From above, it's dust crushed into slates by millennia of harsh wind and dry, atmospheric pressure. All at once, these jagged edges look to be pieced together haphazardly and yet, are connected all the way until what looks to be the end of the earth. Even more surprising still are the shards of water crackling through the dry sand. Snaking and breaking into what should house nothing but arid desert.
Nevada is a paradoxical place.
My assumptions before arriving were that it held nothing but imitations. The word imitation implies that there must exist the opposite — of something real and true. But what exactly defines something as real? One can easily reach out and touch the plaster columns of The Venetian, its texture rough and clumsy. Even more easily spotted as fake are the photographic skies pasted onto the ceilings of malls all along the strip, illuminating the gaudy, high-fashion labels in silver limelight. I've read others before tout the question (usually dripping in sarcastic mire): Why would you visit Paris, Italy, or Egypt, when you could visit them all in Las Vegas?
Is fakeness defined by these structures which are not authentic, the original? If you disregard the smoke-lined hallways and blindingly bright lights, what substance remains? Is the strip really only a roof for the countless casinos, clubs, strippers? What of the physicality of realness. They exist here and now. The clattering of chips, the vibrations of the bass felt along the ground, the sun-kissed skin and glitzy feathers; do they not make you feel anything? I could argue that the atmosphere is electric, it buzzes with an oddness that can only come from the faceless mass of sleep-deprived addiction. I could argue that the daquiri-filled residents (mostly tourists) are loud and chaotic. But they can also be warm and kind, easily making conversation with strangers in a party-going openness if you let them. Is the decision, whether conscious or subconscious, to have a good time, to let go with great abandon also considered fake? I could just as easily argue for or against the pretenses others make to sound in a certain manner. They're everywhere. In New York museums, San Francisco tech hubs, Los Angeles concerts, even Hawaiian trails. Or are those opinions and inclination to a certain decision truly shaped from years of being surrounded by culture and mindset, forged by one's education and environment surrounding them? Are those thoughts considered true? If so, are they original or are they each a wave in a chamber?
Now, what's real and what's fake?
Restaurants touting the faces of famous chefs (or would you settle for them being called a TV personality?) and four dollar signs in the Yelp listing easily sit next to hole-in-the-wall franchises that promote $2.50 Bud Lights.
A tram that only possesses three stations. My assumption being each of these three stations are connected to buildings all owned by the same parent company. Another hotel, another mall, another casino. Meanwhile, the nearest movie theatre to the strip is an hour's walk or ten minute drive.
Does one consider the realness or fakeness of a diner or a Lyft driver? Does it add or subtract to the over all authenticity of an experience?
"112°F isn't considered a heat wave," I overheard a local complain about the 'correctness' of a weather report and blinked in disbelief.
So, are these places merely an imitation or do they conglomerate into something entirely different and with its own meaning?
There's a sense that any conclusion I draw feels wrong. When human nature is a paradox itself, it only makes sense that the cities that are a result of us are the same way.