Rodeo Drive, that tiny strip of asphalt where the sidewalks shine brighter than the financial future of 99% of humanity, has just welcomed a new Bulgari flagship. Four floors of marble, gold, and glass basically a temple where even the door handles probably have tax advisors. Over there, the poor aren’t technically forbidden… they’re just invisible, as if some force field gently redirects them toward less Instagrammable zones. No judgment: it’s just nature. Some places are meant for migrating birds, others for Black Cards.

I went there myself, into this millionaire ghetto, with my Chrysler “Le Baron” convertible a car that screams “90s glamour,” but which Californian law enforcement apparently interpreted as “mobile homeless shelter.” I barely had time to turn off the engine before the CHiPs showed up, looking at me as if I were an extra in a Lifetime movie called The Beverly Hills Homeless Man. They seemed genuinely ready for me to pull a camping stove out of the trunk. I almost disappointed them by having only sunglasses.

What’s fascinating about Rodeo Drive is its paradox: a neighborhood where you can buy a $200,000 necklace, but apparently can’t park a convertible that hasn’t been photographed at least once with Kendall Jenner. It’s a sort of socio-economic theme park: everything is polished, shiny, curated, filtered… and above all protected from the visual discomfort of anyone who doesn’t match the “luxury neutral” palette. A ghetto for the rich, yes, but make no mistake, a ghetto with valets, diamond lava lamps, and boutiques so expensive that even the Wi-Fi is probably not free.