The butler did it. The moment our personal valet appeared at the door was when my sister and I knew that we really had slipped back in time. There was a knock and a young Danish woman impeccably outfitted in the hotel's black-and-Dijon-mustard livery introduced herself. She understood we were heading to the theatre tonight. Could she have our dresses so she could steam them before cocktails?
No decade can match the 1920s for reckless glamour. The shingled hair, the wild, wild parties. The gin. I've always thought I'd enjoy living in that era, and at the Chatwal hotel I'd finally found my time machine. Just a half-block from Times Square, in the art deco haven of New York, Sant Chatwal's new opening shoots for the kind of elegance and luxury any self-respecting flapper girl would expect. And it doesn't disappoint.
The lobby bar, with its swagger of red leather and geometric gleam of chrome, makes you thirsty for a gimlet within minutes of arriving. The rooms are deliciously à la mode; designed by the French architect Thierry Despont, they joyously refer to the golden age of travel, from the padded leather trim to the vanity-cum-writing desks fashioned like steamer trunks. And then there's the butler. Each floor has its own – the hotel accommodates only 83 guests – offering the kind of personal service that makes you feel like a house guest of the Rockefellers.
In summoning up the spirit of the age, the Chatwal, in the heart of the theatre district, can draw on plenty of local history. A few doors down at the Algonquin, literary luminaries from Dorothy Parker to New Yorker editor Harold Ross sharpened their wits on each other at their self-named Round Table – its darkly wooded lobby still purrs with literary frisson. The Chatwal's 44th Street building, meanwhile, was the headquarters of the Lambs Club, America's first club for actors and playwrights. Its membership roll, from Douglas Fairbanks to WC Fields, beams from the wall with a patrician air; the hotel's restaurant is named in its honour, and you can imagine spotting Fred Astaire on a banquette, knocking back a steak and brandy next to the enormous fireplace installed by Stanford White, the building's original architect.
Ah yes, Stanford White. A leading figure in America's beaux arts scene, White designed mansions for New York's rich and famous, not to mention city landmarks such as the Washington Square arch and the second Madison Square garden. He was commissioned to build the Lambs Club in 1904, when he was at the height of his professional fame and in the throes of a notorious affair with the actress and nymphette Evelyn Nesbit. White was 47 when they met, Nesbit was 16; two years later, he was dead, shot in the face by Nesbit's jealous husband. The sensational trial that followed spilled salacious details of White and Nesbit's liaison – including the red velvet swing White installed in his apartment for their trysts – and the Chatwal revels in his notoriety. On small embedded screens in the lifts, a 1955 Hollywood biopic of Nesbit plays on a loop, with Joan Collins eyeing guests coquettishly as they head to their beds.
The hotel can't, however, be accused of living in the past. It boasts contemporary luxuries I had never, until now, considered necessary. The bathroom mirror turns into a 19in TV screen, and a handheld remote for the loo offers a dazzling array of bidet functions – from "pulse" to "air dry" – and presumably means that someone else could orchestrate the process from the next room.
Not all, admittedly, hit the mark. The prices for the spa in the basement are as eyewatering as a full body wax, and it doesn't even stretch to a swimming pool. It offers, instead, a Jacuzzi-sized "resistance pool" for you to swim against a current; it's like facing down a fireman's hose. Nor do the cocktails or the food quite live up to the sophisticated promise of their surroundings. A Pimm's Cup arrived "spiced up" with pieces of chilli chopped so small that they attacked me through the straw; a main course of bass and fingerling potatoes was disappointingly bland; and the menu is oddly fond of crudités, which seem rather anti-luxe.
The second night, we headed instead to the Washington Square Hotel, an establishment whose own art deco revamp has an enjoyably louche feel. The food was less fussy but more flavoursome, and the pear gimlets were divine. After slumming it downtown we stumbled home to indulgent looks from the doorman, and the promise of a luxurious night's sleep swaddled in Italian cotton and duck down. Nothing could have felt more 1920s.
Essentials
A night at the Chatwal starts from $695 (001 212 764 6200, thechatwalny.com; a room at the Algonquin from $259 (algonquin hotel.com), and at the Washington Square from $249 (washingtonsquare hotel.com). All prices excluding tax. Flights with Virgin Atlantic from £401 (virginatlantic.com). Go to nycgo.com
