What staycation views say about Seoul

Reflections on stays at Josun Palace and Hotel Naru MGallery

What does it mean to indulge in a metropolis like Seoul?

sunset chilling at MGallery’s infinity pool

Oftentimes we approach our wants superficially. A Michelin meal. A breathtaking view. State of the art OLED TV screens. What we want is usually quite simple though. A fresh palate. Feelings of liberation. Clarity in thought and vision.

But for me this time, when I indulged in staycations at Josun Palace and MGallery back to back, I wanted to experience luxury. I was curious to see how brands transpose the quotidian into a language of capitalist seduction. Within the context of staycations—a concept that hinges on the notion of staying within one’s comfort zone—luxury is all about making the familiar, unfamiliar. A 26th floor skyline-view swimming pool, a $30 bowl of ramyun, a $500 room. All these commodities are super-ordinary elements that have been reinterpreted through the lens of luxury. Designs that have been altered 3%—to quote the late Virgil Abloh—deliver an experience that people perceive as 97% new. As such, brands reify their own languages of luxury to re-envision the familiar into the unfamiliar.

It’s all about the view

No commodity represents a hospitality brand’s philosophy on luxury better than its view. The view from your room, the fine dining restaurant, the indoors swimming pool, the outdoors infinity pool. The view is what we spend a lot of our money on when it come to staycations in Seoul. From a certain angle, it doesn’t make too much sense—Seoul’s cityscape is pretty predictable regardless of how high up you’re surveying the surrounding view.

Nonetheless, we care about the view because it symbolizes something deeper. What we’re looking for in a view is change. A departure from the everyday. A scene that reflects what we want out of life in that moment—fresh perspective, solace, recognition, courage, zen. The view that we select on the check out page is almost tantamount to a passive expectancy that money can buy us emotional fulfillment.

Similarly, the view from a luxurious swimming pool is potent with meaning.

the 26th floor swimming pool at Josun Palace is beautifully lit by both natural and artificial light

It’s not by chance that Josun Palace’s indoor swimming pool is located on the 26th floor. The architects weren’t bored or squeezed the pool onto whatever floor was left after finishing all the other rooms. The pool is on the 26th floor because it’s at once an example of human feat and a symbol of elevation. Not everyone can build a swimming pool on the 26th floor and not everyone is granted admittance to swim in a space that overlooks Gangnam’s skyline. For most people living in or near Seoul, elevation within the city signifies power. Think about it. On a regular day, most of us become part of the cityscape as we commute to work. We walk shoulder to shoulder with strangers, fold ourselves up to fit the already crammed subway, and stand in a queue to catch a bus. Our point of view is, for the most part, parallel to that of others. However, this parallelism is shattered the moment we elevate ourselves above others. We no longer share the same gaze. Those who are elevated become invisible, while those who are on the ground remain visible; the elevated can now watch the non-elevated without disclosing any information about themselves. Such disparity in vision and visibility underpins the power imbalance created by elevated spaces.

Josun Palace’s swimming pool is also marked by a spatial dichotomy, as it is designed to offer two contrasting views to guests. The indoors view, which can be indulged while reclining against one of the many sun beds, is characterized by a mix of natural and artificial light that scintillates on the surface of the gently lapping water. This view forms a juxtaposition against the utilitarian cityscape that meets one’s eye when peering out from one of the many windows that stare out onto Gangnam’s skyscrapers.

In a sense, the pool’s indoor scene is a carefully constructed paradise, purposefully insulated from Gangnam’s brisk streets (that are literally miles away), and offering guests respite in its emerald waters. I’d even go far as to say that the pool is like a snow globe that houses its guests in an impenetrable vision of luxury. If such calm in the middle of one of the world’s most busiest cities isn’t luxury—then what is?

The hour between dog and wolf

My favorite hour on a typical sunny day is usually between four to five PM. It’s the hour in which everything becomes glazed in a golden brilliance that would make Dior’s j’adore ad director proud.

It’s also the hour that Naru Hotel’s MGallery exists for. The French call it l’heure entre chien et loup or the “hour between dog and wolf” (I don’t speak French but this fun phrase was recently brought to my attention), which refers to the last hour before sunset that forces one to squint against the setting brightness to tell the difference between a dog and a wolf.

Han River sunset view at MGallery

People stay at MGallery to see the sunset—the whole day exists for this hour. It’s quite interesting, even absurd, to think that a single hour has the power to influence a hotel’s failure or success. Nonetheless, a sunset that’s paired with a Han River view strikes many people as an enticing deal. Myself included. There’s something sentimental about watching the sun set across a view that’s commonly regarded as “the vista of success” within Seoul. Most of us don’t have access to a Han River view at home, so the idea of borrowing it via a hotel is reasonable, if not (relatively) affordable. Guests can indulge, temporarily, in a version of reality where they have succeeded at a young age, own a multi-million dollar apartment next to the Han river, and spend a little bit of each afternoon contemplating the joys of life from their WFH office space. From this light, MGallery comes off as selling expiring dream subscriptions—which, to an extent, is true. When we stay at MGallery, we’re essentially subscribing to a one-day/multi-day experience that doubles as a millennial’s dream come true. Dreams have never been more consumable.

Midnight contemplations

As much as I love basking in the last rays of afternoon sunlight, I discovered during my stay at MGallery that I actually like night cityscapes. The night view speaks a language different from that of the day.

Unlike Josun Palace, which grants guests a static night view of buildings standing stoically like a forest of trees, MGallery offers a more lively view of Seoul’s insomniac mien.

There’s something calming about watching people at night with the curtains still drawn back from your window. This feeling is different from the day. Even though those outside the hotel have no idea that you’re looking down at them regardless of the hour, an air of secrecy cloaks you at night. This sense of concealment adds fun to your voyeuristic play of watching people driving around in their cars—where are they going at this hour? How small and insignificant they are! You will never know who these people are. They vanish from view within a minute, only to be replaced by another nameless, faceless driver in seconds, but this anonymity is oddly comforting. The view at night is calming to the point that it mesmerizes you. The dark that blankets the sky seems to muffle out the distractions of the day. You find yourself staring out at the road leading to Yeouido, Seoul’s Wall Street, contemplating things that never occurred to you before. 

Staring into the night cityscape is akin to carving a door open in the night sky. You pull open the door and tumble down into a velvety chamber of thoughts that you don’t mind swimming in. Or maybe I’m finally learning from my cat that repeated movements are oddly satisfying and require utmost attention. Whichever the case, night views speak to a side of me that is usually blindfolded by the blinds that shutter out the night in the name of privacy. Who knew keeping the curtains drawn at night could be so entertaining? If only I lived in a place just high enough up so that curtains at night become an option.

Wistful thinking aside, I’d like to wrap up today’s post with a final observation. The “luxury” in staycations is conjured by a right mixture of the familiar and the unfamiliar; the same city from an elevated height; the same sunset against a different backdrop; the same night view but with no curtains. Little additive measures and tweaks to scenes that we are largely familiar with.

Such is the secret to Seoul’s staycation brands and the key to understanding urban-born indulgence.