Luxury Franchising
The Delano Miami Beach has just reopened. A $100 million renovation, the return of white sheer curtains, a legendary pool. On paper, it’s the comeback of an icon. And yet. Among the announced restaurants is Gigi Rigolatto—a brand with locations already dotted across New York, Paris, Saint-Tropez, and Dubai. Miami thus becomes yet another iteration of a concept that needs no introduction. Convenient. Reassuring. And terribly interchangeable.
So-so playlists
Because beyond the name, it’s an entire aesthetic that’s being cloned. The same rattan lighting fixtures, the same menus featuring tuna tartare, burrata, and sourdough pizza side by side, the same carefully curated, lukewarm playlists. From one location to the next, only the view changes. You could close your eyes in Dubai and open them in Mykonos without the dish even noticing. Luxury hospitality has invented its own uniform: recognizable everywhere, characteristic of nowhere.
Brands are imported just like furniture. Shareholders are reassured by familiar names. We hedge against risk at the expense of identity. A legendary hotel, by definition, is unlike any other. It is a place, an era, an atmosphere that cannot be replicated elsewhere. The 1995 Delano was a radical proposition. The 2026 version is a collection of proven concepts.
The real question isn’t: Is it any good? It’s: Did we even try to come up with something? And the answer, this time, is no
