Did you know that in Santa Fe you’re only legally allowed to build adobe-brown homes? Even if they’re not made out of adobe, they’re brown? Straight up, you could construct a home out of fucking lapus lazuli and you’d have to paint it brown? (Suggestion: don’t build a home out of lapus lazuli in Santa Fe). Well, we found a town just 40 minutes south of Santa Fe that acts almost like a color sanctuary.
It’s called Madrid, NM. (Helpful tip: it’s not pronounced like that stuffy-ass town in Spain. Save your lisp for another day, readers. it’s actually pronounced Mad-drid. it almost rhymes with Hagrid. New Mexican Harry/ Haroldo Potter poem coming soon).
There are just no rules in Madrid. The vibrant colors are absolutely free to express themselves. It’s almost like that younger sibling who had less parental guidance and thus became a total wild child / shitshow. You know — that sibling who had to go on a six-month road trip just to get a little attention? Maybe we’re projecting here. Shout-out to our older siblings who have “real jobs” and “our parent’s approval!” Love you guys!
It’s not just the color that’s free in Madrid. It’s an unincorporated town. This means that with a lack of local government and local taxes comes nearly total freedom. Madrid is sooooo the younger sister who, in an attempt to reconcile never being able to find home videos of herself, became louder and brighter to the point where someone had to sit her down and be like “Ceil, you’re causing a scene” or “no, Maggie, you can’t sublet my apartment when you get back from your road trip. You’re too messy and you’ll get me evicted.” This is all hypothetical, of course.
What is it about a lack of structure or rules that makes people want to use outrageous amounts of color? Why are black and white and taupe and shit brown “serious” colors? Why don’t people take me seriously when I wear tie-dye leggings?
Tessa was so smitten with the town that we talked to a local man about what it would take to relocate to MADrid. Basically his answer was no (umm… we didn’t even ask a yes-or-no question). This perfect little Southwestern art town might as well have a no vacancy sign at the entrance. They’re like the cool artsy table at lunch but they’re still saying “you can’t sit with us.”
In the simplest terms he told us that if you wanted to move to Madrid, you would have to wait until someone else moved out. Or died. Which can be arranged. Jk. Tessa’s a nice girl. She would never do something like that. She’s not as attention-starved as we are.