Brianna Holt’s Paris is unhurried. The author of “In Our Shoes,” whose work has appeared in The New York Times, GQ, and Vogue, is pulled to places that invite a slow burn, shifting between café days and wine bar nights.

For Co-Sign Vol. 003, she shares the places she returns to for writing, people-watching, and letting the night unfold.

THE CO-SIGNS
Vol. 003: Brianna Holt

Where to go in Paris when you’re feeling a little decadent, according to Brianna.

For Writing

Soho House Paris, Pigalle (9th arrondissement)
Velvet armchairs and a rooftop pool hidden behind an unassuming facade. I love writing here and then ending a session with a glass of wine or 15 minutes in the sauna.

The Hoxton Hotel, 2nd arrondissement
Sunlight flooding the courtyard and the soft hum of laptops and coffee cups. It’s where I go when I need the feeling of productive anonymity.

Merci, 3rd arrondissement
A no-laptop café and bookshop with an assortment of pastries, cakes, and coffees. I love it because it reminds me that not every creative moment has to be productive to be meaningful.

For Natural Wine

Chambre Noir, 11th arrondissement
Dim lighting, small tables, and a changing menu of light bites. Wine bottles serve as both the decor and the dessert here.

Rojo, 3rd arrondissement
Spanish-leaning small plates and natural wine poured generously. It feels warm, social, and just a little bit chaotic in the best way.

Le Baron Rouge, 12th arrondissement
Standing outside with a glass in hand near the Marché d’Aligre crowds. Their wine and cheese options are endless.

Septime La Cave, 11th arrondissement
A tiny wine cave that feels like a hidden jewel box. An absolute must-visit for anyone wanting a great wine experience in Paris.

For Dining

Mary Celeste, Marais, 3rd arrondissement
Natural wine, oysters, and a buzzing corner location. It always feels like the start of a very good night.

Le Coyote, 3rd arrondissement
Low lighting and plates meant to be shared. It feels cozy, queer, and slightly American.

Early June, 10th arrondissement
Seasonal plates and soft lighting. Eating here feels like being let in on a neighborhood secret.

Red Sauce, 10th arrondissement
American-Italian comfort food in Paris. It feels nostalgic and indulgent, like a tiny piece of home. In the evening, the restaurant transitions into a nightlight spot.

Marla, 18th arrondissement
Most vibey hidden gem for dinner. Come for the shared plates, stay for the cocktails.

Café Charlot, Marais (3rd arrondissement)
Classic Paris café energy with people-watching built in. Be prepared to spend hours here.

For Drinking

Deviant, 10th arrondissement
Low lighting, loud music, and a slightly rebellious energy. It feels like Paris after midnight.

Le Progrès, Marais (3rd arrondissement)
Crowds spilling onto the street with glasses in hand. It feels chaotic, social, and impossible not to love. Be prepared to run into someone you know.

La Perle, Marais (3rd arrondissement)
A legendary corner terrace perfect for long afternoons. It feels timeless and effortlessly cool. My first stop before a night of going out with friends.

Classique, 9th arrondissement
Perfectly balanced cocktails and dim lighting. It feels elegant without trying too hard.

Serpent à Plume, 3rd arrondissement
Cocktails in a dramatic, vibey setting. It feels like stepping onto a glamorous film set.

Le Mansart, Pigalle (9th arrondissement)
Bustling terrace and late-night energy. It feels young, social, and endlessly lively.

Hôtel Grand Amour, 10th arrondissement
A dreamy hotel bar with lush interiors. It feels romantic, cinematic, and slightly surreal.

**For a Google map of Brianna’s Paris, click here.**

THE CITY INTERVIEW

How did you end up in Paris and what made you stay?
I first lived in Paris during the summer of 2023 and fell, somewhat predictably, in love with the city and its people. That summer planted the idea that Paris might one day become more than a temporary chapter, and I began quietly researching long-term visa options.

By August 2025, the timing felt right. I had reached a point in New York where my life felt full, but also strangely complete, as though I had taken that chapter as far as it could go at that moment. As a writer, stagnation is the quickest route to creative paralysis, and I felt an urgent need for new rhythms and new questions. Paris, a city I already knew and where I already had community, felt like the most natural place to begin planting new roots. I was also craving distance from the American political climate and the emotional fatigue that comes with living inside it.

On your best days, what does living here feel like?
On my best days, living in Paris feels like existing in a space where my nervous system is not constantly on alert.

How has living in Paris shaped your sense of self, your creative practice, or your worldview?
Living in Paris has forced me into a slower, more deliberate pace of life. That slowness has been both a gift and a challenge. It has required me to stretch in unfamiliar ways: learning to communicate in another language, navigating social customs that don’t always come intuitively, and building daily structure without the structure of a traditional full-time job.

But in that stretching, I’ve found expansion. My creative practice has become more observational and patient. Living here has made me more comfortable with uncertainty and more attentive to the small, everyday rituals that shape life.

What’s one thing people consistently misunderstand or get wrong about Paris, and what do they miss out on because of it?
Americans, in particular, tend to hold a highly romanticized vision of Paris from the media we consume. We imagine it as effortless, cinematic, and extremely charming. In reality, Paris can be a difficult city. Bureaucracy is slow and often opaque. Daily life requires patience, persistence, and a tolerance for inconvenience. Building community takes time, and the city does not always reveal itself easily.

But it’s precisely this resistance that people miss out on. When you move beyond the fantasy, Paris becomes richer and more textured. It’s a city that rewards endurance, curiosity, and humility.

Describe the soul of Paris in three words.
Layered. Enduring. Inspiring.

CO-SIGN WORLDWIDE

The sexiest hotel you’ve ever stayed at:
Domaine de l’Astragale à Saint-Tropez. Secluded af and makes you feel like you’re on a honeymoon.

The most beautiful place you’ve ever visited:
The Amalfi Coast — made me feel like I was on the set of a White Lotus season.

Overrated destination:
London. The food was pretty bland and the weather was always grey.

Underrated destination:
Mallorca. It’s basically an artist hub that hasn’t been overrun with tourists.

A destination, hotel, or experience still on your bucket list:
Lake Como, Italy. Every time I see a friend there, I get fomo.

A place you’ve gatekept — until now:
Sandhamn, Sweden. I’ve never been somewhere so peaceful and relaxing. You could hear a pen drop here.

The greatest city in the world right now:
New York City, forever and always. There just isn’t any city in the world that compares.

Dewey Saunders’s LA is deliciously analog. The artist and designer creates layered, referential imagery for magazines like Nylon and Rolling Stone, and artists from Future to Anderson .Paak — work shaped by the cultural language of the city he lives in.

For Co-Sign Vol. 002, he shares the places in LA that make the city feel like a living archive.

Read more

Éva Goicochea’s New York isn’t subtle. An architecture and history obsessive disguised as someone who “just likes a beautiful place,” she gravitates toward dramatic spaces with a distinct point of view: sculpture gardens, Beaux-Arts dining rooms, and Victorian glasshouses.

That design-forward lens tracks. In 2018, Goicochea founded Maude, the minimalist sexual wellness brand whose sculptural objects — some of which have even been sold at the Louvre — occupy the space between form and function.

For Co-Sign Vol. 001, she shares the places in New York that make the city feel cinematic.

THE CO-SIGNS
Vol. 001: Éva Goicochea

Where to go in NYC when you’re feeling cinematic, according to Eva.

Noguchi Museum Garden, Long Island City
Basalt sculptures and raked gravel at Noguchi’s 1985 industrial sanctuary, a quiet reset that makes the rest of Queens feel like static.

The Albertine, Upper East Side
Stanford White’s 1902 mansion and that hand-painted zodiac ceiling, flipping through glossy French art books like you’ve inherited old money taste.

Swan Room, Chinatown
Oysters under the limestone arches of the 1912 Jarmulowsky Bank, dinner that feels faintly ecclesiastical and deeply downtown.

New York Botanical Garden, Bronx
The 1902 Victorian glass conservatory during the Orchid Show, humid air and tropical excess while winter sulks outside.

The View, Times Square
New York’s last revolving restaurant, 1985 Jet Age optimism spinning Times Square into something almost civilized.

Metropolitan Opera House Lobby, Lincoln Center
Travertine, Swarovski chandeliers, and intermission people-watching that rivals whatever’s happening on stage.

Ford Foundation Garden, Midtown East
A 1967 modernist jungle tucked inside a glass box on 42nd Street, corporate America accidentally building paradise.

The Grill, Midtown
Mies van der Rohe’s 1958 Seagram Building and Dover sole carved tableside, International Style with a side of glamour.

Green-Wood Cemetery, Greenwood Heights
Gothic gates from 1861 and sunset at Battle Hill, mortality framed like a very chic landscape painting.

Experimental Cocktail Club, Chinatown
Up a narrow staircase in a 19th-century building, shadowy corners and a drink that tastes like someone obsessed over it.

TWA Hotel, JFK Airport
Eero Saarinen’s 1962 Flight Center and that sunken red conversation pit, Jet Age fantasy without ever boarding a plane.

The Met, Upper East Side
Lunch in the Lansdowne Dining Room overlooking Hunt’s 1902 facade, then golden hour at the Temple of Dendur, culture and indulgence in one sweep.

The Beekman, Financial District
An 1883 Victorian atrium stacked nine stories high, cast iron and candlelight that make downtown feel conspiratorial.

Argosy Book Store, Midtown East
Family-owned since 1925, creaking wooden floors and glass cases of rare maps that make Manhattan feel archival.

New-York Historical Society, Upper West Side
Founded in 1804 and still keeping receipts, portraits and city relics that remind you this place has always been dramatic.

For a Google map of Eva’s NYC, click here.

THE CITY INTERVIEW

How did you end up in NYC and what made you stay?
I went to college here and always had a sense I would come back. New York felt unfinished to me in a way that was motivating. Ten years ago, when it was time to properly launch Maude, Ian and I made a decisive move. We sold our house in Los Angeles, packed up our life, and relocated so I could build the company where the infrastructure actually existed.

New York is where the buyers, editors, and capital all intersect. If you’re building a consumer brand at the intersection of design and commerce, the conversations are happening here in real time.

On your best days, what does living here feel like?
On my best days, it feels cinematic and compressed. A morning in a sculpture garden in Queens. Lunch in a Beaux-Arts dining room. A hidden atrium jungle on 42nd Street. Opera lobby people-watching under chandeliers. The density of experience makes a single day feel expansive. You don’t need a flight to feel transported. You just need to walk.

How has living in NYC shaped your sense of self, your creative practice, or your worldview?
New York sharpens you. It rewards clarity and punishes hesitation. Living here has made me more decisive and more determined, even in the middle of February when the lingering snow on the ground is disgustingly dirty, and you have to look up to see beauty.

From a design perspective, you absorb architectural and historical lineage just by moving through it: Modernism, Gilded Age excess, industrial grit, constant reinvention. The city insists on ambition. It also teaches you that ideas survive here because they are strong, not because they are comfortable. There is a 15-minute movie at The New York Historical Society about New York from the 1600s until now. Every time I watch it, I walk out even more excited to be a New Yorker.

What’s one thing people consistently misunderstand or get wrong about NYC, and what do they miss out on because of it?
People mistake the intensity for coldness. They see the speed, the noise, the price tag, and assume it’s transactional. What they miss is the depth. The quiet public gardens tucked inside corporate towers. The centuries-old, family-owned bookstores that outlived every trend cycle. The neighborhoods that turn into villages if you commit to walking them. New York rewards attention. If you only skim it, it will skim you back. It is demanding, but it is not indifferent.

Describe the soul of NYC in three words.
Ambitious. Layered. Electric.

CO-SIGN WORLDWIDE

The sexiest hotel you’ve ever stayed at:
Venice Venice. Set inside the 13th-century Palazzo Ca’ da Mosto, one of the oldest palazzi on the Grand Canal, its raw plaster walls, contemporary art, and candlelit corridors feel equal parts Renaissance and radical. Water moves beneath your windows at night, and the whole place hums with that distinctly Venetian tension between grandeur and decay.

The most beautiful place you’ve ever visited:
The Dolomites. Pale limestone peaks that glow pink at sunset, alpine air so clean it feels medicinal, and villages that look staged but aren’t. It’s dramatic without being loud, vast but somehow intimate. The scale of it recalibrates you.

Overrated destination:
Amsterdam. The canals are undeniably beautiful, but the contrast between postcard charm and the late-night undercurrent can feel oddly dissonant.

Underrated destination:
Milan (though, after the Olympics, it might not be so underrated). Not that it’s not celebrated, but against Paris or Rome, it has rationalist lines and a kind of quiet design confidence that doesn’t beg to be photographed.

A destination, hotel, or experience still on your bucket list:
I’ve been to Japan, but not to Tokyo. What appeals to me is the neon and stillness, the cedar baths and the concrete galleries. It’s a place where every detail feels considered and nothing feels accidental.

A place you’ve gatekept — until now:
Vigilius Mountain Resort in the Dolomites. Perched above Lana and reachable only by cable car, this wood-and-glass modernist hideaway feels suspended between earth and sky. Between the brutal quiet, alpine air, and architecture that disappears into the mountain, it’s the rare place that actually slows you down.

The greatest city in the world right now:
New York, forever and always. No other city compresses this much architecture, ambition, culture, and friction into such tight geography.

After a week-long trip that turned into two months of hotel hopping along the Mexican Riviera, my vacation fling–turned–boyfriend’s car sputtered out. When it became clear I wasn’t making my flight, we decided to do what two delirious kids drunk on dopamine do: spend another night together.

We frantically Googled and Yelped in the backseat of an Uber, trying to find a hotel that could serve as a home base for our final hurrah. It was a “romantic” resort with a 4.7 star Google rating for $550.

It was the worst hotel I’ve ever stayed in. The pool was sardined with sweaty tourists. The sheets were damp and moldy, and the food was almost impressively inedible. As I sipped a watery mudslide contemplating the life choices that had brought me there, a realization took root:

The entire ecosystem of travel recommendations is broken.

The problem with relying on review sites like Google is that excellence is highly subjective. A hotel that gets a glowing review from a family of four is unlikely to land a high score with a single woman traveling alone. Review sites, with their tidy little ratings, can’t tell you what actually matters — how a place feels. They ask “Do most people like this place?” rather than answer “Is this place right for someone like me?”

Instead of offering solutions, social media presents another set of problems. Instagram and TikTok are a swamp of sponsored content thinly disguised as trustworthy guidance. Our feeds are flooded with influencers peddling “hidden gems” with millions of likes and AI slop sending everyone to the same six places. It’s why you can spend weeks cobbling together saves and screenshots and still land somewhere profoundly mid.

When the algorithm rewards illusion over honesty, the result is a kind of pornification of travel — images edited so aggressively they barely resemble the actual place. We end up chasing impossibly turquoise beaches instead of what we’re actually looking for: connection, curiosity, surprise.

So, what’s left to trust? Friends. Always friends.

Recommendations from friends sit in the sweet spot between trust and taste because they come from someone whose sensibility you share, whose incentive is supremely simple — they just want you to enjoy yourself!

Friends’ recommendations are a map of their unique tastes and hard-won wisdom: where they danced until 6 a.m., flirted with a sexy stranger, and cried over the perfect ceviche. Those stories, those recommendations, are what I want more of.

Somewhere along the way, travel stopped being about discovery and became about being on display — a mode of being perceived rather than a mode of perceiving. The commodification of travel has turned the world into content. We care more about how a trip looks on our feed than how it feels in our bodies. We chase overedited photos and overhyped restaurants, and in the process, we miss the messy pleasure of discovering a place — and discovering our place in it.

That’s why I’m starting Co‑Sign, a travel publication for people who travel to change how they see, not how they’re seen.

Each weekly edition follows cultural insiders through their world, tracing where they go, what they notice, and why it matters, along with Google Maps so you can explore through their eyes.

Travel is the lens, but the heart is resisting the algorithm with real recommendations from people whose taste you can trust: artists, writers, filmmakers, chefs, and other discerning creatives.

In other words, people whose Co‑Sign actually means something.

I’ve spent 14 years as a writer and editor, leading teams and shaping coverage as editor-in-chief at Mic and executive editor at Complex. My work has lived at the intersection of culture and politics, but my earliest beats were food and sex — pleasure as a way of understanding the world.

I’ve been dreaming up this project for over a year, but I’ve finally reached a point where hope outweighs hesitation. My goal is to create a community of people with terrific taste and messy hearts — unapologetic people who want to devour life like a ripe peach, even if it makes their hands sticky.

If you travel to feed your soul, not just your feed, you’re in the right place.

—S.