Lifestyles of the rich and tasteless
In the winter, when I have a lot of time on my hands, I like to snoop in strangers’ homes.
Vicariously, I mean.
Sure, I’d love to sneak up to people’s windows and check on things like whether they, like me, rinse out Ziploc freezer bags and hang them by the fire to dry (I’m pretty sure everyone does this, but it would be nice to confirm).
It’s January in Vermont, however. With this weather, I consider even my daily trip to the mailbox an expedition tantamount to that of Sir Ernest Shackleton’s Antarctic voyage—as my harrowing journal entries will attest. So I stick to virtual home invasions on real estate websites such as Zillow.
“A lot of the super-wealthy seem to live in fear of their riches going unnoticed. ”
Lately I have become fascinated with over-the-top, high-priced houses all around the U.S. Having always assumed that with wealth came good taste (two things I’m short on), I’ve discovered through Zillow how little correlation there is.
Many of these multimillion-dollar properties are no classier than anyone else’s; they’re just exponentially bigger, and thus sillier. When a family room is 30 by 50 feet, for example, a lone couch in the middle looks like a Lego that got dropped on an 8-by-10 rug.
Sometimes the owners will try to fill the vast open space in a huge room by creating multiple seating areas. The result, however, is less “intimate social setting” and more “Gate C29 at O’Hare.”
I swear this isn’t sour grapes. Even if I could fit two dozen people in my living room, I’d never want them all in my house at the same time.
And maybe fabulously wealthy people, when not busy walking the two miles from their en suite to their custom gymnasium, also enjoy a giggle on Zillow. Maybe they click on houses like mine and think, “One and a half baths—for the entire family!? Those poor wretches!”
I don’t care that we don’t have 12 bedrooms and 14 bathrooms, the bare minimum for some of these places. At least we’re not under any pressure to show the world that we have more money (and toilets) than we know what to do with. A lot of the super-wealthy, on the other hand, seem to live in fear of their riches going unnoticed. That must be hard.
And while they might disagree with my amused opinions of their sprawling mansions, secretly they have to admit that the scale of their homes is impractical. A 1,000-square-foot kitchen, for instance, may be worthy of a magazine spread. But in a functional work triangle, the stove should be less than a day’s journey on foot from the refrigerator.
Most of the super-expensive homes I find on Zillow share the same standard features, such as grand foyers the size of Penn Station (and with as much ambiance). But now and then Zillow will land on a unique property.
I saw one amazing house outside of New York City that looked like a large glass box made of clear Magna-Tiles. As striking—and probably award-winning—as the design was, my awe was overshadowed by skepticism. The place was unlivable.
The downstairs had no interior walls, and just steel posts and glass panels on all four exterior walls. Other than two sleek staircases, the only décor was a couch surrounded by 1.5 acres of uninterrupted concrete flooring.
The kitchen, rather than being a separate room, was just two long, parallel islands in the middle, with neither upper cabinets nor a full-height fridge to spoil the vista. My first thought, naturally, was to wonder where the homeowners hung their rinsed Ziploc bags to dry. Architects don’t think of these things.
Imagine walking into this place on a chilly day and not having a spot for your jacket. I get it: I like an unobstructed, 360-degree view of nature as much as the next person. But coat hooks are good, too.
I’m not sure why, when I scroll through Zillow, I delight in these flamboyant, ill-proportioned, echoing monuments to wealth. I guess it’s because they are so far from my own experience.
If you aren’t filthy rich, you should appreciate that. It means I’m unlikely to be creeping around your house in person once the weather warms up.
No offense, but unless your primary bathroom has enough space between the toilet and tub for an indoor pickleball court, I’m not that interested.
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(Originally published in the Addison Independent January 2025!)
