The Art of Staying In at Populus Denver

In Denver, the mile-high city where the skyline stretches rather than stacks, Populus introduces a striking new silhouette. Downtown, the boutique hotel commands attention in a white, sculptural building whose facade is punctured with eye-shaped windows of varying sizes, their lids protruding outward as if blinking at the city. Across its thirteen stories, there isn’t a single right angle in sight. 

 

After being dropped off at the entrance, I stood there for a few minutes, head tilted up, mesmerized by the building’s serrated texture. A doorman, smiling as if he’d seen this many times before, welcomed me inside with a knowing “Isn’t it neat?” I soon learned that what I’d been gaping at was architect Jeanne Gang’s reinterpretation of Colorado’s native aspen tree bark. As she hiked through the state, studying the Populus Tremuloides tree, its contours and patterns became the blueprint for the hotel.

Many people come to Denver for the same reason: to withdraw into the great outdoors, to shake off the lingering weight of everyday life with a scenic hike or a thrilling ski run. I arrived with no such agenda. On a solo stay, I wasn’t chasing altitude or adrenaline, only rest—but it didn’t take long to realize the hotel brings the outdoors to its guests.

Walking into the lobby, where the curved design theme resumes in its coiling grand staircase and undulating reception desk carved from Rio Grande cottonwood, I noticed something rippling to my left. Above the ground-floor restaurant, Pasque, nearly 500 sheets of a mycelium-based material drape overhead like a suspended canopy, faintly recalling the leather tanneries I once wandered through in Fez. 

 

 

Populus is the country’s first carbon-positive hotel, though it wears that badge without pomp and circumstance. Instead, sustainability efforts reveal themselves in subtle, almost playful design choices that invite daily moments of awe: repurposed snow fences from Wyoming line the ceiling; walls made out of tea leaves emit a lightly sweet scent near the rooftop restaurant’s entrance; and headboards crafted from fallen beetle-kill pine are placed in almost every guest room. 

 

After checking in, as the elevator climbed up toward my floor, I heard the faint chirps of birds—recordings by Jacob Job, a Conservationist and Natural Sound Recording Artist who laboriously captured over 1,500 hours of Colorado’s soothing landscape sounds, from rustling leaves to running creeks and rolling storms. By the time the doors opened, the day’s travels had already slid off my shoulders. 

 

The moment I stepped into my room—the Mountain Studio Suite—I knew leaving would be a challenge. Raw, brutalist-style concrete ceilings and pillars ground the room, softened by honey-toned carpeting and dramatized by terra cotta and olive green barrel chairs, and a charcoal accent wall. Even the bathroom feels cinematic: a freestanding soaking tub planted within a slate-tiled, walk-in shower room with three shower heads. The signature eye-shaped windows, now seen from within, form assorted arches resembling guitar picks—with floor-length linen curtains pooling at their bases. I remember beaming giddily as I flung all six pairs open the first morning just to watch the sunlight flood in.

 

Mornings begin downstairs at Little Owl Coffee, the hotel’s lobby outpost of a beloved local roastery, where I’d either opt for a velvety oat milk latte or something decadent, like the King Cranachan—a Scottish-inspired mix of raspberry and whipped cream, closer to dessert than coffee. In the afternoon, I would grab a book and slip into one of the window curves, which naturally forms a hammock. My room faced the U.S. Mint, and from my perch, I’d watch tiny figures drift and cluster at its entrance, forming waiting lines for the hourly tours.

It took some effort to peel myself away from the room, but the hotel’s restaurants made a compelling argument. Named after a Rocky Mountain wildflower, Pasque—the more casual of the two—serves breakfast through dinner in a sun-drenched dining room. Upstairs, Stellar Jay—the dinner-only rooftop restaurant—is more weekend-coded. Bathed in a soft amber glow and warmed by an open flame kitchen, it carries the buzzing energy of an eventful evening just getting started.

 

I started, as I always do, with bread: a pillowy sourdough served with charred onion butter that added a touch of smokiness. The braised bison short rib followed, tender and tangy, balanced by a finale of blood orange sorbet and crystallized dark chocolate. My server recommended the spirit-free Snowbird cocktail, where the bright notes of lemon, orange, and hibiscus cut cleanly through the meal. As the sky outside shifted from blue to streaks of pink and purple, and the City and County Building eventually lit up in bright red against the obsidian sky, I found myself wondering why I don’t dine alone more often.

 

There’s something about Populus that makes it perfectly suited for solitude, not in a lonely way, but in a rejuvenating, indulgent one—a haven to duck away for a few days and move at your own pace: to read, to sleep in, to enjoy a two-hour meal solo, or to take a long bath. In a city defined by the magnetic pull of the great outdoors, Populus makes a strong case that sometimes, staying in can be just as expansive.

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Book your stay at Populus Denver and discover more about the property online. Special thanks to J.Wade PR.