Four Seasons Hotel George V, Paris vs Cheval Blanc Paris

The George V costs what a palace hotel in the eighth costs, and for that money most people who actually check in get exactly what they came for: a newly renovated room with a Dyson dryer and blackout shades good enough to fix your jet lag, flower arrangements that turn up in almost every account without being asked about, and a restaurant floor (Le Cinq, L'Orangerie, the bar) that people describe as a destination rather than something you wander into because you're already staying there. The renovated rooms are the headline right now: guests who'd stayed before the refit say the difference is real, not cosmetic.

The staff stories from actual guests are specific in a way that's hard to manufacture: a family with young jet-lagged kids got handed a spare room before they had to ask, a full breakfast room got solved by opening L'Orangerie instead of making people wait, a regular has a standing hairdresser she won't see anyone else. That's the level this hotel is operating at for people who are checked in. Where it gets complicated is anyone treating the George V as a drop-in for tea or a restaurant booking without a room key – there's a real thread of visitors, not just one, describing a cold or condescending welcome at the door, and a separate, messier story about a guest whose negative review of that experience got pulled from a review site after the hotel disputed it. Neither of those things describes what happens once you're actually a guest, but they're worth knowing before you book a table rather than a room.

If you're staying, book it for the location and the renovated rooms, and go into dinner at Le Cinq expecting it to earn its reputation rather than coast on it.

A room here starts above 2,000 euros a night in summer, and most of what people describe getting for it is real: a butler walking you to a balcony suite over the Seine, a bottle of Ruinart opened on arrival, gifts left at turndown most nights of the stay. The building itself, all glass and pale stone and a staircase people photograph more than the art, is genuinely one of the most striking hotels in Paris, though it splits opinion: some guests find it fresh and youthful next to the Ritz or Le Meurice, others think it feels more like a smart apartment building than anything distinctly French. Plenitude, the three-Michelin-star restaurant upstairs, gets talked about the way a trip highlight gets talked about, not just a hotel meal.

The service is where the promise gets uneven. A concierge spent real effort tracking down an Hermes appointment for one guest; a birthday stay drew a spontaneous chorus of well-wishes from staff who had no reason to bother. But a July heatwave exposed a hotel with no working air conditioning in rooms, restaurants, or public areas, and instead of admitting it, staff reportedly told guests Europe just doesn't do AC, which is a strange line from an LVMH palace hotel charging Ritz prices. Rooms on the sixth floor sit under a rooftop restaurant with furniture that gets dragged around well past 1am, and more than one guest has lost a night's sleep to it. Langosteria, the Italian spot, comes up often as the weak link at dinner: slow, indifferent, food that doesn't match the room it's served in.

None of this is enough to talk anyone out of booking, and it shouldn't be. Book it for Plenitude, the Dior Spa, and a room over the river that nobody who's stayed there seems to forget. Ask for a floor away from the seventh, and don't assume the AC will save you in August.