Hay Adams

If you can't be the president, be his neighbor. Immediate prestige is just a slingshot's shot away from the secret service men staring back at you from the White House roof. Gilded-age grand entry imbues hushed voices, discrete bellhops. Embossed guestbook chock-a-block with American pseudo-royalty. Plush beds have higher thread counts than dollars in your checking account and enough silk pillows to suffocate an orphanage. Condé Nast keeps inventing top ten lists for this one.