Toronto Trump Tower’s design is controlled but sexy

It’s the middle of the warmest winter on record for Toronto, but I’ve picked the one blustery winter day to tour the newly opened Trump Tower Hotel & Residences.

Head turned into collar away from the lashing wind, I almost miss the entrance. In actual fact, though, it’s not hard to miss, so discreetly is it tucked just in from the corner on Adelaide St. W. Although grand, the hotel is also so restrained you don’t at first notice that the lobby’s marble tiles extend outdoors to pave the driveway as well.

This is not what I expected, coming of age in a time when luxury hotels trumpeted their arrival in gaudy ways, and when the name Trump conjured up images of brash gold jewellery and flesh kissed by tanning salons.

The notion of Trump doesn’t seem to jive with our notion of Toronto, which some people describe as “New York run by the Swiss.” But then again, this city has been reinventing itself the last few years as fast as a man in mid-life crisis, and what we once took for granted — reliability to the point of stodginess — may actually be morphing into chic and derring-do.

Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in the middle. It’s apparent the moment I step into the seriously luxurious but understated lobby. And it’s what happens when The Donald meets Toronto the Good: controlled sexiness.

The first clue is the lobby’s size — grand but never dwarfing — and the 3,000-pound Czech crystal sculpture scaling the reception desk wall that designer Dan Menchions tells me required heavy-duty horizontal brackets just to support the weight.

The sculpture is a giant shimmery cherry blossom branch, the same motif that runs throughout the hotel, showing up in the laser-cut steel ceiling relief above the elevator bay, and in digitally enhanced photo art gracing the hotel suites. It also shows up as an accessory to the palette — reddish hues fluctuating from throaty pink, through soft lavender into aubergine, maroon and deep reddish brown set off the underlying cream, grey and black. In fact, Menchions could be the palette’s poster child, in cream shirt, skinny black jeans and modish black coat whose collar is lined in maroon silk.

He explains his choice of palette — for the hotel, not his outfit — as champagne and caviar, light and dark, and though the really good stuff comes from endangered wild sturgeon, I take his point. The only departure seems to be the gold metallic leather chairs in the bar, though they do echo the flecks of gold in the granite bar counter and the bronze enamel of the elevator doors.

Menchions and his II by IV design team, who have coddled this project for the past five years, have designed virtually everything from the laser-cut cherry blossom ceiling in the elevator bay, to the lobby’s walls in white onyx slabs and granite window moldings, right down to the sheets, pillowcases and bathrobes.

We tour from place to elegant place, winding through the bar, the restaurant, and then up stairs with railings of the same laser-cut steel. On into the grand ballroom, lit by wall sconces with maroon lampshades and dangling black crystals, and where gliding across cool tiles gives way to the plush wool of carpet. The ballroom has that rarefied air of a London gentlemen’s club, a stately Chicago hotel, or an Eastern European castle. I forget the Trump has only been open three weeks.

How Menchions has pulled this “aging” feat off is by combining significantly opulent elements — geometric marble tiles, granite walls, Macassar ebony facing — with the whimsical and unexpected. There are lavender crystal chandeliers in the spa; handmade French lace is sandwiched between two pieces of tempered glass in the screen above the restaurant; the black leather Queen Anne restaurant chairs have patent leather backs; and a massive plasterwork relief takes up one whole wall of the restaurant, each stigma of the swirling floral pattern embedded with a huge crystal bead.

There’s also a persistent juxtaposition of hard and soft materials. Take the small corridor to the restaurant’s washrooms, for example: soft pale walnut floors in an French herringbone pattern under a modern chandelier that spills hundreds of crystal droplets of light. Consider for a moment that so much effort was expended in such a tucked away corner of the hotel.

That kind of attention to detail is everywhere. The restaurant’s mezzanine level looks out over Bay St., where there is a row of tall buildings mirrored in the wine fridge glass, lining up perfectly with the rows of wine. Bronze enamel elevator doors are a subtle reminder of past luxuries — important hotels had hand-cranked traction elevators and the staff to operate them.

The hotel suites are all calm comfort with a repeating cherry blossom reference above the beds and Japanese detailing on the bathroom vanities.

The hotel suites, rising in price the higher the floor they are, are either in the Trump Business level or the Club Business Level, culminating in the presidential suite, which is 4,200 square feet and $20,000 a night. Yes, Menchions says, people really do have that much spending money.

The suites can be closed off or opened depending on how many are travelling, so a family with two kids (or one plus a nanny) can have two spacious rooms (550 square feet each as opposed to the more typical 350) and ensuite baths for each.

A corner suite, Menchions says, can take three bedrooms that open up to each other, and some come with a living room, or even a kitchen. If someone wants to rent the whole floor they can, but it would cost hundreds of thousands. But it comes with perks — the spa will come to you in any room on this floor.

Although this hotel and condo residence is the height of grandeur in the early 21st century, never once do I feel intimidated, awkward, or out of place, the way I usually do in such spots. Maybe it’s because my tour guide is the brains behind the design; maybe it’s because I just don’t notice such things anymore. Or maybe it’s just because the place is not only seriously luxurious, but seriously comfortable, too.