On a recent work trip to Melbourne, Jayde and I had spent the day pitching. First to L'Oreal, then to two more beauty houses whose boardrooms all seemed to share the same grey carpet and the same bowl of individually wrapped mints. By the time we landed at reception, a little before 3pm, Jayde and I had said the word "synergy" more times than either of us would care to admit, and my feet had staged a small, quiet rebellion inside my heels. Then the taxi pulled up outside a building on St Kilda Road that looked less like a hotel and more like something Fitzgerald would have set a party in, and everything changed.
The Royce used to be a car showroom. Not just any car showroom. In the 1920s and 30s, this was where Melbourne's moneyed set came to buy a Rolls-Royce, and the building has never quite let that go. Walk through the doors and you are somewhere between an art deco fever dream and a very good film set. Mirrored walls throw the light back at you from every angle. Chandeliers hang like they have somewhere to be. There is a staircase that seems designed for descending slowly, on purpose, in something backless. Jayde looked at me. I looked at Jayde. Neither of us said synergy again.
A Hotel That Remembers What Glamour Is For
Melbourne does moody, exposed-brick, single-origin-coffee hotels better than almost anywhere in the world. We have stayed in enough of them to know the formula by heart: concrete, fiddle leafs, a bar stocked with amaro nobody has heard of. The Royce is not that hotel, and it is not trying to be. It leans hard into old world opulence, monochrome tones, discreet chrome, the kind of handsome, unbothered luxury that doesn't need to explain itself. After a day of pitch decks and product tables, walking into all that quiet grandeur felt less like checking in and more like being let in on something.
Old Hollywood style on the terrace at The Royce, somewhere between an art deco fever dream and a very good film set.
We changed and went straight down to the Showroom Bar and folded ourselves into a banquette so plush it should come with a warning. Our welcome cocktails arrived cold and pink, and somewhere between the second round and the share plates, someone upgraded us to champagne. The room does that particular trick good hotel bars do, where the lighting is flattering enough that everyone looks faintly like they're in a film, and for an hour neither of us mentioned a single skincare launch. We talked about nothing. It was the best part of the trip.
The upgrade to champagne at the Showroom Bar
The share plates that arrived somewhere around the second round of champagne.
The Room, The Rest, The Reset
We stayed in a twin, which turned out to be the right call. Two women who have spent the day finishing each other's sentences in meetings do not necessarily want to share a bed as well. The rooms carry the same restraint as the lobby: Italian marble bathrooms, deep monochrome furnishings, beds that make a strong case for cancelling your morning meeting. Some rooms open onto private balconies, others have soaring bay windows that catch the last of the light over St Kilda Road. After a day spent on our feet in boardrooms, I will say this plainly: the bed at the Royce is one of the better ones I have slept in, and I have slept in a lot of hotel beds.
The room carries the same restraint as the lobby: monochrome furnishings and Italian marble bathrooms.
Breakfast came included both mornings, which meant no negotiating with room service menus at 7am, just coffee and something with avocado on it before we were back in another boardroom by nine.
Why This Is The Hotel For More Than One Kind Of Trip
Here's the thing about the Royce. It is a properly brilliant work trip hotel, because St Kilda Road puts you a short tram ride from the CBD without any of the CBD's noise, and there's a business centre if you need one. But it is also, unmistakably, a girls trip hotel. Book it with a friend, split a bottle of something French at The Showroom, and you have the making of a very good weekend without ever leaving the building. Equally, it does not take much imagination to see it as a romantic escape either. Old world glamour, low lighting, a staircase built for an entrance. Bring someone you want to impress.
It also happens to sit close to Melbourne's theatre and arts precinct. The Arts Centre, the NGV and the CBD's stages are all a short tram trip away, which makes the Royce a smart pick if a show is the reason you're in town. Dinner at The Showroom, a wander to the theatre, a nightcap back at the hotel bar. It is, frankly, a better night than most cities can offer.
The Verdict
Melbourne has no shortage of clever, cool, minimalist hotels, and most of them are very good at what they do. What it did not have, until the Royce leaned into its own history, was somewhere that let you feel like you had stepped into another decade entirely, chandeliers and all. We went in exhausted from a day of brand meetings and came out the other side feeling like we'd had a proper night away, not just a bed near a boardroom.
Jayde summed it up somewhere around her second glass of champagne.
This is the version of a business trip I could get used to.
I couldn't agree more.
The Royce Hotel is at 379 St Kilda Road, Melbourne, a short tram ride from the CBD, the Arts Centre and the NGV.
