Camellia House: A Love Letter to Leisure
(And her sultry little sister, Veranda)
Tucked somewhere between a Slim Aarons daydream and the soft whirr of a vintage ceiling fan, Camellia House rises like a mirage of good taste. She’s all sun-dappled hallways, oversized floral arrangements, and the kind of lounging that requires a silk robe and no agenda. This is not your average boutique stay—it’s a cinematic experience designed for the creatively starved, the sun-seekers, and those with a working knowledge of their cocktail preferences.
Walk through the ivy-laced arches and you’ll find Veranda, the House’s in-house restaurant—and arguably her most flirtatious room. It’s the golden hour of dining spaces: effortless, moody, flushed with coastal light and the perfume of tarragon, grilled stone fruit, and a whisper of something woodsy and nostalgic. Think: Mediterranean-meets-Gulf, with menus that shift like weather and linens that billow just so.
This is where you sip, stay, and dissolve time.
This is where dinner turns into dancing, or at least a very long, very beautiful dessert course.
This is where no one asks what you do—just what you're drinking.
Because Camellia House doesn’t shout.
She hums.
She blushes.
And baby, she remembers your name.
On Concept, Creation & Camellias
Camellia House is a creative concept imagined by me, Ruthie Kohrman—a photo editor, art director, and maximalist with a not-so-secret crush on hospitality spaces that feel like a hug (a silk-lined, musky-but-never-musty, bergamot-and-ginger hug).
She’s part AI exploration, part brand fantasy, and wholly informed by my obsession with sensory design, mood-driven marketing, and the golden overlap of softness and story.
It's Slim Aarons on steroids, if the steroids were soft and sharp and smelled like bergamot and old money.
As someone who believes creative research is a spiritual practice and branding is modern mythology, I built Camellia House to explore what comfort really looks like. Especially now.
It’s irreverent. It’s intuitive. It’s slightly ridiculous.
And it just might be the beginning of something big.
