QT Perth

As I check in at colourful, laidback bolthole QT Perth, it’s not the moody yet stylish lobby with towering cacti and designer velvet chairs that surprises me. Nor is it the ‘director of chaos’, QT's answer to a concierge, who models an outré uniform of black leather pants and tailored jacket, and I’m told gets their hair and make-up done daily. Rather it’s the elevator to the far left with a sign that reads ‘residents only’. Who is this breed of human that lives in a designer boutique hotel? I instantly imagine someone with a perfectly waxed moustache. A quick Google brings up an old article that says weekly rental starts from AU$500 a week. It’s cheaper than my rent in Melbourne, so I briefly consider it, before deciding that over the next two days, I’m going to give being a resident a trial run. 

Lewis Carroll would have been a QT resident. Every QT hotel I’ve stayed in is a reliable mix of quirk and cool with a certain down-the-rabbit-hole feel. QT Perth opened in 2018 and is no exception. The elevators are highlighted with holographic swirls that resemble a topographic map and blur the line between art and a trip. There’s no little bottle instructing guests to ‘drink me’ in the rooms, but the buttons on the phone read ‘feed me’ and ‘help me’. There’s a transcendental William Gibson quote hanging from my fluffy black bathrobe: ‘The past is past, the future unformed. There is only the moment, and that is where he prefers to be…’ He’s the writer who coined the term cyberspace in 1982. 

I half expect to see the Cheshire Cat appear on the plush king bed, but there’s only a round velvet cushion and a matching gold curtain behind it, swagged up to the side to reveal black cockatoo-printed wallpaper – a nod to Western Australia’s gold-rush era. The state’s famed vineyards inspire other rooms, which swap gold and stone grey for emerald green and mauve. Brass finishes and tactile materials abound, giving the feel of an Australiana opium den. All 184 rooms have huge windows – I make a mental note that if I were to live here, I’d rent an apartment on a higher level on the south side for a city view.

I admire the details: a portable Bluetooth Bang & Olufsen speaker, polka-dotted Jones & Co ceramic mugs beside the coffee machine and a shoehorn in the grey-leather-panelled wardrobe adorned with a dog head. Sliding doors reveal the black-marble bathroom, where I spy some delightful Kevin Murphy toiletries. I wonder if shampoo and conditioner is included in the weekly rent. After waiting an hour for the large, egg-shaped bath tub to fill up, I realise the plug is faulty. By the time I return from lunch the following day (one of the greatest advantages of QT Perth is that it’s walking distance from the State Buildings, Yagan Square and trendy Northbridge), there’s a note letting me know maintenance has solved the issue. If only they could make the lighting in the bathroom better for make-up application, too. 

I don’t love the gym. On the same floor as the conference room, I sweat as a gathering of lifestyle-magazine employees walks past. It’s stuffy and out of place – as if it was intended to be a conference room and became a gym as an afterthought. A friend’s brother was an engineer on the QT Perth build, and on hearing the second-floor gym mentioned, worryingly said that the second-floor wasn’t designed to hold such a thing. Luckily, I didn’t fall through the floor.

If I lived in QT Perth, I’d order room service every night. I could watch a new-release film with a David Blackmore Wagyu cheeseburger, Parlour Lane chocolate-coated ice-cream and supersized box of Maltesers (vegans are catered for with Beyond patties and vegan choc tops). There’s even a roast dinner with mash and gravy for when I feel homesick. Then again, I’d have the 2019 West Australian Good Food Guide Awards’ Restaurant of the Year just downstairs on the first floor. Santini Bar & Grill is unsurprisingly full when I arrive, but I’ve booked. It’s all shades of ocean blue and terracotta, fitted up to the nines with leather banquettes, pendant lights and a tiled open kitchen. The spiel is nothing new – local this, seasonal that – but it’s miles ahead of standard hotel restaurants. My fricelli pasta is rich and earthy with Jerusalem artichoke, ricotta and shiitake. A cacio e pepe clam pizza has a thin, bubbly base and 20-month-old pecorino, but is stingy on the clams. In the morning Santini serves ‘nourishing bowls’ filled with ferments and falafel and classics like smashed avocado. There’s also a small café downstairs that’s good for snacks and a decent coffee on the go.
Imagine living in QT Perth. I could invite my friends to join me at Santini Bar across from the restaurant for a light snack and heavy drink before hitting the town on foot. Imagine their faces when I asked them to join me on my rooftop on the 18th floor, surrounded by Perth’s skyline and beautiful people. Picture us starting with champagne and Moreton Bay Bug rolls, heads thrown back in the kind of laughter only afforded to those who are used to luxury. Visualise me ordering a round of spritzes (there are five on the QT Rooftop menu) and my friends asking what it’s like to live in a hotel. ‘Darlings,’ I’d smile, ‘I’ve never felt more at home.'