The Legacy of Hospitality at The Stilwell

By Jon Hite | Founder & Creative Director | HAUS of HITE

Perfectly placed in the heart of Carmel, just steps from its fairy-tale cottages and storybook lanes, the Stilwell Hotel is more than a stay—it’s a deeply personal expression of hospitality, family, and legacy.

I arrived in Carmel for a week of meetings and inspiration, and from the moment I stepped through the front door of the Stilwell, I knew I had found something rare. Behind the desk, Emily welcomed me with a warm smile and an ease that set the tone for the entire visit. The lobby was serene—curated with modern artwork and finished with warm lighting and quiet refinement. Within moments, I was introduced to Peter, who offered to show me to my room and, in doing so, opened the doors to a tranquil world that unfolded one courtyard at a time.

Framed by bold architectural lines and softened by Mediterranean landscaping, the hotel’s primary courtyard centers around a 10-foot black water wall—its cascading rhythm lending a sense of calm and continuity. A firepit, surrounded by ivory-cushioned club chairs, is flanked by towering planters and lush greenery. A pizza oven and sleek bar tucked just off to the side promised evening gatherings, where woodfired pizzas, cocktails, and laughter would fill the space from 4 to 9pm.

We ascended a short staircase into a second courtyard—more intimate, more secluded. Here, ferns and olive trees bend in the breeze, and water gently trickles into a stone basin. The setting is part meditative garden, part modern lounge. Every detail felt harmonious: the use of natural textures, the low hum of water, the glow of indirect light warming the space like candlelight at dusk.

My Junior King Suite continued this conversation in tone. The palette was soothing—washed woods, slate greys, and cream textures—meticulously composed but never staged. Peter pointed out thoughtful details: a fireplace, a Nespresso machine, and motion-sensor lighting hidden under the bed and vanity. Later that night, I would walk barefoot to the bathroom and watch the room light up just enough to guide me. It felt like the future of comfort: intuitive, restrained, quietly luxurious.

That evening, I met my friend Nicole Cromwell for dinner—a local artist and former critical care nurse. We ordered mushroom pizza and cocktails, then sat in the glow of the firepit while Nicole shared with me the story behind the property. Susan Stilwell, the hotel’s namesake and visionary, is a lifelong resident of Carmel and founder of AIM (Adolescent Intervention and Mental Health), a foundation supporting youth mental wellness. Posters from the AIM Foundation hang in the Catlin Room, a gathering space named after Susan’s father, who built the nearby Tradewinds hotel in the 1950s.

The Catlin Room—equal parts breakfast salon and cultural vignette—feels like an extension of the family story. Local artworks line the walls, while framed materials from AIM give texture and purpose to the space. It’s clear that this hotel wasn’t designed as a business venture—it’s a living archive of a family’s values, their commitment to the community, and their shared love for hospitality.

The next morning unfolded like a ritual: coffee by the fireplace, a long call with my best friend Amanda, and a foggy walk through Carmel’s famous lanes. I returned for breakfast—a beautiful spread of chia pudding, thick pancakes with maple syrup and coconut, egg frittatas, overnight oats, and freshly pressed juices. Giovanni, a local high school student staffing the buffet, explained the flow with professionalism well beyond his years. The dining experience felt elevated yet unpretentious—just like everything else at Stilwell.

That same morning, I returned to my room to send emails before heading into town. I heard the squeak of a squeegee and looked up to see Moses, diligently cleaning my window—his smile as clear as the glass he was polishing. It was another moment that embodied the hotel’s character: intentionality without spectacle, pride in every role.

Later that week, I finally had the chance to connect with Susan. Our conversation meandered through memories of her childhood in Carmel, her father’s vision for Tradewinds, and our shared reverence for the pages of Architectural Digest. For Susan, it was her father who collected the issues; for me, it was my mother. Those stacks of design inspiration, held sacred in our homes, planted the seeds for what would eventually grow into creative callings.

Susan spoke of her father’s time in Japan, which deeply influenced the design of Tradewinds. When it opened in the 1950s, it did so with an all-Japanese staff and a commitment to blending cultural aesthetics with California ease. That same reverence for balance and beauty runs through the Stilwell, but here, the vision is uniquely hers—an evolution, not a replica.

And now, the legacy continues. As I shared my admiration for the under-bed lighting, Susan lit up. It was her son’s creation, she told me—a graduate of Cornell’s renowned hospitality program. He spent months refining the lighting design: from the warmth of the LED glow to the sensitivity of the motion sensors. His quiet contribution is one of the hotel’s most memorable features—both functional and poetic.

There was something profoundly moving about seeing this legacy take root again. From Susan’s father to Susan herself, and now to her son, each generation has left a mark—expressed through architecture, service, and soul. You don’t often find that kind of continuity in a hotel. But at the Stilwell, legacy isn’t just preserved. It’s lived.

When I checked out—grateful for a late departure to linger just a little longer—I realized I hadn’t just stayed at a beautiful hotel. I had been immersed in a story that spanned decades and generations. One told through water and stone, through linen and light, through the quiet dedication of a family that knows hospitality isn’t a service. It’s a calling.

In Carmel-by-the-Sea, where every corner holds charm, the Stilwell Hotel stands apart. Not because it competes for attention—but because it doesn’t need to. It is thoughtful. It is timeless. It is, simply, home.