If
last year’s model was pristine and white, all clean lines and stark decoration, this year’s is sanguine and lavish. The overwhelming color is luxuriously cranberry—venous blood and lukewarm Merlot. Persian rugs adorn my floor in haphazard piles, prickly gold trim spinning ribbons through forests of plush, and a small gold chandelier radiates thick yellow light from a ceiling painted in stylized Arabic. No windows, no doors, no one else, of course. Books, sure—indulgent novels, nothing with even the aftertaste of information. Ambient acoustic guitar. A four-poster bed drizzled with pillows—burnished red, deep brown, burnt pink, sparkling gold. Kunafe min is-shar3a fi al-Quds and dark chocolate fondue.
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