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A stone head of Livia Drusilla, third wife of the Roman Emperor Augustus, revolves endlessly, gazing at unexpected scenes from eras she could have never imagined. Unearthed, encased in glass, and mounted on a rotating mechanism, the statue’s eyes focus on something different with each turn: a towering Doric column, an aerodynamic polyurethane sofa, a Schulze Pollmann quarter grand piano in Ferrari red, a painting by Mario Schifano, a Neoclassical staircase, and a waterfall aglow with flickering LEDs.

This unexpected patchwork defines the lobby of the new Hotel Romeo, designed by Zaha Hadid Architects in the heart of Rome, within the historic Palazzo Capponi. Situated on Via Ripetta—one of the three arteries forming the so-called Roman Trident that stems from Piazza del Popolo—the hotel is on a street that saw the construction of numerous prestigious buildings in the late 16th century, including this palazzo, acquired in 1615 by the affluent Florentine Capponi family. It quickly became a prominent center of both power and culture, in large part due to Alessandro Gregorio Capponi (1683–1746), who established an extraordinary library and a private museum inside. In the 19th century, the palazzo hosted a succession of distinguished residents, from the King of Portugal to the Jesuit Order, before ultimately becoming home to Italian institutional offices in 1951, until its recent purchase. Each transition left its mark, bringing significant alterations and the addition of new wings.

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Fronds of scaled panels loom over the reception desks (1). Ribbons of steel lead guests from an entry gallery (2) to either the reception area or a lounge (3) outside the restaurant. Photos © Chris Dalton (1 & 3), Jacopo Spilimbergo (2)

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In 2014, Neapolitan entrepreneur Alfredo Romeo enlisted Zaha Hadid to completely reimagine the palazzo. The Iraqi-British architect was well acquainted with Rome, having designed MAXXI, one of Italy’s most renowned—and architecturally experimental—museums. However, this project posed an entirely different set of challenges, for its smaller scale, goal of attracting an exclusive clientele, and the oversight of heritage commissions, which demanded around 230 special permits. Moreover, although Hadid had supervised its kickoff, the project was left without her lead after she died unexpectedly in 2016.

These conditions prompted a reassessment of the studio’s usual approach. Although in many of Hadid’s works, the design of the exterior form and structure coincides with that of the interior spaces, in this case, the shell of the palazzo was already defined and untouchable—work was confined to the interior. This constraint led to the concept of a second skin, layered over the original structure, with varying degrees of dialogue or complete reinterpretation. Nearly every space was imbued with a distinct identity, while still drawing from a shared vocabulary.

One of the elements in this lexicon subtly evokes the “whiplash line” of Art Nouveau, whether in two dimensions—for example, inscribed into lava stone or marble floors—or three, as in sculptural interventions. Another element is the vault, reinterpreted at the hotel as free-form, non-load-bearing membranes that bridge between the past and present. Here, the Vitruvian concept of firmitas, or strength, gives way to an anticlassical mannerism with a distinctly decorative imprint.

The whiplash line appears at the hotel’s entrance on Via Ripetta, where a grand rusticated portal is interrupted by a new canopy, crafted from thin stainless-steel strips. These tagliatelle-like ribbons continue inside in undulating waves, suspended beneath the existing barrel vault and guiding guests through the entrance gallery. A doorway on the right leads to the reception area, where visitors are greeted by the first pronounced interpretation of the vault theme. Sinuous surfaces jacketed in lustrous brass scales, reminiscent of giant fronds, emerge from the basalt floor, soaring above hotel guests as they approach the similarly curvilinear Amara ebony reception desk.

Treelike structures wrap sculptural columns. Photo © Chris Dalton

On the other side of the entrance gallery lies the restaurant of three-Michelin-starred chef Alain Ducasse. Its space is defined by treelike wood structures, wrapping around large masonry pillars and blossoming at the ceiling with twisted slats that filter light.

From the lobby, where archaeological artifacts and contemporary artworks intermingle, one can also glimpse the broad rear courtyard. It is divided into four quadrants, recalling classical Italian garden design while also introducing novel geometries and a cascade of pulsating LEDs that electrify an otherwise sober Neoclassical aedicule at the far end. Just a few steps away, a swimming pool with a transparent bottom reveals a 2,000-year-old opus reticulatum wall, discovered during construction, alongside Drusilla’s head, mosaic floors, Roman amphorae, and 18th-century ceramics, which are all now on display within the building.

New mezzanines offer guests in some suites close-up views of original frescoes. Photo © Chris Dalton

The five-star hotel features 74 rooms in total. The Fresco Suites on the piano nobile blend heritage with parametric design. A curvilinear staircase made of solid-surfacing, wood, steel, and glass wraps a dazzling white bathtub, contrasting with tall frescoed walls and decorated ceilings, the details of which are now easily visible from a newly added mezzanine. Despite custom layouts, each of the rooms share a cohesive language, featuring streamlined, polished-chestnut partitions with oversize built-in screens, diagonally positioned beds placed on beveled platforms, and kitschy faux fireplaces carved into boiserie. Fluid form follows function, as in the room playfully nicknamed Trenitalia (after the Italian railway company) by the hotel staff. Its long, narrow shape evokes the interior of a train car, and a continuous surface dynamically twists and adapts to accommodate multiple purposes, from sink and mirror to desk, wall, and wardrobe. Every detail was crafted by skilled Italian artisans, who merged traditional techniques with cutting-edge design tools.

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Hotel rooms abound in curvilinear furnishings and built-ins (4 & 5). Photo © Chris Dalton

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Overall, the interplay between the designers’ sculptural approach and the inherent fragmentation of this historical complex unfolds in a succession of episodes, oscillating between remarkable exploits (such as the golden baroque wave at the reception) and less convincing expressions. The latter results from two main factors: on the one hand, by transitioning from avant-garde to luxury, and from structure to decoration, the radical language once emblematic of Hadid loses intensity, at times evoking the sleek ambience of certain high-end yachts. On the other, the sheer profusion of added furnishings, lighting, artworks, greenery, and archaeological artifacts often undermines Hotel Romeo’s overall cohesion. These two factors suggest a reversal of a well-known Latin motto, melius deficere quam abundare—better to lack than to abound.

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Sculptural millwork creates dramatic shadows in the spa (6) and gym (7). Photos © Chris Dalton, click to enlarge.

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Click plans to enlarge