILL MEYER: This question leads to one of my favorite things about what we do at Meyer Davis, which is considering location, communities and cultures. Beautiful design, as you say, can be subjective, but what makes it truly engaging, powerful and extraordinary is how it ties in with the surrounding environment.

We, as hospitality designers, try to provide as much local connection as possible in our projects, because overall the goal is for guests to feel immersed in the setting they came to visit in the first place.

There is not one definition of beauty in design, but instead it’s the way that design allows the beauty of a place to come through, that resonates with all audiences.

MICHAEL HSU: Beauty is deeply personal, but it’s also cultural, contextual and emotional. I travel often, but I also pay close attention when I’m home—watching how people move through spaces, how they linger, what they photograph. I’m interested in the quiet cues: what makes someone feel seen, or safe, or inspired. We do research, yes, but we also listen. We talk to chefs, hoteliers, guests, staff. We observe. And we stay curious. Beauty isn’t a fixed idea—it’s a conversation.

DAVID ROCKWELL: There’s an incredible amount of energy at our studio, and we have a strong sense of curiosity, which drives us to explore ideas, to take creative risks, and to hopefully create something meaningful for our clients and their guests. We begin each project with an enormous amount of research: into the client, the location, the typology, the local culture and precedents, the climate. We look at how the site has transformed over time, the way light hits at different times of day, and we look into local craftspeople and artists who we can potentially collaborate with. All of this and more builds a foundation for a specific narrative and story that we’re going to tell that is unique to each project. The “language” for the story is our material palette, massing, choreography, art, technology, daylight, etc.

We focus on determining how we think guests want to feel as they move through our projects, what memories we want them to walk away with, what discoveries we want them to make. I believe we are particularly strong in knowing how to transform a space into an experience that people become immersed in for the time that they’re there. In a restaurant, for example, being able to set the scene with design enhances the inherent choreography of the evening—the ritual of stepping in off the street, walking through a curtained threshold, handing over a coat, maybe stopping at the bar before a favorite seat. These are the reasons dining out is so much fun, and a delight.

RICHARD OLSEN: Do Post-Occupancy Evaluation (POE), or focus groups, or other studies of consumer judgment and the physical use of a finished building or space, factor in? In the fine-dining and luxury segments, are POEs commonly conducted by the client and shared with you? Is such data needed?

ROMAN ALONSO: We love when clients bring data and insights from past projects. Those lessons are invaluable and often spark great conversations. But we’re also not shy about asking our own questions. At the start of each project, we develop tailored (and lengthy!) questionnaires to help clients articulate their goals and define success for our collaboration.

We also spend time with the operations, F&B, and maintenance teams to understand the project from every angle. We take pride in being conversant in all the details that shape the guest experience, from the check-in process to how glassware is displayed at the bar. Every touchpoint contributes to how a guest feels in the space, so for us, it all matters.

KARIM RASHID: Post-occupancy evaluation is essential to me, whether formal or informal. I constantly observe how guests use the space, how they move, where they linger, what they photograph, how the materials age, and what staff struggle with. I study social feedback, online comments and behavior patterns. All of it becomes part of the next project. For me, data is not the opposite of intuition, it amplifies it. The best design comes from listening, observing and then evolving.

GRAY DAVIS: POEs, as described, are typically conducted by the client or brand as part of LEED, WELL or other internal requirements. We always discuss post-occupancy insights with both the brand and client, but these evaluations do not drive our understanding of what the consumer wants. Instead, our approach is informed by broader market knowledge, industry experience and established principles for designing spaces that appeal to target audiences. Sometimes it’s helpful to create a persona or a muse and imagine them experiencing the space.

MICHAEL HSU: They’re not always formalized in the luxury or fine-dining sectors, but we do seek feedback. Sometimes it’s anecdotal—a restaurateur tells us guests are staying longer, or a hotelier notices people gathering in a space that wasn’t originally programmed in that way. We value that kind of lived-in insight. It helps us refine our instincts and evolve our approach.

RICHARD OLSEN: And while we’re talking about guests and their learned, if not innate, subjectivity when it comes to the topic of “beauty in design,” in your approach to the handling of what you believe will inevitably appeal, if not seduce, project to project, how do you maintain that supreme level of positivity? How do you remain that curious about people? Where does that research begin?

ROMAN ALONSO: We’re curious by nature and we relish the initial research phase of our projects. Our concept books tend to be richly layered, bringing together source material that spans historical periods, our design heroes and cultural movements. We find it most productive when we can explore the tensions and overlaps between these different threads. That is where ideas come to life.

Many of our hospitality projects, especially hotels, involve multiple distinct spaces. Having a few central touchstones that interact in different ways across those spaces allows us to approach each area from a fresh perspective while maintaining a sense of unity across the project.

These conceptual narratives become our north star. They guide the design intent at the start and give us something solid to return to when, inevitably, a curveball arises: a change in scope, budget or program. The best concepts are expansive enough to adapt to those shifts while keeping the design layered and alive, rather than reductive or repetitive.

KARIM RASHID: I am always very positive and I design positive, uplifting spaces. I do what I feel, and I don’t worry about what people think they want, because most people don’t know what they want until they experience it. My goal is to shape new spaces that make people feel alive. If you go through life living in the past, without diverse or heightened experiences, time moves fast. More experiences and more exposure mean a longer, richer life, because you accumulate more memories.

I treat every project as ethnography. I watch how people move, pause and interact. I sit in my own lobbies and restaurants at odd hours to observe behavior, the subtle gestures, the unspoken ergonomics. I learn from staff as much as guests. My research begins with the human body in motion, then expands to local histories, digital culture and materials science. Curiosity stays alive because design is an act of optimism, believing we can make life a little more poetic and humane through form and experience.

GRAY DAVIS: Good design stems from the people we’re designing for. With that mindset, curiosity comes naturally, as we continually learn from diverse locations, cultures and styles. This curiosity sparks the initial concept, guiding us to immerse ourselves in the spirit of a place—its art, food, fashion and people—and let those elements shape our approach. Design wouldn’t be where it is today without curiosity; every aesthetic has an origin, and it’s our role as designers to uncover those roots through research and exploration.

MICHAEL HSU: Curiosity is the foundation of our practice. We start every project by asking questions—not just about the program and budget, but about emotion, memory, aspiration. ‘What does comfort look like here?’ ‘What does luxury feel like in this context?’ We’re not designing for demographics; we’re designing for experiences. That keeps us open, and optimistic.

DAVID ROCKWELL: I’ve been fascinated by design as a tool for facilitating connection through shared experience and design as a storytelling tool. My family moved around a lot when I was a kid. I was born in Chicago and then we lived in Deal, New Jersey, before moving to Guadalajara, Mexico. So as a child dealing with a lot of transitions, I gravitated towards building toys, like Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs and blocks. Being able to create things allowed me to mediate the world. These experiences fueled my deep need to create a community and a new story. It also nurtured my curiosity about new people and new places. Perhaps it’s strange for an architect to be interested in impermanence, but I believe that curiosity about transformation and mutability and the comings-and-goings of a city has been the creative bedrock of our firm.

I also grew up in the theater—my mother was a dancer and choreographer, and ran a community theater on the Jersey Shore, and she often cast me in productions. To be involved in such a collaborative art form, you have to be curious about other people’s choices and about the stories being told on stage in all forms—costumes, music, lighting, props, scenography, the book. Seeing how art and beauty were created through collaboration as a child was completely eye-opening and life-changing.

Remaining curious about people involves empathy, which is something we talk a lot about in our work. I think real luxury today is feeling cared for. We create a language of care. Designing with a sense of care for the audience, guest, end user, is about anticipating how and where they will make memories, about stepping into the shoes of someone’s day, reflecting on who their traveling or dining companions might be. We can choreograph all of that with design and a series of moments that inspire awe and intimacy. All of that supersedes a simple visual definition of “beauty.”

RICHARD OLSEN: As Internet-enabled globalism creeps into seemingly every aspect of our lives, sense of place, the cultural essence of a given locality, is increasingly becoming marginalized. To what extent are you looking to “place” for your references now?

ROMAN ALONSO: Our 888 restaurant project immediately comes to mind. In this case, researching “place” didn’t mean grounding the design in its local context of Nashville. Rather, the concept was about transporting guests somewhere else entirely—to an elevated interpretation of the kissa bars of Tokyo’s Golden Gai district.

To capture the spirit of the kissa, we studied what makes those tiny jazz bars so distinctive: their intimacy; their haphazard, DIY construction; and their sense of improvisation. The challenge was to evoke that idiosyncratic energy at the scale of a 3,200-square-foot restaurant, while achieving the level of refinement expected within a JW Marriott.

KARIM RASHID: I interpret “place” through energy and behavior rather than pastiche. In Semiramis, Athens, I distilled the Mediterranean spirit, not through columns or motifs, but through the way the sun saturates color and how the culture embraces openness. I used bright citrus greens and pinks, fluid geometries, and transparency to express that warmth. I believe in creating a new localism, spaces that honor light, climate and rhythm of life, rather than imitating history.

WILL MEYER: A few projects come to mind. At Four Seasons Resort and Residences Cabo San Lucas at Cabo Del Sol, we were inspired by the land as the property sits on an agave farm and is surrounded by a creative community. We spent time with artisans from San Miguel de Allende, Guadalajara and Mexico City to understand their craft and materials firsthand. This helped ensure the design felt genuinely connected to the culture.

Another recent example is W Sardinia. From the outset, the island’s mythology, natural formations and coastal atmosphere shaped our approach. We embraced storytelling as a guiding principle, highlighting Sardinian heritage in ways that are subtle yet meaningful. One gesture of this is a commissioned mural by Kooness depicting the Phoenician goddess Tanit. The mural weaves local folklore directly into the guest experience creating a sense of place that is both immersive and memorable.

MICHAEL HSU: Place is our primary starting point. Not just the physical site, but the cultural and emotional landscape surrounding it. We study the rhythms of a neighborhood, the materials that resonate locally, the way people gather and move. We ask ourselves who the project is for and how it will ultimately serve them. For South Congress Hotel, we were designing in one of Austin’s most iconic corridors—known for its eclectic energy, walkability and layered history. We wanted the building to feel embedded in that context, not imposed on it. The massing breaks down into approachable volumes, the palette draws from mid-century textures and regional materials, and the public spaces open generously to the street. It’s a hotel, but it’s also a neighborhood anchor.

That’s what designing with place in mind looks like. We don’t believe the design of a place is entirely about holding a mirror to itself. Authentic expression isn’t mimicry—it’s about interpreting context with architectural specificity, not replicating it as stylistic cliché.

DAVID ROCKWELL: Place and localism have always been extremely important to our work and remain so. Beyond studying the context of a project’s country or region, we’re focused on hyper-localism: What is the block where this project is located? Who are the neighbors? What’s the museum down the street? We want to make the world at large feel like it’s at your fingertips, starting with the lobby or dining room, and vice-versa, that the project is extension of the public realm and the place in which it is located. This can be translated into form or materials, of course, but more often than not it involves digging into local rituals and finding out what hospitality means in different places. It could be a gift or an offering; a tea service; a secret door to a hidden world; a handwashing station.

RICHARD OLSEN: As part of the globalism conversation, as an extension of the practice of referencing “place” in the work, are you exploring “time” (time periods) to a greater degree now as a key reference?

ROMAN ALONSO: We’ve always been interested in context; not just geographic, but temporal. Time can be an incredibly rich design tool, especially when a project calls for connecting different eras or sensibilities. An example is Fanny’s, the restaurant we designed within the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures by architect Renzo Piano. The restaurant needed to speak to the museum’s subject matter, the history of filmmaking, while also feeling at home within Piano’s stripped-back architecture. To bridge those two worlds, we looked closely at the early days of Hollywood, researching both its glamorous front-of-house world and its more utilitarian backlot culture. On one side: the elegance of classic Hollywood dining, with its plush booths, red carpets, waiters in coattails. On the other: the exposed wood framing and raw practicality of early film sets. Tying the competing aspects of the brief back to a single historical moment helped unify the concept. The result is a space that feels elevated and transportive yet still completely grounded in Piano’s architecture.

KARIM RASHID: I think of time as a texture, not nostalgia. I’m drawn to the optimism of the 1960s space age, the era that believed in progress, color and futurism. In my Prizeby Radisson projects, I channel that spirit with generous curves, continuous surfaces and joyful palettes, but use today’s digital fabrication, recycled materials and smart systems. It’s about translating the hope of another time into the sustainability and social awareness of now.

GRAY DAVIS: W Rome is a great example of how we thought about time as a design reference. The narrative for the project centered around the idea of “Live Eternal,” which became a lens through which we explored Rome’s very deep and layered history. Instead of being tied to a single era, we took influences from different time periods to create another realm for guests to explore, in a city where the past and present are constantly intersected.

MICHAEL HSU: We do consider time as a design layer—not just in terms of nostalgia, but as a way to create emotional resonance. At South Congress Hotel, for example, we referenced mid-century proportions and materials—terrazzo, warm woods, steel detailing—not to recreate the past, but to evoke a sense of continuity between time periods. The building feels current, but familiar. That’s the power of time: it can ground a space, give it depth and connect guests to something larger than the moment they’re in.

We also think about time in a more experiential sense—how a space performs across the day and through the seasons. A project should support different rhythms: morning versus evening, busy versus quiet, weekday versus weekend. That’s how architecture becomes attuned to real life.

DAVID ROCKWELL: Time is another essential layer of context. Many of our projects engage in a dialogue between eras: how a space acknowledges what came before, responds to the present, and anticipates what’s next. Designing with time in mind allows us to build a richer narrative, whether that’s channeling a specific historical moment, nodding to a dormant typology or imagining how a space will evolve with its community over decades. We’re drawn to moments where past and future overlap: a contemporary restaurant that nods to the radical optimism of 1970s Milan, or a hospitality project that reinterprets a centuries-old local craft through digital fabrication.

So while “place” anchors us, “time” expands the story, inviting us to choreograph continuity and change, to design not just for a location, but for a living timeline. Our new restaurant in Miami, La Specialita, is a good example, because it’s a sister restaurant (and the first in the U.S.) to the original La Specialita in Milan. We wanted to create a dialogue between the two cities because both share a love of bold color, design and conviviality. We looked to Milan of the 1960s and ’70s, when it was a laboratory of radical experimentation in design and architecture. There was a sense of optimism as architects pushed against social inequality and political upheaval and incorporated art, music and performance into their work and ideas. We felt that this playful, hopeful, artistic spirit was appropriate for the Miami of today.

The restaurant channels Milanese sophistication through a Miami lens. Sweeping curves, supergraphics and bright tones invite guests into a joyful, ever-changing experience. The green lavastone bar, red lacquered host stand, and terrazzo floors all nod to the Supergraphic era, when pattern and geometry defined the visual language. The striped leather booths are an homage to vintage Ferraris and add movement and a touch of glamour. Together, these materials create a tactile environment that feels both nostalgic and forward-looking, grounded in Italian craft and also at home in Miami’s sun-drenched landscape.

RICHARD OLSEN: As Forbes embarks on its inaugural list of top hospitality architects and designers, the elephant in the room is what surely everyone has seen on “Main Street” in their own communities and in the news, the post-pandemic closure of so many restaurants—so many great restaurants. Considering your front-line view, I must ask: What are you seeing now in the fine-dining sector, in terms of new work, new commissions? Have we turned the corner?

ROMAN ALONSO: It’s true, the pandemic left a vacuum in hospitality that was quickly filled by pop-up concepts and trend-driven spaces designed for attention rather than longevity. Our practice has always been more interested in embedding design within the life of a community—acknowledging context, respecting history and collaborating with local artists so that when a space opens, it already feels connected to its surroundings. We also believe in materials that age gracefully. Living finishes like unlacquered metals, oiled woods and natural textiles patina beautifully over time. People sense when something is built to last—when a space invites return visits rather than one-time curiosity.

A good example of this approach is Le Bon Nosh in Atlanta, which was under construction during the height of the pandemic and opened at a very uncertain time. The design was conceived as a portrait of the chef and owner and an extension of her home. To achieve this, we leaned heavily on our firm’s experience in high-end residential design. Translating the intimacy and comfort of a home to the scale of a large restaurant, with all its technical demands, came with challenges, but it also became the project’s unifying idea. Because the concept was so personal and clearly defined, it gave the space an identity strong enough to evolve. As programming shifted with changing conditions, that clarity and warmth carried through each new iteration, proving that specificity and authenticity can be the best foundation for adaptability.

KARIM RASHID: I’ve never really been a “luxury” designer in the traditional sense. I rarely get enormous budgets, and honestly, I prefer it that way. I never waste a client’s money on superfluous decoration or banal “luxury” materials. Luxury, to me, is a 20th-century word that has lost its meaning. Today, real luxury is intelligence: voice-controlled environments, integrated lighting and climate systems, touchless technologies, adaptive acoustics, frictionless check-ins, seamless connectivity and the effortless comfort of a space that simply works.

Luxury now is ease of use, calmness and reduction, a sensual minimalism that celebrates space and light rather than accumulation. Filling interiors with marble and ornament isn’t luxury; it’s visual chaos, a kitsch expression of the past. Many hotels are over-styled with fragile materials that are impossible to maintain and inefficient to clean. For me, less but better experiences define the future. True luxury is clarity, efficiency and serenity.

GRAY DAVIS: From our vantage point, the fine-dining sector is showing remarkable resilience and adaptability. While the pandemic undeniably reshaped the industry, and nostalgically we do miss the ones that closed, new beginnings bring new opportunities. We’re now seeing a renewed sense of ambition among restaurateurs and hospitality groups. New commissions are emerging that reflect not just a desire to reopen, but to reimagine the guest experience—whether through innovative design, immersive storytelling or a more thoughtful integration of local culture and cuisine.

There’s a real focus on creating spaces that feel intimate, flexible and layered with personality—places that invite guests to linger and connect. In many ways, the challenges of the past few years have catalyzed creativity. So yes, I’d say we’re turning a corner, and the projects we’re seeing now are about redefining what fine dining can be in a post-pandemic world.

MICHAEL HSU: The fine-dining sector is still recalibrating—especially in cities like Los Angeles, where closures in 2025 have been driven not just by shifting consumer habits, but also by rising labor costs, wildfire-related disruptions and pandemic-era debt. In Austin, the picture is mixed: while more than 50 restaurants were recognized in the 2025 Michelin Guide, the city has lost a few local institutions this year. Even in New York, where the dining scene is famously resilient, the pace of openings is high—but so is turnover.

We’re seeing a shift in how clients approach new fine-dining commissions. There’s more caution, but also more clarity. Operators are asking better questions: What’s the story? What’s the emotional arc of the space? How do we create something that’s not just beautiful, but resilient? We’re seeing fewer “statement” restaurants and more that are rooted in their community, in unique experiences and with an eye towards longevity. Owners are also questioning what the right restaurant size and number of seats are to be successful and control risk.

So yes, there’s momentum—but it’s not a return to the old model. It’s something more intentional. And that’s a good thing.

DAVID ROCKWELL: Opening and running a restaurant, especially in a city like New York, remains a Herculean feat, and we are always in awe of the people who do it and do it well, from the Daniel Bouluds of the world to the corner diners. From our perspective, this is an incredible time for dining out. Some of the most fascinating, challenging (in terms of challenging the norms of dining) and unique restaurants we’ve designed have been commissioned and opened in the last few years. Certainly, the pandemic made everyone appreciate the ritual of dining out together and understand how vital it is to the emotional and economic health of a town or a city. So, I do hope we have turned a corner; it feels like we have. Recent Rockwell Group restaurants that come to mind, all representing this vibrancy and creativity, include La Tête d’Or, COQODAQ, COTE Vegas, Seahorse (at the W New York Union Square), The View and The Corner Store.

RICHARD OLSEN: And as part of that, the new (heightened) notion of harnessing design devices to instill a greater sense of security and emotional comfort in the minds of guests—on this front, have you had to reevaluate, or alter, your signature approach? If so, in what ways?

ROMAN ALONSO: Our practice has always been multidisciplinary, with designers moving fluidly between residential, hospitality and commercial projects. Residential work is a key part of our portfolio, and because homes demand comfort, safety and emotional well-being, those priorities naturally carry over into our approach to hospitality.

Our residential work has taught us to be flexible and not dogmatic. Homes evolve over time, often with layers of history already built in. People instinctively find comfort in familiar forms and the subtle echoes of the past, and that understanding guides our choices in materials, textures and spatial relationships. By honoring these layers, we create environments that feel grounded and human.

Our connection to Japan has also shaped our thinking around comfort, especially as it relates to materiality. Japanese traditions embrace imperfection and tactility—the quiet poetry of materials that age gracefully. Whenever possible, we gravitate toward using natural materials that reveal their history over time. There’s reassurance in that authenticity. When spaces engage the senses and reveal the hand of the maker, they feel more human—less about spectacle and more about belonging.

KARIM RASHID: My language of sensual minimalism has deepened, not changed. Comfort and safety are emotional states, not just physical. I use generous radii, soft edges, tactile contrasts and cocooning forms to create psychological comfort. Lighting now shifts subtly to calm the mind, and wayfinding is intuitive so guests feel competent and free. In recent hotels, I’ve introduced more natural materials, breathable layouts and layered acoustics, designing serenity without austerity. Sensual minimalism remains my ethos, but it now carries a sense of reassurance. Differentiation breeds success.

WILL MEYER: Comfort and emotional well-being have become even more central to how people experience hospitality. For us, that has not meant changing our philosophy as much as honing in on it, as we have always believed that good design should quietly support how people want to live and feel. Lately, we have been thinking even more about how to create environments that immediately make someone exhale the moment they walk in.

Our branded residential work really captures this idea. People want the ease and familiarity of home, and they also want the care and services that come from hospitality. It is an interesting blend because the space must feel deeply personal yet still offer the luxuries that elevate everyday life. So, the question we are always asking is: How do we create that balance? That is the evolution for us. We are growing with the way people are living today, while staying true to who we have always been. Our focus remains on human-centered design that feels good in every sense of the word.

MICHAEL HSU: It’s been more of an evolution than a pivot. We’ve always believed that hospitality spaces should feel warm, intuitive and emotionally generous. What’s changed is the urgency. Guests are arriving with more emotional complexity—more need for calm, for clarity, for care. That’s pushed us to be even more intentional with how we use light, texture, scale and rhythm. We’re thinking more about thresholds, about how a space greets you, how it holds you. Comfort isn’t just about softness—it’s about coherence. When a space feels considered, people feel considered. That’s the shift.

DAVID ROCKWELL: I touched on this earlier when I talked about how we design with empathy—certainly with a goal of guests’ physical and emotional comfort. Our studio is also driven by fostering and creating community—being together is today’s true luxury and comfort. If there’s one value that cuts across all of our work, even work that you may think of as more exclusive, it deals with space as a democratic place, where the gathering of people becomes part of the defining characteristic of the space. That applies to dining, of course, but also the playgrounds, gathering spaces, hotels, university buildings. Our spaces are inclusive of everyone.

We are constantly looking for and looking at how to create rituals and experiences that create connection in ways that are meaningful, memorable and human. Because this is at the heart of how we have been designing and working for years, I wouldn’t say that I can recall a project where we’ve had to shift course. However, most of our projects contain these moments of care and community-building.

RICHARD OLSEN: Today, I would argue that the design devices of transformation and immersion are of towering importance, more necessary than ever before. As concepts such as Ambient Intelligence (embedding tech into the environment for systems of personalization for guests) Virtual Immersion (via tech such as Virtual Reality headsets for guests), not to mention A.I. itself, become mainstream, how far into the realm of the “unprecedented” do you foresee being able to take “transformation” and “immersion” in your work? Using such tech, how deep into the spectacular can it go? Or do you believe the harnessing of such tech, in this respect, is going too far?

ROMAN ALONSO: As students of design history, we’ve seen wave after wave of new technologies promising to redefine the human experience of space. Each era brings its own revolution, and often an equally strong and long-lasting countermovement. The Arts and Crafts and Art Nouveau, for example, emerged as reactions against industrialization and the loss of the handmade. We tend to align ourselves with that countercurrent. As proponents of craft, we believe the deepest form of immersion still comes from material, atmosphere, and human connection rather than simulation. Immersive technologies can be powerful tools, but they often move design toward the uncanny or the novel, distancing people from the tactile richness that makes physical space meaningful.

Nevertheless, we welcome the debate! The ongoing dialogue between technology and craft is what keeps design alive. It pushes the field forward, introduces new ways of thinking and, just as importantly, broadens design’s foundation by reaffirming what is timeless and human within it. Every day, we collaborate with remarkable makers whose creativity and resourcefulness remind us that transformation doesn’t always depend on new technology. Sometimes it’s found in the way light hits a surface or how a material reveals the hand of its maker. Those are the moments of true immersion we continue to seek.

KARIM RASHID: I’m fascinated by ambient intelligence, the kind of technology that dissolves into atmosphere. Imagine lighting and sound that learn your rhythm, rooms that subtly shift hue with circadian patterns, or projection that enriches material rather than overwhelms it. The real transformation is not spectacle; it’s personalization and empathy at scale. I use AI for simulation and flow modeling, but in the built experience, it should disappear. The future of hospitality is not tech for tech’s sake, it’s seamless, human-centric intelligence.

GRAY DAVIS: It’s interesting to think about where design is heading, and technology certainly has a role to play in that. What matters most to us is that innovation should support how people want to live, not distract from it. Our work on Seawolf X shows how we think about that balance. The yacht is filled with advanced sustainable systems and the engineering is complex, but what you notice as a guest is that the space is peaceful, comfortable, beautifully crafted and personal. The experience feels effortless because the innovation is working quietly in the background. That is where we think the magic happens. The more a space supports your comfort and well-being without asking for attention, the more immersive it becomes. So, we are absolutely interested in what’s ahead, but our focus will always be on design that feels grounded. Technology is a tool, not the destination, and when used thoughtfully it can help people connect more deeply to the places they inhabit.

MICHAEL HSU: Technology can be seductive, but transformation in hospitality design doesn’t begin with devices—it begins with human emotion. We’re interested in how a space makes someone feel before they even notice the tech. Ambient systems, personalization tools, even immersive media can be powerful when they’re quiet, intuitive and in service of the experience. But when technology becomes the spectacle, it risks flattening the human connection. We’re not chasing the unprecedented—we’re chasing the unforgettable. And that often comes from restraint. The drive towards novelty and a dopamine-producing strategy can be short-lived.

RICHARD OLSEN: In consideration of the new tech, I would argue that “new” doesn’t necessarily equate to “better.” Hyatt, Hilton and others are already using Virtual Realty to enable potential guests to explore their properties remotely, to “tour” their properties’ nearby attractions, and even for purposes of in-room entertainment. But how far away are we from seeing this technology being appropriated for use in hotel lobbies and dining rooms—in public spaces, where we’re supposed to be social?

ROMAN ALONSO: We aspire to a kind of timelessness that technology can undermine, often feeling intrusive and dating a space quickly. We do value tech that enhances the experience in subtle, invisible ways—smart lighting that shifts the mood over the course of the day is a great example. But we’re less interested in technology that pulls people out of the moment or the space itself.

KARIM RASHID: Most hotels around the world are so badly designed. It’s shocking how many mistakes are repeated, and how few are truly beautiful. The major chains you mention play it too safe, recycling the same “neutral comfort” language. In the 1950s, Holiday Inn used the slogan “Home away from home” because travel felt unfamiliar and intimidating. But today, people don’t want that. They crave the opposite. They want phenomenological experiences, to live for a few days in a world that shifts their perception.

Even if these chains are experimenting with VR, what’s the point of virtually touring another beige room? We are living in what I call the Beige Era, a period of metooism where everyone imitates everyone else, playing low-risk design maneuvers. Hospitality should be the antidote to that sameness. It should surprise, provoke and inspire transformation.

WILL MEYER: I think there are a lot of exciting possibilities in how technology tools are emerging in hospitality. They provide new ways to discover a place before they arrive, but at the same time, public spaces like lobbies and dining rooms have always been about real interaction and the energy that comes from being around other people, so we are careful about introducing anything that might get in the way of that experience. We prefer to use technology when it helps bring people together, rather than immersing guests into separate virtual worlds. I see these tools as subtle enhancements that can serve us in ways, but the key is to make sure innovation continues to serve the human side of hospitality. If technology helps people feel more present, more connected and more engaged, then it can be a beautiful part of the guest experience.

MICHAEL HSU: It’s already happening in limited ways, but the real question is, What kind of experience are we trying to create? Public spaces in hospitality—lobbies, lounges, dining rooms—are meant to foster connection. If tech enhances that, great. But if it isolates, it’s counterproductive. We’re designing for presence, for shared moments. Virtual reality has its place, but it’s not a substitute for atmosphere, for light, for the subtle choreography of a well-designed space. The goal isn’t to escape—it’s to arrive.

RICHARD OLSEN: And to the latter point, if you haven’t walked into a hotel lobby or restaurant and seen two adults, ostensibly a couple, sitting “together” but each entirely consumed by the screens of their individual smartphones, often for extended periods of time, you haven’t been in a hotel or restaurant in the last decade. In this time of ever-growing tech overstimulation and dependency, has your point of view on spatial choreography and psychological transition—pacing-intervention devices as a whole—changed dramatically? How does design help solve this problem?How do you “arrest attention” and slow the pace (and maintain that psychological adjustment in the process of procession through a space), drawing the guest out of the solitude of being “in one’s head” and into the realm of the shared physical experience?

ROMAN ALONSO: I think what you’re really asking is, “How do you get people to live in the moment?” Interestingly, this challenge is almost as old as the modern hotel itself. In the 1920s, German sociologist Siegfried Kracauer wrote an essay entitled “The Hotel Lobby,” reflecting on how these spaces are microcosms, emblematic of modern social interaction (and alienation). We think of his observations often.

In practice, addressing this means programming a space to support multiple modes of inhabitation. Large planning moves like scale, hierarchy and circulation set the stage, while subtler gestures shape the experience: the pitch of a seat back, the placement of upholstery, the relationship of seat heights to eye level, and how architectural elements or screens frame and filter views. Quiet corners invite reflection, open areas encourage people-watching, and a “catwalk” lets guests feel seen. Layering these strategies helps slow the pace, draw attention outward, and foster shared, physical engagement rather than screen-driven isolation.

KARIM RASHID: My feeling about life is that we will always need a bed, a chair, a knife, a fork, a bottle and a cork. Those everyday objects, and the spaces that hold them, should not only be functional and beautiful, but should also reflect the time in which we live. We have self-driving cars and AI assistants, yet our interiors keep regressing into nostalgia. The last ten hotels I stayed in all had Bauhaus-style globe lights and black steel wardrobes, a 1930s revival. Why do we keep repeating the past?

If we design spaces that embrace the new, that merge the physical and the virtual through art, interactive walls, music or even the reinvention of a simple wine glass, we can spark curiosity, conversation and connection. And if a lobby were truly and beautifully designed, it could host business meetings in comfort and style, with acoustic privacy and intimacy, something we’ve ignored for a century while still placing two couches across from each other with a giant coffee table in between.

Design should evolve how we live and interact. When a space stimulates discourse and inspires presence, people lift their eyes from their screens and rediscover the beauty of being together.

GRAY DAVIS: It is true that we bring our devices everywhere now, and it has changed how people move through spaces. Rather than trying to force guests away from their screens, we think the better approach is to create environments that genuinely reward paying attention to what is around you. For us, that often starts with the arrival sequence and how one should feel a shift the moment you step inside. When the design gives you something really exciting to discover, even little moments become times to be present. Screens will always be there, but if the atmosphere feels engaging, people will naturally reengage with the space and the people they are with. That is the heart of hospitality, shared physical experience. The more we can create places that feel worth noticing, the more we can help guests put the phone down without ever asking them to.

MICHAEL HSU: It’s changed—and it’s still changing. We’re designing in a moment where attention is fragmented, and solitude doesn’t always mean peace. Guests arrive carrying the weight of their day, their devices, their distractions. Our task is to create spaces that interrupt that rhythm—not aggressively, but gently. We think about pacing: how a space unfolds, how it invites pause, how it transitions from one emotional state to another.

Design can be a form of choreography. A shift in ceiling height, a change in material underfoot, the way light filters through a screen—these are cues that guide people out of their heads and into the present. We use texture, rhythm, and contrast to create moments of friction and release. A quiet vestibule before a lively dining room. A soft bench tucked into a corner. A view framed just so. These aren’t just aesthetic choices—they’re psychological ones.

We’re also thinking more about communal gravity. What makes someone put down their phone? It’s not signage; it’s atmosphere. It’s the warmth of a space, the way it makes you feel seen. We design for that. Not spectacle, but presence. Not distraction, but engagement. We believe design can shape behavior; changing perception and behavior is fundamental to hospitality.

Ultimately, hospitality is about generosity. And generosity in design means creating spaces that welcome people back to themselves—and to each other.

DAVID ROCKWELL: Of course, we can’t ensure that diners aren’t on their phones, but I do believe we are particularly strong in knowing how to transform a space into an experience that people become immersed in for the time that they’re there, by being attuned to the big picture and the tiniest details.

Driven by my lifelong interest in live performance, our hospitality work has been uniquely influenced by theatrical devices such as narrative, choreography, lighting, portability and collaboration. As in the most incredible night at the theater, dining out is about creating an experience that is communal and transformative. This has also meant paying very close attention to pacing and progression: entrance experience, setting the stage, framing, storytelling.

Through a design narrative and journey, we reveal and conceal to create anticipation and build excitement, creating memories in the process. Layers and depth give guests more to explore and discover over multiple visits, and keep them engaged in their meals, the performance of the night, their companions, the people around them.

Narrative has always been the fundamental link across all our work. We begin every project by thinking about the client’s point of view and backstory and how these elements can frame the experience from the moment guests walk in the door to when they leave. The result of this approach is that each project comes from a fresh conceptual perspective and we are never telling the same story twice.

Scale is also very important in a restaurant—mediating it to make certain moments feel grand and others intimate. When it comes to designing architecture and interiors, it’s also very helpful for me to remember how powerful ephemerality is—something that is ever-present in the theater world—and how impermanence can still create lasting memories and meaningful moments. In a restaurant, that could be the way a bar cart shifts around the dining room, changes in light, a particular view of an open kitchen from one seat but not another.

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