The neighborhood of San Lorenzo in Rome, a short walk from the murderous surroundings of Termini, the central station, is neither particularly old nor beautiful. A working-class district once connected to the brewery and the Wuehrer freight station, it was heavily bombed during the war, the only massive bombing in Rome. But like Wedding or Neukölln in Berlin, San Lorenzo’s old working-class roots have translated perfectly into arty cool, and the area, still run-down, is now a haven for left-wing hipsters, its walls gleefully scrawled with anarchist graffiti. .
That Soho House, the supernaturally fashionable and voraciously expansive private members club (which now trades under the bland, global name of Membership Collective Group) chose a large mustard yellow building right in the middle of it for its first opening Italian is confirmation of San Lorenzo’s rapid rise from arty to wealth and kindness. Soho House has that kind of power. The Points Guy, the cult figure who helps millions of fans maximize credit card perks, recently shared his advice on “how to tell if your town is likely to have a Soho House in the future.”
Although they emerged from a distinctly exuberant 1990s moment, the group’s appeal has not only hung on, it has peaked since the first house on Greek Street in Soho was opened by Nick Jones. in 1995. The curious flip side of its appeal is its well-publicized financial troubles associated with overzealous expansion. It has never turned a profit – a vicious cycle leading to even more expansion, with 18 new sites planned by the end of 2023 on top of the 28 it already has – and hemorrhaging money during shutdowns of Covid. But member retention has only dropped from 94 to 92 percent, and at the start of last year the waiting list for membership exceeded 48,000, according to company reports.
Airbnb has capitalized on a trend for the distinct and the local, the authentic and the unique. Why, then, does the millennial soul cling to the reassuring, franchise-friendly appeal of Soho House? How, as Rome has proven, does it attract the affluent from the urban centers to the peripheries?
I took a millennial and Rome enthusiast and went to see the Rome house – whose membership costs €1,650 a year, with rooms from around €200 – shortly after its terrace opened . I was curious to know how he would engage in the most storied city in the world, whether it was thumbing his nose at old travelers who were keen on ancient beauty or whether he had succeeded in integrate into the city in a meaningful way.
We arrived in the sweltering heat of an early June evening. The elevator opened onto an Edenic terrace, teeming with young people sipping cocktails under a canopy of olive trees. Around the corner, tables were set for dinner. Around another, the pool was a dark red rectangle beside which other tanned, tattooed bodies lay and collapse, feet in the water, drinks in hand.
From the terrace, Rome was visible in a meta, distant sense: the view was framed by the rising hills, the cityscape below dotted with minor basilicas but the views of the centro storico firmly out of sight. We had a cocktail, lime and pie, and dined under the open sky on the edge of the terrace above what looked like an abandoned construction site – the heat, a bottle of Etna bianco, a surprisingly excellent spaghetti vongole and bulging pizza wedges the only remaining trace of Rome in this landscape of nocturnal pleasure. Mid-priced rooms (around €280 per night) are large, minimalist, and luxurious. They’re not particularly Roman, except, in our case, for the balcony overlooking a typical building draped in rainbow-colored peace flags. Lovers sat on his doorstep with a beer, laughing in the midnight heat.
Between terrace, bath and swimming pool, the charm was cast. Although we were in Rome, we found it difficult to leave, even for a few hours. We managed two excursions, separated by a pool and a lounge on towel-wrapped beds looking directly out to eastern Rome. It was a bubble, but irresistible – is it any wonder seasoned travelers turn to Soho when it allows them to fly so comfortably from one city to another? The danger is that the lure of staying at home – an art we’ve all mastered during lockdown – will start to outweigh the charms of the city on your doorstep.
Global and urban expansion is Soho House’s mission at the moment, but the source of its elixir lies in England’s deepest and darkest. With that in mind, I also went to try out the pastoral side of its business model, spending a night at Babington House in Somerset and Soho Farmyard in the Cotswolds, a playhouse for Kate Moss, the Beckhams and Gordon Ramsay (Tom Cruise held its 60th anniversary there last week, with Ramsay as guest of honour). These aren’t particularly expensive retreats by five-star standards – ‘Piglet’ cabins at Soho Farmhouse start at £295 for members, while large, lush cabins hover around £550. The secret sauce is elsewhere. And there is secret sauce.
Babington House, the group’s second property and the site of the first Cowshed spa, was opened as a country retreat for its London members, weighed down by the excesses and strains of life in Blair-era media and entertainment . We took a train to Bath, then a taxi through a undulation of the Somerset hills until, at the end of a long, tree-lined driveway in a large park, with a jewel-like chapel at the top , we stopped in front of the mansion, built in 1705.
While urban outposts have a rather manufactured aura of youth, Babington shows the mature side of Soho House. The younger part of the clientele were moderate couples in their 40s doing leisurely laps in the outdoor pool. The bar at happy hour was dotted with people a decade older with cool silver hair and an authoritative demeanor, while at dinner the restaurant roared with loud boomers.
At Babington we were below average, which was fitting for a place of this size. At Soho Farmhouse, on the other hand, there were no gray heads. The photoshoot-ready bars had a relaxed stream of hard-networking people in Diesel jeans, most of whom appeared to be in advertising. The Oxfordshire Outpost, which is sold out months and months in advance, is the most intense blend of the studied rustic with the primed; the relaxed with the clubby. It’s a strange place: as its name suggests, it has an agricultural theme, with farm animals, its luxurious “piglet” huts, arranged in rows reminiscent of an episode of Black Mirror, are modeled on the shelters curves used for pigs. Our largest cabin, overlooking a creek, looked rough and ready on the outside, but was, of course, covered in plush fabrics with a wood stove and timber framing. It pushed all the buttons we millennials didn’t even know we had, and we loved it.
Before settling in, a decidedly non-farming young man drove us slowly through the site’s pristine trails in a shiny SUV suited to deep mud, and introduced us to a posh old farmer who runs the house stables and started the UK’s first horse. -the milk trade, claiming that milk has special properties. The spa is masterful, an expanse of sweet aromas; the outdoor pool at the perfect temperature even in February, and in the evening a cocktail van stopped in the dark in front of our cabana, ours for half an hour. After the drinks, we got dressed and rode across the muddy field on the cabin bikes for a Japanese-themed dinner at Pen Yen (fun, if odd, and arguably a mashup too far). It was a bit like being on the set of some kind of benign Truman Show where everything is bright and easy, comfortable, sexy and very, very pretty.
Surely that’s what captures a demographic that — at least overseas — might otherwise be more adventurous. It’s fun to risk it in foreign cities, but easier and more pleasant to stay with the devil, you know. Soho House understands that familiarity breeds devotion, not contempt.
It costs £100 to become a Soho Friends member, which allows you to book rooms at all Soho House properties around the world.
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