Palm Beach is a weird, manicured bubble that feels like living inside a very expensive Tupperware container. Everything is too green, the hedges are too square, and if you aren’t wearing at least three hundred dollars worth of linen, the police might actually deport you to West Palm. I’ve spent a lot of time there over the last five years—mostly for work stuff I can’t talk about, but also because I have a weird masochistic relationship with the place. I’ve stayed at the big names and the hidden ones, and honestly? Most of the ‘best’ hotels are total scams designed to separate Midwestern CEOs from their bonuses.

The Breakers is a factory and I’m tired of pretending it’s not

I know people will disagree, but I absolutely cannot stand The Breakers. It is the most overrated piece of real estate in the state of Florida. People talk about it like it’s this holy pilgrimage of luxury, but the reality is that it’s a 538-room convention factory. Last March, I spent $1,240 for a single night in a ‘Resort View’ room that was basically a view of a gravel roof and an AC unit. The room was so small I had to move my suitcase just to open the bathroom door.

What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. It’s not that it’s a bad hotel; it’s that it’s an impersonal one. You are a number there. You are a lanyard. I once waited exactly 42 minutes for the valet to bring my car around because there was a pharmaceutical conference letting out at the same time. 42 minutes of standing in the humidity, smelling other people’s expensive cologne. Never again.

If you want to feel like a very wealthy cog in a very large machine, stay at The Breakers. Otherwise, keep reading.

I used to think The Colony was a gimmick. I was wrong.

I avoided The Colony for years because I thought the pink exterior was just bait for people who spend too much time on Instagram. It felt performative. But then I stayed there in 2022 after a particularly brutal week in the office, and I have to admit: I was completely wrong. It’s actually the best hotel on the island if you care about service that doesn’t feel like it was scripted by a corporate HR department.

The rooms are actually comfortable. Not ‘hotel comfortable,’ but actually nice to be in. The carpet at the Brazilian Court—wait, wrong hotel, I’ll get to that in a second—the carpet at The Colony is actually quite thin, which I prefer because it feels cleaner. They have this little buggy that takes you to the beach, and the guys driving it actually seem like they enjoy their lives. It’s a vibe. It’s expensive, sure, but at least you feel like a person. I think I paid $850 for a room there, which is still insane, but I didn’t feel like I was being mugged by a guy in a tuxedo.

Anyway, I was talking about the bridge traffic earlier to a friend and realized that the location of The Colony is actually its secret weapon. You’re right there on Hammon Ave, two seconds from Worth Avenue, but you don’t feel the crush of the tourists. It’s the only place in Palm Beach that feels like it has a soul.

The part nobody talks about (The Brazilian Court)

If you want to hide, go here. This is where you go when you’re having an affair or you just really, really hate people. It’s tucked away in a residential neighborhood and it’s basically just a series of courtyards. It’s quiet. Shockingly quiet.

The carpet at the Brazilian Court is so thick it feels like walking on a giant, sleeping golden retriever. It’s that old-school, heavy luxury that doesn’t exist much anymore. I stayed there during a tropical storm once, and I didn’t hear a single drop of rain. The walls must be three feet thick. One minor thing though: the lighting in the rooms is terrible. I tried to do some work on my laptop and felt like I was sitting in a Victorian basement. I might be wrong about this, maybe people like the ‘moody’ vibe, but I found it annoying to the point where I had to move a floor lamp over to the desk myself.

• The Food: Cafe Boulud is in the lobby. It’s fine. It’s overpriced. $24 for a side of bacon is a crime against humanity.
• The Privacy: 10/10. Nobody will find you here.
• The Pool: Small, but you won’t have to fight a toddler for a lounge chair.

I refuse to recommend the Four Seasons

I’m going to be blunt: if you stay at the Four Seasons Palm Beach, you’re basically admitting you have no imagination. It’s fine. It’s perfectly fine. It’s a 5-star hotel that looks like every other 5-star hotel in the world. It’s way too far south, so you’re stuck in an Uber for 15 minutes every time you want to go anywhere interesting. I’ve stayed there twice for weddings and both times I forgot I was even in Florida. It could have been a Four Seasons in Scottsdale or Singapore. Total snooze fest.

I actively tell my friends to avoid it. Why spend that much money to be bored? It’s the ‘safe’ choice for people who are afraid of a little character. Plus, the beach there is always covered in more seaweed than the beaches further north. I don’t know why, but I’ve tracked it over three different visits in different seasons. It’s just a seaweed magnet.

The embarrassing reality of my 2018 trip

I should probably mention why I’m so bitter about some of these places. In 2018, I tried to do Palm Beach ‘on a budget’ (which is impossible, don’t try it). I stayed at a mid-range place near the airport that claimed to have a shuttle. The shuttle never came. I ended up walking half a mile in the sun, carrying two bags, wearing a wool blazer because I wanted to look the part. I arrived at a meeting on Worth Avenue drenched in sweat, looking like a drowned rat. I had to go into a boutique and buy a $400 pair of loafers just so they wouldn’t kick me out of the building. I’ve never worn those shoes again. They’re sitting in my closet as a reminder that Palm Beach is a place where you either play the game or you get crushed by it.

That experience taught me that if you’re going to go, you have to go all in. But going all in doesn’t mean staying at the biggest, loudest hotel. It means finding the one that actually treats you like a human being instead of a walking credit card.

Is it worth the money? Honestly, I don’t know. Every time I leave, I look at my bank statement and feel a little bit sick. But then six months pass, and I find myself looking at photos of the pool at The Colony again. It’s a sickness. I don’t have a neat way to wrap this up because I’m still trying to figure out why I like a place that clearly doesn’t care if I exist or not.

Stay at The Colony. Skip The Breakers. Bring more money than you think you need.