Luxurylifestyle Mag Exclusive May 2026 Special News / The Mandrake, Fitzrovia in London / By Anuja Gaur

Not every indulgence announces itself with grandeur. Some lure you in slowly with a knowing glance and the promise of something far more dangerous than luxury alone to reveal a more seductive character, one where velvet-draped cocktail dens, dusky candlelit sanctuaries and decadent hideaways hum quietly beneath the surface of polite society; and there is one such hotel beacon of unrestrained debauchery which revels in wallowing in exactly that form of forbidden temptation.

Barely a few languid strides from the electric West End buzz, inside the thumping heart of Fitzrovia, sits one of the capital’s most deliciously provocative hospitality playgrounds, The Mandrake.

Neither a conventional five-star retreat nor a predictable urban bolthole, this beguiling sanctuary exists somewhere between spiritual refuge and decadent dreamscape, where mystical ritual, sassy art, pulsating tunes and unapologetic indulgence entwine with seductive ease.

Inspired by the ancient mandrake root, a mythical plant long entwined with folklore, alchemy and the darker corners of the subconscious, the hotel embraces a sense of theatrical mysticism that feels entirely intentional rather than ornamental. Step inside and the mood shifts almost instantly.

The outside world softens into memory as shadowy corridors, lush botanical installations and jewel-toned interiors conjure a sultry atmosphere that feels less like entering a hotel and more like crossing into an alternate dimension of London’s nocturnal imagination.

It was within this intoxicating pocket of Fitzrovia that I found myself luxuriating in a wildly immersive 24-hour staycation, stepping willingly into The Mandrake’s hypnotic rhythm, where the lines between sanctuary and spectacle blur beautifully, and where London’s more rebellious spirit is not merely welcomed, but gloriously celebrated.

Hotel

Under the vision of Tala Fustok Studio, the interiors reveal a richly embellished, high-drama maze of seductive contrasts

Making its sultry debut in September 2017, The Mandrake emerges as the hedonistic playground of Beirut-born Londoner Rami Fustok, whose early immersion in London’s graffiti-streaked, boundary-pushing street culture now pulses unapologetically through the hotel’s provocative identity.

A leisurely saunter from the fevered chaos of Oxford Street, it lingers on Newman Street with a quiet, teasing discretion, its shadow-drenched façade revealing little beyond a whisper of what lies within. A seductive labyrinth of art, shadow and decadence awaited beyond.

Stepping inside, the entrance revealed itself as a mysterious, narrow corridor, dimly lit and quietly theatrical, drawing me forward with a sense of delicious intrigue before unveiling a lavish, feverish sanctuary of shadow and spectacle.

What lay beyond felt illicit, almost conspiratorial, as though I had crossed into a world reserved for the beautifully curious and the unapologetically indulgent.

Under the vision of Tala Fustok Studio, the interiors revealed a richly embellished, high-drama maze of seductive contrasts. Gothic chandeliers cascaded in molten clusters, their amber glow flickering against walls adorned with provocative, risqué artworks that felt daring, decadent and deliberately arresting. Plush velvet seating in sumptuous tones of oxblood, burnt amber and inky noir cocooned the space in a languid, almost sinful elegance, while theatrical taxidermy pieces appeared as bejewelled curiosities, lending a surreal, darkly glamorous edge rather than anything remotely macabre.

Beyond, the courtyard revealed itself in lush, paradisial splendour, cascading greenery spilling in wild abundance, softening the shadowed interiors with a sensual, almost Eden-like contrast.

The air was richly perfumed with the Mandrake’s signature scent, warm, spiced and faintly narcotic, clinging to the senses with an addictive, lingering allure.

Antiquities and rare objets d’art, gathered from Fustok’s globe-trotting pursuits, punctuated every corner with an eclectic, hedonistic richness, blurring the lines between gallery, sanctuary and decadent playground.

At reception, a chiselled, impeccably styled ensemble of hosts glided with effortless poise, their polished charm ensuring a seamless arrival, swiftly ushering me away from the ordinary and into The Mandrake’s intoxicating, beautifully unrestrained world.

Room

Luxury accommodation includes three opulent suites and an award-winning Penthouse

33 seductive chambers beckon at The Mandrake, including three opulent suites and an award-winning penthouse, each one daringly composed as a provocative interplay between shadow and illumination, restraint and reckless indulgence, enticing a glitterati of well-heeled visitants and nocturnally inclined pleasure-seekers to cocoon, unravel and revel in a world where spiritual calm collides deliciously with unapologetic decadence.

The Mandrake superior rooms, spanning 18–22 m², refuse to play the ingénue, instead seducing with a sultry palette of crisp alabaster whites sharply contrasted against inky noir drapery that falls with theatrical intent, while burnished caramel velvets, tactile organic textures and brooding monochrome artworks lend a smouldering, lounge-like intimacy that feels both cocooning and quietly voyeuristic.

The beds, dressed in cloud-soft linens and deeply cushioned organic mattresses, beckon with an almost indecent level of comfort, while enclosed rainfall showers transform into steamy, skin-warmed rituals that linger long after the water stills, elevating the everyday into something far more indulgent.

For a more cinematic expression of excess, the penthouse stretches across an impressive 128 m², presenting itself as a luminous, high-gloss sanctuary swathed entirely in pristine Veronese bookend marble, its mirrored veining rippling across floors, walls and surfaces in a hypnotic, near-symmetrical dance that feels both serene and powerfully commanding.

A refined palette of polished ivory, silvery whites and soft dove greys is lifted by the reflective gleam of glass and brushed metallic accents, allowing natural light to pour in with radiant intensity, illuminating sculptural furnishings, curated objets d’art and sleek dining arrangements that lend the space a gallery-like elegance without ever losing its sensual edge.

At its centre, an immense bed crowned with a custom cashmere mattress rests like a decadent altar of repose, inviting languid, champagne-laced mornings and indulgent, slow-burning nights, while the pièce de résistance emerges in the form of a six person Jacuzzi bath beneath a retractable roof, where warm, effervescent waters meet open sky in a moment that feels cinematic, sensual and deliciously illicit.

A seductive indulgence long favoured by a glittering, beautifully heeled cadre of actors, auteurs and chart-topping provocateurs drawn to its intoxicating promise of unrestrained luxury.

The Mandrake Suite features an opulently draped bed and a freestanding claw foot bathtub

Maestros of seductive escapism, the intuitively perceptive Mandrake ensemble saw it more than fitting to have me ensconced within one of their beguiling terrace deluxe rooms, a 33 m² sanctuary where the boundary between interior indulgence and verdant wilderness dissolved with effortless allure.

Cloaked in a sultry palette of warm neutrals and burnished earth tones, the chamber played to a refined yet quietly provocative elegance, where deep oxblood drapery cascaded with theatrical grace against soft cream walls, and plush furnishings in muted taupe and blush lent a cocooning, lounge-like intimacy that felt both grounding and deliciously indulgent.

Double doors beckoned with quiet temptation, parting to reveal a semi-private terrace enveloped in a lush veil of cascading jasmine and passionflower, their trailing tendrils framing the space in a natural, fragrant seclusion that felt worlds away from the city’s electric pulse.

Rattan seating and low-slung tables invited languid pauses, whether for a morning reverie or a dusk-tinged indulgence, where the outside air carried a softness that lingered long after retreating indoors.

The king-size bed, dressed in cloud-soft linens and accented with rich, jewel-toned cushions, commanded the room with an understated confidence, inviting a slow, unhurried surrender, while the enclosed rainfall shower transformed into a steamy, skin-warmed ritual that felt less functional and more decadently immersive.

Awaiting my arrival, a temptingly arranged selection of artisan chocolates and homemade cakes provided a sweet prelude to the pleasures ahead, a thoughtful flourish that set the tone for a stay steeped in indulgence.

What captivated most, however, was the room’s ability to blur its dual identity, part serene botanical retreat, part quietly hedonistic hideaway, leaving yours truly deliciously poised between tranquil retreat and the promise of the Mandrake’s nocturnal temptations that awaited just beyond those velvet-lined doors.

Food and drink

Jurema is perched high above the courtyard yet wrapped in a hypnotic veil of cascading jasmine and passionflower

Where The Mandrake truly bares its hedonistic soul is within its intoxicating constellation of epicurean encounters, where gastronomy is elevated into a sensorial playground for the city’s most discerning culinary connoisseurs.

In a setting where shadowy corners, verdant courtyards and candlelit enclaves conspire to seduce, dining here becomes less of a routine and more of a deliciously unrestrained ritual, unfolding across an alluring tapestry of bars, private dining sanctuaries, lush terraces and a scene-stealing courtyard that pulses with a quietly decadent energy.

At the heart of this gastronomic reverie lies a destination restaurant that dares to blur the lines between art, alchemy and indulgence, serving up ethnobotanical cocktails that read like poetic elixirs, each one infused with rare botanicals and a whisper of mysticism, alongside a South American inspired menu that revels in bold, untamed flavours.

Here, kitchens hum with a sultry intensity as chefs craft plates that are as visually arresting as they are deeply flavourful, weaving together vibrant ingredients with a playful, almost theatrical finesse.

It is this seamless marriage of atmosphere, artistry and unapologetic indulgence that crowns The Mandrake as one of Fitzrovia’s most coveted culinary playgrounds, where every sip, every bite and every lingering moment feels deliciously, decadently intentional.

“And into the forest, I go to lose my mind and find my soul.”

John Muir’s words feel less like poetry and more like prophecy the moment Jurema beckons. Perched high above the courtyard yet wrapped in a hypnotic veil of cascading jasmine and passionflower, this verdant sanctuary hums with a sultry, almost pagan allure, where the line between nature and nocturnal indulgence dissolves into something deliciously untamed.

Jurema serves a selection of South American inspired dishes from YOPO

Bathed in golden dusk light, I began with the Patchouli Margarita, a heady, perfumed concoction where Patrón Silver and pisco entwined with lychee’s silken sweetness and the earthy seduction of patchouli, lifted by a floral whisper of elderflower. It arrived as both potion and prelude, setting the tone for what would unfold as a deeply sensorial feast.

The opening notes were playful yet precise, with warm wholemeal sourdough torn apart and dragged through glossy olive oil, followed by airy Parmesan tapioca that shattered delicately against the palate.

The yellowtail tiradito was where things turned electric, translucent slices gleaming beneath a vivid ají dressing, its citrus heat softened by creamy yoghurt and punctuated with the crisp bite of plantain chips.

From the Josper grill came a sirloin of unapologetic indulgence, its charred crust giving way to a blush centre that melted with buttery richness, enlivened by the herbaceous punch of chimichurri.

The Welsh lamb followed with equal bravado, tender and deeply savoury, cloaked in a smoky adobo glaze, its sweetness sharpened by jewel-like Tropea onions. Sides of sesame-laced aubergine and rosemary-studded potatoes added a grounding, earthy depth.

A chilled bottle of Château Minuty 281 flowed effortlessly alongside, pale and poised with whispers of citrus and white peach, cutting cleanly through the richness with a polished, Provençal elegance.

As twilight deepened and the courtyard flickered into a candlelit jungle of shadows and silhouettes, Jurema revealed itself not merely as a terrace, but as an intoxicating ritual, where cocktails, cuisine and atmosphere conspire in one languid, hedonistic exhale.

There is nothing remotely polite about Waeska, illustrating a kind of place that fixes you with a knowing stare the second you cross its threshold, daring you to keep up.

My eyes were instantly lured toward the iridescent sheen of the labradorite bar, glinting like liquid gemstone under low light, while behind it a decadent shrine of curiosities preened for attention, taxidermy creatures frozen mid fantasy, tribal relics, gilded oddities and artefacts that felt deliciously illicit, as though each one had a story it probably shouldn’t tell.

Waeska Bar serves up ethnobotanical cocktails that read like poetic elixirs, each one infused with rare botanicals and a whisper of mysticism

The room throbbed with a sultry, bass driven rhythm as the DJ spun something dark and hypnotic, the kind of soundtrack that loosens inhibitions before you’ve even ordered a drink.

A beautifully turned out, impeccably dressed, haute-monde crowd leaned into the mood, all knowing glances and slow sips, while the impossibly well groomed mixologists worked with a quiet, magnetic confidence, crafting each cocktail with a sense of ritual rather than routine, part alchemy, part performance.

And then the drinks arrived, unapologetically photogenic, almost too pretty to disturb. The Blue Lotus 75 shimmered in electric jewel tones, a luminous spectacle where Belvedere vodka entwined with floral blue lotus and citrus laced yuzushu, lifted by a sparkling crown of Veuve Clicquot that fizzed with crisp, celebratory elegance. Each sip was bright, aromatic and lightly perfumed, dancing between citrus sharpness and floral intrigue.

The Sacred Bean followed as its decadent counterpart, a richer, more hedonistic affair where spiced rum and amaretto melted into velvety white chocolate and tonka bean, its creamy, dessert like body unfolding slowly with notes of toasted nuts, vanilla and a whisper of sweet spice that lingered long after the glass was set down.

The snacks did not play second fiddle. Fries arrived golden and audibly crisp, begging to be plunged into the smoky, slightly sweet heat of chipotle aioli, while the salt cod croquettes broke open to reveal a soft, delicately seasoned centre, their crisp shells giving way to a silky, savoury richness.

The guacamole brought a vibrant contrast, bright with lime, flecked with tomato and chilli, scooped generously onto corn chips for a fresh, zesty lift between the more indulgent bites.

Waeska thrives on temptation rather than restraint, a space where cocktails flirt shamelessly, flavours linger indulgently, and the night stretches out with a seductive promise that one more drink is never quite enough.

Spa and wellness

The hidden sanctuary of DAMU feels carved from the very bones of the earth itself

There is something deliciously illicit about slipping beneath The Mandrake’s feverish, velvet soaked playground and into a hidden sanctuary that feels carved from the very bones of the earth itself.

DAMU does not announce itself with polished serenity or predictable spa theatrics, it lures you in with a low, almost conspiratorial whisper, drawing you into a subterranean realm where pleasure, ritual and restoration entwine in the most intoxicating fashion.

Rooted in the mythology of Damu, the ancient Mesopotamian god of healing, renewal and medicinal plants, this is wellness stripped back to its most primal and seductive form.

Sculpted in rich terracotta hues, the space cocoons you in curved, cave-like chambers where flickering candlelight dances against earthen walls, casting shadows that feel both intimate and indulgent.

The atmosphere is thick with a grounding stillness, as though time itself has softened, allowing the body and mind to surrender entirely to sensation.

My own descent into the Mud Caves revealed a ritual that felt both deeply grounding and quietly decadent. Tucked within this candlelit enclave, the experience became a tactile indulgence where mineral rich muds from the Austrian Alps were presented like sacred elixirs, infused with quartz, mica and bentonite to purify and restore.

I had taken to the process with gleeful abandon, smoothing the cool, silken textures across skin, relishing the contrast between their earthy grit and velvety finish as each layer seemed to awaken the senses in slow, deliberate waves.

As gentle heat built through the chamber and soft curls of steam wrapped around me, the ritual deepened into something almost trance like. The addition of radiant warmth and the enveloping humidity coaxed every muscle into submission, while the transition into the rain showers delivered a languid, almost euphoric release.

Warm cascades of water washed away the mineral layers in rhythmic sheets, leaving skin softened, nourished and faintly glowing, while a lingering sense of calm settled deep within the body.

It was not merely an hour of wellness, but an indulgent immersion into elemental luxury, where one emerges not only restored, but deliciously undone, as though the body has been reset and the mind gently persuaded to linger in a state of blissful surrender.

In a nutshell

The Mandrake is the perfect luxury oasis at the heart of Fitzrovia

The Mandrake is not interested in being liked, it is far too busy being desired.

This is a hotel that trades in temptation rather than tradition, a decadent hideaway where the rules feel deliciously blurred and the atmosphere hums with a quiet, knowing danger. It draws in a beautifully heeled, hedonistically inclined crowd who are not here for polite luxury, but for something far more immersive, far more intoxicating.

Inside, every corner conspires to seduce.

Shadow and candlelight flicker across velvet textures and provocative artworks, botanicals spill with untamed abandon, and the energy shifts effortlessly from ritual calm to late night indulgence without ever losing its grip.

Dining feels like a flirtation with excess, cocktails arrive as liquid theatre, and even moments of wellness carry an undercurrent of something far more primal than serenity.

This is not a place that resets you.

It unravels you, slowly, deliberately, and with a certain mischievous pleasure. You arrive curious, perhaps a little composed, and leave with that composure delightfully undone, carrying with you the distinct sense that you have stepped into something seductive, and just a little bit wicked.

Factbox

Room rates start from approximately £300 per night with suites from approximately £500 per night . Rates may vary during peak seasons.

Address: 20-21 Newman Street, London, W1T 1PG
Phone: 0203 146 7770
Website: themandrake.com

Images courtesy of The Mandrake