Oh, Mr. Busch

Even before Charles Busch mentioned Natacha Rambova I was sold. Well, duh. Charles Busch is a fucking legend. And his house somehow reflects that. This is one of those houses I'd love to be invited into, if only to marvel at the lives of the people who live in them.  I'd also have to say that if people would have painted my portrait as often and as well as they have painted his, I would have my likeness all over my house, too. One of the great things about actors is that they get to live a thousand lives and keep track of all of them. Oh, yes, but this is about his house and the wonderful opportunity that we have of going in and see how he lives.

First of all, I don't think that this looks like an apartment. At all. To me, it looks like the interior of a 1895 brick house in a historic district in Philly. It has the fantastic flavor and slightly battered beauty of an old house. The XIX century Parisian Whorehouse description he gives is right on, btw. I love that he uses red, a color people fear, because people usually feel weary of red (and they should, when not used well, it can be a nightmare) because they feel it clashes with everything and everybody. But here, I think any other color would be out of place.

Quick disclaimer: I think red headed men are some of the sexiest people alive. I've dated one or four and I can attest to their deliciousness. Now, back to the house: that bedroom. I think it's a masterful contrast with the red in the other room: it goes to say that there's always room for versatility. Nobody has just one facet to their personality. I love the color of the walls (the reds, the yellows, the grays, the greens) and the white accents. Fabulous. Each room has its own personality.

And again, the wallpaper, the ceiling details, the moldings, everything makes this New York apartment look like a house. And what about that office? I believe that everybody needs a space, even if it's tiny, to call it their 'office'. And Charles, being a playwright, has chosen to have his own. His confession that he became a playwright out of necessity because nobody would cast him kind of hit hard. Fuck people and their conceptions of masculinity and femininity. And tant mieux pour nous, who got Charles Busch. 

So this apartment in the West Village is quirky, it's fabulous, it's got personality to spare and a fantastic -original- Sarah Bernhardt poster with one of the best success stories I've heard lately. Charles may describe his apartment as 'faux opulent' but I'd describe it as one of a kind. And I want him to invite me over to have a table reading of anything he's working on right now or to have a drink or seven or to just sit around and chat about music or theater or whatever the hell he would like to talk about. Because Charles is the kind of people who always have a story to tell.

I agree with himL home is indeed a cocoon, a safe haven. Home is being surrounded by memories and things that remind us of happy moments. And I'm glad he hasn't gotten to the point when he thinks it's 'too much'. That house is just right.

XOXO