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“Always Be a Gentleman, and Never Play by the Rules”

A conversation with Ben Pundole at the new Delano, on dreaming, trusting, and the city that finally stopped following.

“As we pulled up to the porte cochère, I remember being thrilled. The entrance to the Delano had a magnitude and energy I’d rarely, if ever, experienced before. The valets were all perfectly dressed in crisp white outfits, the people getting out of their cars were beautifully put together, and the architecture was the perfect combination of classic Art Deco and clean modern lines.

While the arrival alone was magnificent, it wasn’t until I entered the lobby that I was swept away: fifty-foot ceilings, a straight-shot visual hundreds of feet from the entrance to the rear orchard, and charming vignettes of whimsical seating and social areas throughout. The beauty was unmistakable, and the energy was so real you could almost drink it. Every step I took built on the drama of the experience. By the time I exited the lobby and stepped into the orchard, I felt changed, as if my appreciation for what the imagination could manifest had been heightened. I didn’t say a word for ten minutes after I walked outside. I just smiled, completely satisfied by what I had just consumed.”

- The Age of Ideas by Alan Philips (Yes Me :))

There’s a moment, sitting in the new Delano, when you realize the building is doing something quieter than it used to. The old Delano was a statement, flowing white curtains, Philippe Starck swagger, a lobby that felt like the velvet rope of an entire decade. The new one isn’t trying to be that. It’s trying to be something harder: a place you actually want to come back to.

I sat down with Ben Pundole there last week. If that name doesn’t immediately ring a bell, it should. Ben is hospitality royalty in the most British, understated way, “I just happened to be in the room when it all started” kind of way. He came up at the Groucho Club in London in 1992, what he calls his university. He was at the Met Bar when the Met Bar was the room. He spent 23 years orbiting Ian Schrager, the man credited with birthing boutique hospitality as we now understand it.

What I wanted to know was simple: what does that lineage build, and what’s it doing in Miami right now?

There’s a certain kind of confidence you only get from the Northeast. It’s blunt. It’s unapologetic. It usually comes with strong opinions about bread. Ryan McKeown has all of it. We sat down with the Peppi’s Pizza owner in the Design District and within five minutes it was clear, this isn’t another Miami restaurant trying to be “vibey.” It’s a mission. Ryan explained to us in our interview “You know, a lot of places serve what I call a steak and cheese, but have never stepped foot in Philly. For me, it’s not about copying tradition, it’s about understanding where it’s going.” And honestly, that tells you everything you need to know.

If you’ve ever scrolled through the high-energy world of Dr. Miami, you know it isn’t just “a medical practice.” It feels like a world - unfiltered, cinematic, and wildly intentional. It’s the kind of place where the rhythm of the operating room and the radical transparency of the lens feel designed to demystify an industry that was once kept in the shadows. That feeling comes from Dr. Michael Salzhauer. Michael’s story doesn’t start in a Bal Harbour penthouse. It starts in Rockland County, New York, with a kid who walked away from high school early and found his “restart” in a community college classroom. Driven by a childhood dream of surgery and a pivotal moment watching a Park Avenue doctor work magic on his wife’s lip after an accident, Michael realized early on that plastic surgery wasn’t just medicine—it was the “magic” of transformation. In our conversation, Dr. Miami shares how the road to becoming a global brand was paved with the kind of hustle you don’t see on a viral feed. He arrived in Miami for residency and eventually opened his own doors with $30,000 in a brown paper bag and a lot of nerve. Before the fame, he was in the back of a Boca hair salon, personally running a laser hair removal machine on Saturdays just to keep the lights on. He was a board-certified surgeon doing the “un-glamorous” work because his mentor told him the first rule of the game: you do whatever it takes to provide for your family.