Shore Club Miami

Whoever says that floor-to-ceiling white isn’t sexy, desperately needs a trip to South Beach. When you first step foot into the lobby of the Shore Club, surrounded by vestal walls, sofas and candles, the aesthetics may feel pure, but put your subconscious under Freudian analysis and I’m sure it would prove anything but. This boutique hotel is dripping with seduction. The humid air, hypnotic Euro chillout tunes and faint salt-kissed smell of the ocean puts you in an altogether different mood. I was desperate to take my clothes off and slip into a bikini.

At first glance, the Shore Club appears to be quite modest – its minimalist lobby features a reserved blend of grey terrazzo floors, snowy sheer fabrics and art deco-style columns. But, as fashionistas well know, it’s all in the accessories, and the Moroccan-themed furnishings and quirky one-off pieces set the style stakes high. First things first for us though: check-in. The front desk staff (dressed all in white, of course) is young and incredibly personable, seemingly genuinely concerned that Mr Smith and I enjoy our stay in this hip beach hotel. It would seem it’s quite simply mandatory.

Once in our room we drop our bags and take all of three minutes to get into our swimwear and head off to get supine in the sun. This is what the Shore Club is all about. The pool, the beach, the scene. But on a glorious Sunshine State blue-skied day as today it’s hard to imagine as luxurious as it is how you’d want to stay inside even with two plasma TVs, a sitting room and a vast balcony with a living postcard of a view.

The hotel’s sprawling sun-kissed pool-studded playground runs down to the ocean, comprising two sizeable swimming pools flanked by pillow-laden lounge chairs and beds and even a goldfish pond; there are yet more nooks and crannies festooned with colourful cushions. And, of course, it’s all soundtracked by a DJ. As though imported from Ibiza, our turntablist plays everything from Michael Jackson to Mark Ronson, while assistance is always on hand to source us drinks and towels and to ensure our mood is always as relaxed as can be.

Poolside, among lush tropical greenery, Miami’s see-and-be-seen culture is flourishing, in all its finery. I feel overdressed in my eensy-weensy bikini and decide I’m wearing at least six inches more fabric than I should be. To my right is that compulsory super-hot couple. Both tanned and toned, they ooze Latin American cool and are doing a good job of seeming completely oblivious to the fact that everyone is ogling them as they saunter in and out of the water. Meanwhile clean, white sand tempts us to a very warm Atlantic Ocean beyond. The beach attendants, who surely moonlight as models (does it work that way round?), are eager to offer chairs and more towels at a moment’s notice. (A tip though: remember your Shore Club ID. It’s VIP all the way – provided they know you’re a guest.) It’s Club 55 meets Buenos Aries down here. Champagne, mojitos and beautiful people galore.

After a few soothing hours of music-soundtracked daydreaming and cocktails waterside, we decide it’s time to slip on something a little less comfortable via an exploration of the hotel’s just-as-alluring interior. An outpost of New York boutique Scoop lures me in with Diane von Furstenberg, Liz Hurley swimwear, Marc Jacobs and barely there lingerie. For those grooming finishing touches, the Privé Salon is at hand (and feet), and open late to provide hair and nail services. I settle for a quick stop at Scoop for a new, shorter dress, then head up to the room. While I paw a LWD from DvF Mr Smith, I notice, has put his favourite little white accessory into the docking station. Above the sweet sounds of Ayo on the iPod, he’s raving about the rain shower he’s just had in the slate bath. Mr Smith decides that perhaps he too should embrace the sleek look of our surroundings and he’s slicking back his wet hair. Opting for a cool linen shirt and the ubiquitous flip-flop for dinner we concur thongs aren't a faux pas here as long as they look fashionable in figuratively well-heeled SoBe.

A young, stylish crowd is the essence of the Shore Club Miami and forms its main clientele, whether at Nobu, Skybar or a private party in the duplex-style bungalows. For our first ‘night out’, we opt for Mr Matsuhisa’s Collins Avenue outpost for a suitably glamorous inaugural supper in situ. Mr Smith and I have a soft spot for the world-famous Japanase restaurant’s Hyde Park-side London location, but this South Beach sister is anything but an also-ran. We are both impressed by the attention from the staff that Mr Smith can’t help asking me, ‘Why is everyone in Miami just so well, nice?’ Perhaps that’s what time at the Shore Club does to your soul. The hipster mood and decor feels kind of New Yorky: is the inspiration for the Shore Club St Tropez? Istanbul? SoHo? That’s part of its mystique.

Over to-die-for sushi and saké coupled with sea bass and a little filet steak, as well as savouring the moment in our new world away from the world, we plan what to do the next day. Because it’s just the two of us this weekend, hedonism and pleasure are our main goals – so I’ll be heading to the Shore Club Spa. On the hotel’s rooftop, it is 8,000 square feet of pure pampering and unadulterated sea views. I’ve signed up for a facial to combat all those pesky UV rays I’ve so happily soaked in. Bliss. Then tomorrow night we have plans to venture off-campus to Prime 112, about 10 minutes away by car. It would be easy to stay in this luxurious lifestyle hotel for our whole two-night escape, but keen to get a taste of all those dazzling Miami Birdcage-reminscent scenes, we think we need a glimpse of the famed Ocean Drive: bikini’d rollerskaters, gorgeous men dressed as gorgeous women, Ferraris, salsa dancing in the street and amazing Latin music at every turn. But if you saw the hotel's red Arabian Night-tinged Skybar and its come-hither banquettes I’m sure you’d forgive us if we ended up never leaving 1901 Collins Ave at all. Our style-drenched sybaritic Smith weekend has meant my mood has mirrored these oh-so-stylish surroundings throughout: I feel serene yet empassioned. Put that in your pipe, Freud, and smoke it.