Jeremy Edmunds
Google
The first thing that strikes you about The Siren Café isn't the coffee—it's the overwhelming sensation that you've accidentally wandered onto a movie set designed by someone who ate too much absinthe cake while binge-watching *The Great Gatsby* and *American Horror Story: Hotel* simultaneously.
The coffee shop occupies one corner of the lobby in Detroit's Siren Hotel, housed in the former Wurlitzer Building—a 1926 Italian Renaissance Revival skyscraper that was once "the world's largest music house." After the Wurlitzer company left, the building sat empty for decades, literally falling apart. The alley behind it was known as "death valley" due to falling bricks. Brooklyn-based design firm ASH NYC rescued it from demolition, transforming it into a hotel that feels like a parallel universe where F. Scott Fitzgerald collaborated with Tim Burton.
Standing before that serpentine pistachio-green counter topped with black marble, watching the barista work beneath glowing orange pendant lights that resemble giant origami flowers having an existential crisis, you realize this isn't really about the coffee. Behind the counter, a La Marzocco espresso machine gleams like a chrome altar, while pastries are displayed in museum-quality glass cases. Fresh roses in crystal vases sit next to iced lattes served in glasses emblazoned with "The Siren Cafe" in burgundy script.
The lobby surrounding the café features "swagged velvets, grandiose antiques, fringing and tassels, heavyweight chandeliers and a bar pinker than Miss Piggy's wardrobe." Dramatic palm fronds drape around the space like Detroit's answer to a Miami Vice fever dream, while wicker pendant lights glow like mystical tiki artifacts. A burgundy and brass cylindrical trash can stands positioned like a sentry next to ornate columns, and travertine floors stretch endlessly, interrupted by antique mirrors reflecting infinite versions of this beautiful chaos.
The designers referenced a 1926 article describing the original lobby to recreate it, taking "creative license" to paint the walls "this mossy green colour and then finish them in extensive panel moulding." They traveled to Italy, France, and Belgium in search of antiques—and somehow ended up with a space that feels like Wes Anderson directed a remake of *The Great Gatsby* set in a very expensive psychiatric facility.
One guest described the hotel as having "a very unique experience (kinda looks like a 1920's brothel)." Another noted "interesting bizarreness that shows up in touches like plush bathrobes hanging in our pink and black tiled shower." With open WiFi and a communal table, the lobby serves as a popular coworking space where you half-expect Jay Gatsby to stroll in asking for the WiFi password.
Visitors praise the "cheerful barista" and note that "the decor is beautiful and transports you back to the 1920s." One customer perfectly captured the surreal experience: "the cafe is super standard but the ambience of the lobby is incredible."
With coffee prices ranging from $1-10, The Siren Café offers exceptional value for a front-row seat to one of America's most committed acts of architectural theater. The morning pastries seem almost incidental to the main attraction: the sheer audacity of drinking coffee in a space that commits so completely to its own fantasy.
As one regular customer put it: "I head to the Siren at least once a month. It makes me feel great about our city." It's not just selling coffee—it's selling a carefully constructed fantasy of Detroit's golden age, served with Gothic romance and controlled chaos, all under lighting that makes everything look dipped in amber honey. This is where ordering a cappuccino becomes a supporting role in someone else's very expensive fever dream.
