Is The Plaza Hotel Owned By Trump

So, you’re probably wondering: Does The Plaza Hotel have a golden toilet with the Trump name on it? It’s a fair question, honestly. The guy’s name is on half of everything—steaks, ties, towers, even a board game that flopped. But let’s cut the small talk and dive into this juicy, glittery mess.

Here’s the short, painful answer: No, Trump does NOT own The Plaza Hotel today.

I know, I know—you were ready for a dramatic story of gilded elevators and “You’re Fired” memes. But the truth is way more of a rollercoaster. He used to own it, back when shoulder pads were huge and hair was somehow bigger.

And by “used to,” I mean he bought it in 1988, then lost it, then bought it again, then sold it. It’s like the hotel equivalent of a yo-yo. A very, very expensive, marble-floored yo-yo.

Let’s take a ride in the wayback machine, shall we?

In 1988, Donald Trump snagged The Plaza for around $390 million—a number that makes your wallet cry just hearing it. He didn’t just own it; he lived in it for a hot minute, because why not? The man famously said, “I don’t do it for the money. I do it for the fun.”

And oh, the fun was real. He renovated the hell out of it. He added a three-story, $1.1 million chandelier in the Grand Ballroom. He even had a private apartment on the 18th floor, complete with a butler named—wait for it—Butler. (I’m not kidding. The guy’s last name was literally Butler.)

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But then the 1990s hit like a brick to the face. His businesses started hemorrhaging cash. The Plaza? Not exempt. So in 1992, he had to give up control to his lenders. Ouch. That’s like lending your friend your favorite hoodie and never getting it back.

Fast-forward to the “comeback” era.

By 1995, Trump was back in the game, but he was a minority partner this time—not the king of the castle. He sold off his shares completely in 1999 to an investment group. So by the turn of the century, The Plaza was officially Trump-free. (Cue a sad trombone or a triumphant fanfare—your choice.)

Since then, a whole parade of owners have taken the wheel. Saudi Prince Alwaleed bin Talal owned a big chunk. Then an Indian billionaire named Subrata Roy bought it. Then a Qatari sovereign wealth fund swooped in. It’s like musical chairs, but with billions of dollars and a lot of room service.

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Currently, it’s owned by Sahara India Pariwar (yes, that’s a real company name) and managed by Fairmont Hotels. So the only “Trump” thing about it now is that some people still Google his name while booking a stay.

Wait, does Trump even like The Plaza anymore?

Ha! He tried to get it back in 2012 during bankruptcy. He bid $200 million. But the judge basically said, “Nope, you’re too risky.” Imagine being rejected by the same hotel you once called “the greatest in the world.” It’s like an ex who still texts you at 2 a.m.

And get this—when the hotel was sold in 2018 to the Qatari group, Trump was President. But he couldn’t buy it even if he wanted to. Conflict of interest, ethics rules, boring stuff. So he just watched from the White House, probably muttering about “unfair deals.”

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So, where does that leave us?

If you walk into The Plaza today, you will see zero gold-plated “TRUMP” signs. You will see zero Trump-branded bathrobes. You will, however, see a lot of fancy French cuisine and a lobby that smells like old money and fresh flowers.

But do yourself a favor: if you’re having a drink at the Palm Court, order the “Trump-Free Champagne.” It’s not on the menu, but the bartender will know. (Okay, they won’t. But it’s fun to pretend.)

Let me tell you the real burning question.

Why does everyone still think Trump owns it? Blame pop culture. Blame Home Alone 2 (he made a cameo chasing Macaulay Culkin through the lobby). Blame his own constant bragging. He loves telling people he once owned it, like a guy who can’t stop talking about his high school football glory days.

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The truth is, The Plaza is now a ghost of its Trump-era past. It’s still iconic. It’s still gorgeous. It still costs a small mortgage to stay one night. But it’s not his. Not even a little. Not even a dusty “Property of Donald J. Trump” sticker under the bed.

So next time your uncle at Thanksgiving says, “You know Trump owns The Plaza, right?”—smile politely. Then hit him with the facts. He owned it. He lost it. He’s not getting it back. It’s like asking if you own your first apartment after you moved out in 1998. Spoiler: you don’t.

And on that note, I’m off to buy a tiny, overpriced macaron at the Plaza bakery. I’ll raise it high in honor of the actual owners—whoever they are this week. Cheers.