There aren't many colors in the room. There's white. There's black. There's silver. And here and there, though intentionally done, there's red to express something or other. Everything is just one of the mentioned colors, and there are no patterns. All solid colors. Even the TV is all black except for the red light that indicates it's sleeping. I wonder what color that light changes when turned on.
And my laptop fits right in, it's silver.
Me, I don't really fit in, which might suggest that the whole point of this is for me to stand out, me, the guest.
On closer inspection, the sitting places, a chair and a cushion on the bench, are the only places red here (aside from the red LED on the TV, as already mentioned). And one of the little sofas is white. The bed is white, to better see any stains you are leaving behind. Or else you can see your lover better lest she drown in the colors of the traditionalists.
Despite the limited number of colors, this place isn't stark. Despite the lack of paintings, not even abstract paintings of an even more limited color set, this place isn't dead. I've been to cheap hotels and motels where the rooms have far more colors but exudes a time that's past and found only in a grave. Here the abstractness, the modernism-ness, suggest youth, daring expressions, all meant to impress, whether it does or not. And it's all very functional. It follows the same formula you probably would learn in hotel management schools about what needs to be in a hotel, waste basket, desk, place for luggage, night stands, phone, switches for the lights on or above the light stands, etc. There are also glasses and the minibar. But they are all made to be part of a pattern.
So I sit in the bed and wonder how I feel. That's the whole point, no? To wonder what to feel, what all this abstraction means for me.
When I saw the bathroom door, I felt I wanted someone here. It's of frosted glass, entirely. (Though it doesn't have any of the colors mentioned, it's considered colorless even though the frostiness gives it a bluish color.) I can imagine seeing the beautiful outline of a lover inside. And inside is even sexier. Simple but long sinktop. There's a squarish toilet, to match all the hard edges in the room. And it's a shower, not a bathtub, which always seems so superfluous to me. How many people would dare to take a bath in a tub whose frequency of cleaning is questionable. The shower is shielded by two huge pieces of glass. I can imagine seeing all of my lover's body in that wet jet of water if I am allowed to be in the bathroom, brushing my teeth.
No doubt, this intentional sexiness is part of the modern approach to hotel management. Traditional hotels, which mean most hotels in the world, don't give out this aura of sexiness. They try to be cute after accomplishing the task of usefulness. They try to have nice pictures inside the bathroom, beautiful colors, even some dry flowers, definitely good soap and scented potpourri, as if the bathroom is for the toilet and showering is a lonesome business like taking a dump. And when they advertise under "romantic getaway" the romance is more about what's available outside the hotel building, like some nice nature for hiking while holding hands, or romantic events outside. But the main theme for romantic atmosphere is usually cheesy, cute, at best. But rarely sexy. If you're in love with your partner, and you come in the bathroom to brush your teeth only to find her beautiful body blurred slightly by the shower droplets, wouldn't you just change your mind and drop your clothes?
This is the first time I am in a modern hotel. It will probably not last too long because, as is with most modernism-related things, people's taste change quickly and they want something different. What's sexy now may change like fashion. Perhaps that's why many hotels opt for the safe decors. Their cheesy, multicolor, shapeless themes have worked for centuries. But for now, I am enjoying this room, and the only complaint I have is that I have no one to enjoy it with.
