Have you seen the Harper’s Bazaar spread of Nate Berkus and Jeremiah Brent’s Totally Ugly Hollywood Hills House? I have. And when I say “Totally Ugly,” I mean, totally glamorous and enviable and like the exact house I want to live in right now. Which makes me want to die.
Are you ever just, like, minding your own business, thinking life is totally fine, when all the sudden you see something that makes you feel like a homeless troll that lives in a cardboard box under a bridge? Well, that’s exactly how I felt when I saw Jeremiah and Nate’s house. Is it really necessary that they be so attractive and rich and that their house be so perfect? How are the rest of us supposed to continue to live in our, like, totally average worlds? I hate everything.
Here they are in their glamourous office. Which overlooks a glamourous pool. That I want to drown myself in after staring at their perfectly coiffed hair and impeccable suits.
I’m digging how they incorporated black into their home. Like the black ceiling with the gold Tom Dixon pendant. I’d like to canoodle both of those. And then I’d like to canoodle Jeremiah and Nate. When I hide in their bed. To scare them. And because I secretly want to crawl inside their skin and live their lives. Mainly so that I can high-five with Oprah.
I love how dark and sexy the bedroom is. And the high gloss black ceiling is to die for. And that vintage woven chair.
I also like how bright and airy their living room is. The weird architectural detail and the mysterious fireplace with no chimney don’t do anything to taint it’s perfection.
Just think of all the glamorous A-list parties that are going to happen here (Sidenote, Jeremiah and Nate, can I come?). Some day soon Oprah will be taking a dip in this pool, laughing alongside other daytime television hosts drinking champagne, laughing about how delightful life is and how humorous and entertaining poor people are.
And look at their cute little kitchen. I want that mint range! And my mom would love to add those goats to her goat figurine collection (she totally has one and it’s amazing).
And the kitchen wouldn’t be complete without two obnoxiously attractive men in it, cooking together and thinking about how much they enjoy love. Oh that I were that lime, so that Nate could stab me, put me in a meringue, toss me in the oven, and allow me to burn to a crisp, thus ending the agony that is not living in this awesome house.
PS: To make the Harper’s spread even more alienatingly attractive, it was shot by the hottest photographer that ever lived, Douglas Friedman. He looks like this:
Everything is so stupid. The End.