Madrid Is Having Its Moment

On my flight from Paris to Madrid, there was an ad for Shakira’s residency on the seatback front of me. As we taxied, something moved me to go online and snag a ticket (84 euros, or roughly $90) for the show. The following evening, I basked under late-summer moonlight at Estadio Shakira, which the singer built specially for Madrid, the only stop on her 2026 European tour. “Baila en the calle,” she commanded in “Hips Don’t Lie” with her rich contralto, along with a chorus of some 50,000 euphoric attendees. The woman dancing beside me turned and said, “Can you believe this? It’s the center of the world!”, a comment that summed up the concert, as well as the prevailing sentiment in Spain’s booming capital, especially after the country’s World Cup victory this past summer.  

Something cool is happening in Madrid. Spain’s largest city, once considered Barcelona’s formal cousin, is thrumming with energy, as if a fresh breeze is blowing through the green parks and down the boulevards of the stately and venerable capital. Nothing illustrates this with higher style than my home for a few days, the stunning Rosewood Villa Magna.

Built in an existing structure from 1972 in the Salamanca neighborhood, the hotel exterior was renewed with a contemporary charcoal-hued, brass-accented façade, partially hidden by original 100-year-old cedar trees that I saw from my room. Spanish limestone stairs access an almost private entrance above Madrid’s main artery, the Calle de la Castellana. Inside was chic and sleek, with an intimate lobby filled with artworks both serious and tongue in cheek, but not pretentious. It was also packed with madrileños: An estimated 80 percent of visitors to the ground-floor restaurants or cafes are local, making it feel less like a hotel and more like a neighborhood gathering of women in sleek ponytails and men in smart navy suits.

At the Villa Magna, a few hotel guests were draped in branded Balenciaga, or hauling the newly imagined Amazona 180 bag from Loewe just down the street in Salamanca (the store and the sidewalk outside of it smells of the house’s signature tomato leaf candle). But I was at ease in cotton trousers and New Balance 327s.

Photos courtesy of Rosewood Villa Magna

I walked and walked, observing, absorbing, engaging, going all in on Madrid. Something enticing would urge me to stop. I slipped into Casa Gonzalez in the Las Lettras quarter for slices of salty Jamón Ibérico de Bellota, and into a farmacia for Isdin Fusion Water Magic (some consider it the best SPF lotion in the world) and an eye cleanser from Barcelona-based Belcils. At COCOL, a boutique in the cobblestoned Las Austrias quarter, everything is handmade in Spain, and I acquired an orange blossom Vila Hermanos candle produced in Valencia, and a leather card holder from Mallorca. True story: I stood in line for an individual cheesecake at Alex Cordobés, asked for a spoon. I found a quiet bench on the Paseo de Recoleto and proceeded to lose my mind taking bite after creamy bite.  

On a Sunday morning, I made a pilgrimage to the Prado, and paid my respect to Goya’s side-by-side majas, one clothed and one nude, with identical stares, that once upon a time changed the way I looked at paintings. It was a reminder of Madrid’s unrivaled artistic breadth and cultural relevance. Afterwards, I sat under a pomegranate tree in the Real Jardin Botanico, and let the September sunshine sink in.

Left: Casa Gonzales; Right: Jewel-like cheesecakes at Alex Cordobés

What moved me and surprised me was also what made me feel differently about Madrid than other great European capitals. It feels invigorating, sexy, and very international but also remains as grand and elegant as when I first visited four decades ago. Madrid has preserved its magnificent historic buildings and public spaces with great care. This provides a clean, classical backdrop for the art, fashion, restaurants, and hotels that make Madrid a world class city for shopping, eating, immersing in all manner of culture, and staying.

Beloved beauty insider Bart Kaczanowicz relocated to Madrid a year ago with his husband. One of his many savvy and informed suggestions was to take a stroll in El Retiro Park, which I did on a warm Sunday, stopping to watch the peacocks that strut the east side of the 350-acre green space. “I’ve never seen a city maintain a big park this way,” he says. “I feel like they borderline vacuum it every day. There's something so eighth-wonder-of-the-world about it, and Madrid is full of these places.”

Left: Neptune Fountain on Paseo del Prado; Right: Madrid street

Sometimes, as in the Rosewood, there is a pleasing confluence of the old and new. The La Duquesita pastry shop near the now-trendy Chamberi neighborhood dates to 1914 and is now run by star chef Oriol Balaguer. I had two sublime bite-size anise-seed sugar donuts in the bright new tea salon attached to the bakery.

Heather Evans, a private guide originally from Santa Monica, and 19-year resident of Madrid, ushered me around on a fascinating and revelatory Made in Madrid walk. Things that tempted (and fascinated me): a mother of pearl ring at Suma Cruz, a laser-cut brown velvet blazer at Paris/64; violet pastilles at La Pajerita candy shop, founded in 1852. The packaging throughout is colorful and vintage fresh, and the store contains original tins, jars of sweets to pluck from, and cool canvas bags—I bought a couple. At Mimoki, I marveled at the fascinators made in the shop’s basement, which are de rigueur at Spain’s Catholic weddings.

Left: Violet pastilles from La Pajerita candy shop; Right: Mimoki fascinators

Having arrived from Paris, I forgot how stellar Madrid is as a food city. By the end of five days, I had been bowled over by chef Kevin Juarez’s chewy flan at Amós in the Rosewood; by the perfect tortilla at Bar Anxiota, by an otherworldly fried tonkatsu in a brioche bun at Casa Canito in Salamanca, and by roasted carrots in a curry sauce at Fismuler—a divine flavor bomb.

At Casa Salesas, the white-hot restaurant in the eponymous barrio, I plunked onto a barstool and tucked into puffy house bread served with shaved cheese, and a glass of Albariño white wine. I made a fleeting friend there, as I did everywhere in Madrid. Santiago the bartender sent me home with a bag of almonds roasted in their skins with rosemary. I walked a mile and a half home at night, feeling incredibly safe and filled to the brim in this revitalized but eternally remarkable city.

Left: Chef Kevin Juarez’s chewy flan at Amós in the Rosewood; Right: Casa Salesas