A Review A Day: The Oceana Hotel, Santa Monica

In the often-super-irritating category of hotels that are meant to inspire some sort of restful transformation in those who frequent them, the Oceana Santa Monica stands alone for its total lack of pretense. It’s just a friendly little hotel that manages a vibe that’s both homey and beachy-luxe.

Santa Monica is an emotionally tricky place for me. When I lived here, it became the locus of some of my most regrettable performances as an adult (among them, Coming Home From The Company Party Wearing A Single Flip Flop, A Mens' Track Jacket And A Bikini, the $1200 Sandwich from 7-11) but it’s also where I have to spend a week for work several times a year. Many of my favorite people in the world still live on L.A.’s Westside and I find myself openly thrilled to check in at the Oceana every time I’m there. I’m always treated like a welcome and successful businesslady, not the girl who crashed her bike into a cop car just a block away. And I’m usually upgraded to a suite that’s bigger than my first apartment in Manhattan was, by a factor of six. They call me Miss Mulloy, and they call Andrew Mr. Mulloy, to which he readily, delightfully answers. One confused young desk attendant, bless her Pepperdine-educated soul, got confused on the topic of our actual names and called us Mr. and Mrs. Nice, which we still get monogrammed on our towels.

So the transformation happens after all—I find myself staying here and feeling more comfortable, relaxed and at peace with the world than I ever can be in New York without a handful of Xanax. The transformation here isn’t brought about solely by ocean air, Frette sheets and basil gimlets-- it’s a particular vantage point on my own former life. And while I can’t expect everyone to have the same reaction to what is simply 70-ish rooms arranged around a swimming pool and perfectly maintained compositions of succulent plants, it seems to give everyone a sweet-smiled, heady calm. For me, it’s the awareness that, while I was content in my 2008 life to be a somewhat lovable clown, there comes a time when everyone needs to be a businesslady.

Overall: 100 starfish, all perfectly arranged on the nightstand.