If Mister Collins were a man and not a restaurant, he'd be the kind to give red roses — but never yellow tulips or a single orchid. He'd favor ocean views and tea lights over cityscapes and Dixon lamps. He'd drink Manhattans. He'd wear black leather loafers, lavish women with compliments, and occasionally smoke a cigar. He wouldn't set trends, yet he'd be quite fashionable. Mister Collins would be a gentleman.
But Mister Collins is in fact a restaurant. On a balmy Friday evening, in a narrow entrance located at the back of the ritzy One Bal Harbour Resort and Spa, a hostess praises a lady on her choice of clothing. She gushes over the woman's tawny wedges, black silk scarf, and tight pencil skirt. She graciously leads other guests to the candle-lit outdoor patio, which overlooks the crisp waters of Haulover Inlet; or she takes them to the sleek dining room, which is painted white and has plush leather dining chairs.
See also: Mister Collins Does Nothing Radical, but That's the Point