You know, I think we all kind of hate those people that go all out – Kim Kardashian and her eighteen oil-drenched implants, heavily-tanned dudes who show up at the club in sunglasses, six gold chains, and light-up sneakers. But we hate them because, deep down, we’re jealous of them. Let’s be honest, what we like to call subtlety and sophistication is really just the fear of being ridiculed, an internalization of the adage that the nail that sticks up gets hammered down. The reason we hate people who go all out is that, unlike us, they truly do not care what other people think about them, which is a level of enlightenment few of us ever achieve, at least not until we’re old and diapered and cranky and it’s already too late.
But I suppose there are levels to this sort of thing. If you can’t attain a state of absolute “I don’t give a fudge”-ness in your personal style, maybe you could do it with your living space? If so, this is the house for you. Because everything about this house is turned up to, like, 35 out of 10. It’s a 7,700 square foot, eight-bedroom, six-and-a-half bathroom monument to excess. And if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll be able to admit that you really, really want to live here. You enter into a massive foyer that bisects the house; right now it’s decorated with two massive Asian-style stone lions that vaguely suggest you could fall through a trapdoor and into a dungeon at any moment. Through there is the living room, which features the first of three fireplaces (!), carved from beautiful white and black mottled marble. Above the fireplace is a huge all-white deer head, which is either the coolest or lamest thing ever, depending on whether it’s a product placement for the Jagermeiester corporation or an art piece. The kitchen sports a white-on-brown color scheme that suggests a Swiss ski chalet, with rich dark brown hardwoods and high-end white cabinetry that clearly cost more than my college education. There’s also one of the largest kitchen islands I’ve ever seen; if the average kitchen island is Manhattan, this one is Australia.
Upstairs, instead of a hallway, there’s a delightful little lofted area with built-ins and porthole windows, and a truly staggering number of bedrooms. You could house an entire cult in this place. The master bedroom sports the second of three fireplaces (because what’s better than drifting off to sleep amid an invisible haze of carcinogens?) and a master bath that’s so nice it will definitely make any guests dunk your toothbrush into the toilet water out of pure resentment. On the lower level, there’s a wine cellar, and an elevator to take you down to it, for those nights you’ve already gone through five or six bottles and can’t possibly navigate the stairs, but insist on opening one last bottle to cap off night. Outside, there’s a massive, multi-tiered, extensively landscaped lot, the centerpiece of which is a fully-outfitted outdoor kitchen, so the neighbors can watch through binoculars as you ruin breakfast. There are also multiple flagstone walls and patios, various lounging areas, a really cool fire pit, and a swimming pool. There’s even a cabana, which means, of course, that you’ll need a cabana boy, so, you know, just tell me where to email my headshots.