Simona at Palms Place is a private residence, an editorial guide, and a love letter to the Strip — written for travelers who would rather be in the know than in the crowd.
Simona bought her corner unit at Palms Place in the spring of 2017, between residencies and a stretch of touring that had her in and out of Las Vegas more weekends than not. The first stay was supposed to be a weekend. It became a year.
What began as a private retreat from the casino-floor noise quickly turned into something more considered — a place where she could host friends between sets, test the city's best new restaurants without a reservation queue, and edit down the Vegas experience into the version worth having. Friends started asking if they could borrow it. Then friends of friends. Then a waitlist.
Today, the residence is shared with a small handful of guests each season. Every booking comes with a hand-built itinerary: where to eat on a Tuesday, which bar to slip into before midnight, which room in the suite to sleep in for the sunrise, and which rooms to politely avoid. The curation is the point.
The Strip is loud. A great stay in it shouldn't be. Everything we do at Simona at Palms Place comes back to three principles — applied to the suite, the itinerary, and the way we answer your email.
Las Vegas has forty-seven celebrity chefs. We will send you to three. The menu is long; the recommendation is short, and it changes with the season. We do the filtering so you can do the living.
The bathroom is stocked before you land. The reservation is booked before you ask. The cab is downstairs before you realize you needed one. Service should feel like thoughtfulness, never a sales pitch.
No lobby signage, no branded swag, no concierge desk. The residence is a private home that happens to be shared. Discretion is built into the architecture — of the suite and of the service.
Vegas is a city that rewards people who arrive with a plan and punish those who don't. Our job is to make sure you're the former — and to make the plan feel effortless.
— The House Brief, 2024The interiors lean editorial — bone, oxblood, brass, and black. Nothing shouts. Everything you reach for is the one you'd pick. The suite was designed in collaboration with Studio Mara out of Brooklyn and finished on-site over the course of eight months.
We removed the closet doors. We replaced the stock art with hand-pulled prints from Las Vegas galleries. We sourced the linens from a fourth-generation Portuguese weaver. The minibar is gone; the wine fridge is real.
Simona closes on a corner unit in the West Tower — pre-renovation, 19th floor views of the Strip.
Eight-month renovation. Custom millwork, recalibrated lighting plan, a single working fireplace where the media wall used to be.
A photographer friend, in town for a gallery opening at the Bellagio, stays for four nights. Leaves a note on the bar.
The residence goes online with a waitlist. A small, seasonal concierge team is hired in the fall.
The team is intentionally small. Everyone who books the suite is, in some way, working with one of the four of us — from the itinerary to the turn-down.
DJ, host, and the reason the suite exists. Approves every booking, writes most of the itineraries, and answers the concierge inbox on Sundays.
Twenty-year veteran of the Wynn and Aria. Handles the turn-down, the linens, and the part of every stay you never see but always feel.
The voice you'll meet first. Elena runs the booking calendar, the waitlist, and the city's most carefully maintained spreadsheet of hard-to-get tables.
Greets every guest in person, stocks the fridge before arrival, and quietly disappears the moment you don't need him. Lives in the building.
The calendar opens seasonally. Most nights are claimed by word of mouth — but the journal, the waitlist, and the next opening are all one click away.