In my line of work, I get to stay in plenty of incredible hotels with each one madly competing with the other to see how it can redefine the idea of luxury accommodation. I’ve stayed in two-storey suites overlooking the Arabian Gulf with access to the rooftop helipad (Burj Al Arab). Suites with dazzling views of an ancient 8th-century temple (Amanjiwo). Villas with 24/7 butler service (take your pick). Suites so sprawling that they literally have their own postcode (Rosewood London). Vast music-themed suites filled with acoustic guitars, a DJ booth, and entire cupboards filled with candy, snacks and an actual popcorn maker (Mandarin Oriental Landmark Hong Kong). Suites with a separate karaoke room (Umana Bali). Yadda yadda…

In other words, when it comes to a hotel room – don’t come at me, now – it takes a lot to impress me. But the one experience that’s long been missing from the CV has been a stay in a presidential suite.

Perhaps it’s because there’s such an element of unreality about the whole thing. I mean, staying in a beach-side villa with a hovering butler is one thing. You could easily pretend to be a low-key movie star or a Silicon tech mogul. But a presidential suite? How do you pretend to be a president?

Well, after a recent overnight in the presidential suite at the newly renovated Grand Hyatt Singapore, let me tell you that the answer is – quite easily. So easily, in fact, that you almost understand how George Santos got away with his delusional fantasies.

Of course, it helps if you have access to the treasury of a small country because one night here will set you back S$13,000 (US$9,803). Before taxes. But assuming you do, this is the place to blow all that taxpayers’ money.

Once you step in, you never want to leave. Because this green-carpeted presidential suite is huge. As in 252 sq m, huge. It’s the size of a doubles tennis court. Or twice the size of a 5-room HDB flat. If you’re in bed – having just settled into pillows the size of a Dalmatian – and remembered you left your phone in the other room, you think of the distance involved in retrieving it, and you decide that you can live without it.

The decor by Tokyo-based interiors studio, Strickland, is ‘kidnap-me’ rich, but with good taste. Acres of emerald-green and white marble, plush upholstery and linen, and rich, dark-stained walnut. There’s an actual coat cupboard. To store your guests’ mink coats when they visit, I imagine. The ceilings are clad in hammered copper panels. The door handles are wrapped in woven leather. The kitchen is stocked with a four-top induction stove, oven, fridge and wine fridge, all by Miele. My favourite room is the walk-in wardrobe with its Broadway-like bulb lighting and a discreet butler’s entrance of its own. Imagine that.

There is a pair of B&O Beolab 28 speakers in the living room. Because, well, why not? How else will you get the multiple stereophonic effect when you and your posse are blasting Beyonce during your midnight dance-off?

The dining table, meanwhile, comfortably seats 10 of your besties as you plan your next hostile corporate takeover. In-room dining staff or the chef enter and leave by a separate butler’s door to set the table. The whole thing is set up for privacy to such an extent that it’s entirely possible that you would never see the staff the entire meal.

This is a suite for people who need choices in their lives. Because gazillionaires are an indecisive species, there are actually three Presidential Suites – all located in the swanky Terrace Wing – to pick from. So, there’s that.

Meanwhile, not happy with the three sitting rooms, including the one leading into the bedroom? There are at least four other daybeds, bay windows and nooks to settle into to read a book, play Candy Crush or have a private Zoom call. Want to watch TV? There are four 1.6m plasma sets. (There may have been more, but I lost count.)

There are two room safes, particularly useful if you brought all your jewellery with you on holiday. The shower has two huge, separate rain-shower heads, one at each end of the marbled shower room with each head featuring four water flow settings. I’m guessing rich people get bored while showering and need water pressure options. Even if there’s another person at the other end of the shower.

If it’s not already clear, staying in the Presidential Suite – the Grand Hyatt Singapore’s version, anyway – is an exercise in glorious excess. Where a Mars bar costs S$6 and a Heaven & Earth Ice Lemon Tea, S$9. This is how the fashionable other half lives. But it is also luxury delivered quietly in a palette of Armani greys, Jil Sander cream, and Bottega Veneta chocolate brown. No clashing Versace colours or psychedelic Missoni patterns.

You could imagine having Oprah drop by for a meeting to discuss your next Book Club project with the Dalai Lama, and dinner after in the private dining room.

This is, in other words, aspirational luxury layered with power glamour. In every room in the suite – especially that vast bathroom – comes a soft whisper: “This is how the rich and powerful live when they’re on holiday. Finally, you belong.”

How I loved every second. I still dream of those massive pillows. They deserve their own postcode.

And you will love it, too. From check-in to check out, you’re promised a whole other experience in the art of living well. Presidential-like.

Of course, you will also sleep well here. If nothing else, that, at the very least, is what you’ll get for S$13,000 a night.  

Daven Wu is a freelance travel writer.