Guest House

Spaces where every detail, every carefully chosen scent, every perfectly adjusted light, feels like a part of some larger orchestration. For me, that place was a hotel that didn’t even exist yet.

When I graduated from college, I moved from South Carolina, to Washington, D.C., with no job, no apartment, and no real plan beyond saying yes to a friend’s invitation. We found a one-bedroom apartment in Arlington, and I spent my days tirelessly searching for a job, not entirely sure what I was even looking for. I had majored in business, minored in tourism, and, despite loving every second of those courses, I never believed hospitality could be my future—unless I moved to Charleston (why did that feel like the only option?).

Then, an interview landed in my inbox. A boutique hotel was opening in the city—Riggs Hotel, from Lore Group. The job was entry-level marketing, and I figured, why not? By this point, I had been through so many interviews, and none had felt right. When I finally saw the hotel in person, I had to wear a hard hat and sneakers because, technically, it wasn’t a hotel yet. We worked out of a WeWork in Chinatown, where a seven-year-old rapper dubbed Lil Baby performed daily across the street. It was chaotic, unpredictable, and entirely intoxicating.

I was hooked.

I didn’t know then that I had just stepped into something that would change my life. The people, the pace, the sheer impossibility of what we were trying to build—it all consumed me. My manager left a few months in, and suddenly, I was the only person on the marketing team as we prepared to open a hotel. I made mistakes—so many mistakes, ones that probably cost more than I care to calculate. But I also learned. Fast. And I loved it.

In a small room, nine of us from sales, marketing, and revenue huddled together, piecing together a vision that felt both exhilarating and impossible. My hotel manager had once been on a reality show I watched religiously as a teenager (finally, my obsession with Lauren Conrad had real-world payoff). The building itself held history—Abraham Lincoln and 27 other U.S. presidents had once banked in its halls (or so the legend went; someone fact-check me on that). But beyond the history and the spectacle, it was the people who truly made it come to life:

Jacu, the visionary interior designer, impossibly tall and elegant, who spent years in D.C. collecting antiques and designing custom wallpaper and soap—yes, even the soap had intention.

Alex Wolf, the kind but firm restaurant director, who taught me that hospitality is about light and music just as much as food and service.

Ryan and Alex from Silver Lyan, the coolest people I’d ever met, who traveled the world studying plants and techniques in mixology, turning a bar into an experience.

Aba, the brilliant head of our all-female PR team, whose presence alone made you want to stand a little taller and work a little harder.

Every day, my world grew. I met artists, athletes, writers, and travelers from places I had only dreamed of visiting. I learned that marketing wasn’t just about selling a product but about telling a story, setting a scene before someone ever stepped foot in our space. The grandeur couldn’t always be perfectly translated through images and copy, but I wanted people to feel something before they arrived—to get a glimpse of what it meant to be there.

I wanted them to remember.

To remember the impossibly crisp fries and towering floral arrangements in the café. To remember the way the light hit the lobby at golden hour. To remember the feeling of being part of something rare and intentional, a place where every detail—every thread count, every scent, every carefully considered moment—was designed to make them feel something.

I still chase that feeling. I still ache to be part of a team that understands the weight of the details, the magic in the small things. The ones who refuse to cut corners because they know the value isn’t just in luxury—it’s in the experience.

That feeling is why I started Lovely Stay. To capture the places that leave an imprint, the ones that stay with you long after you’ve checked out or finished your meal. To tell the stories of hotels and restaurants that don’t just offer a service, but an experience—one that lingers in your memory, woven into the fabric of your travels. Because the right place doesn’t just leave an impression.

It changes you.

And I have never been the same.