There’s something beautifully fitting about the Sphere being perfectly round, because it represents a circle of delusion. From breathless hype about “revolutionary experiences” right back to the crushing realization that nobody asked for this. The circle checked here appears to be we built a big showpiece because a great place to experience entertainment it is not. The core design decisions and user experience suffer from poor empathy, ignoring how people actually want or need to experience a venue. What stands at 255 Sands Avenue is a giant LED-encrusted middle finger to architecture— an abhorrent "F*ck You."
It’s rather galling that folks pat themselves on the back for building a dome in 2023, as if they’ve just discovered fire, completely ignoring the inconvenient fact that humans have been building magnificent domes for literally millennia, and arguably doing it better. Built in 126 AD with none of the Sphere’s technological resources, The Pantheon in Rome manages to be both a breathtaking architectural achievement and radical concept. Perhaps the most famous ancient dome, with its massive unreinforced concrete structure and central oculus that fills the interior with natural light, it's a place where humans actually want to spend time. Its harmony of form, scale, and symbolism has inspired awe, rather than vertigo, for nearly 2,000 years. Unlike the LED buffoon, sorry balloon, people leave feeling moved, inspired, connected to something larger than themselves.
The thing-a-ma-jig, by contrast, represents everything wrong with our current moment’s approach. It’s a placeless object that could exist anywhere and belongs nowhere, a giant billboard masquerading as architecture. It’s designed not for human comfort but for Instagram caricature... a corporate gimmick dressed in lights and hype presented as “revolutionary" (barf bag please). The fact that it forces visitors through artificial, prolonged waiting and underwhelming robotic gimmicks isn’t a bug. It’s the entire point: a creative slaughterhouse lambasted with bright lights that grinds artistry down into SPITacle-for-profit rather elevating it. To discerning eyes, its lights are belching caution signs. But to tasteless, thirsty mediagluts licking the tainted tits of corpus cows, they stand as a glowing symbol of awe, however underserved. Still, the most damning indictment of the Sphit isn’t its vertigo-inducing seating or its navigational nightmare of an interior. It’s that the people who built it genuinely seem to believe they’ve accomplished something unprecedented. GTFOOH. The Romans managed to create a space that’s remained continuously inspiring for nearly two thousand years without a single LED screen. In the 21st century this is the best these folks can come up with. Shiiiiiiit. Well Congratu—"imagination required"—lations! Then again, spare us the imagination exercise. It may pop an emitting diode.
The visual effects that supposedly justify this $2.3 billion exercise in architectural masturbation could indeed have been achieved in a traditional venue for a fraction of the cost. But that would have required admitting that maybe, just maybe, the accumulated wisdom of human civilization might have something to teach us about creating meaningful experiences. The thing about sincere design ambition is that it’s not about the biggest, the most expensive, or the most technologically complex. It’s about understanding human needs and exceeding them in ways that matter. The Pantheon stands as centuries of accumulated wisdom about how to create spaces that elevate the human spirit. The Spheghetti is likely what stuck to the wall after someone’s pretension about the future of entertainment. Actualized, next on the agenda is charging people premium prices to experience the erect hubris. While there is a reel possibility of getting a hard on for it, in actuality you quickly realize you’re standing in front of a very expensive testament to the fact that having the resources to build something spectacular doesn’t mean you have the wisdom to build something worthwhile. The lit lump of coal impresses from a distance because distance is the only vantage point from which you can’t see the contempt for human experience burnt into every dodo, sorry "design" decision. Consider the Immersive Van Gogh Experience. Its success, like the Pantheon, is rooted in the human experience: empathy, narrative arc, and participatory engagement. For those who claim the Sphere is a large-scale entertainment venue best for music concert films, multi-sensory storytelling: Please turn your attention to Bad Bunny's most recent concert residency, "No Me Quiero Ir de Aquí", in Puerto Rico. It too prioritized human-centered design, putting the audience first, considering crowd flow, emotional energy, vocal intimacy, and shared collective experience. And rightfully, attendees left "not wanting to leave". What gives? Both sought to expand meaning, not simply collect money.
Imagine for a moment that in lieu of the strip's protruding testicle, beneath the dazzling Vegas heat, there stood a sunken venue that is not just a building but a living, breathing environment—an immersive space carved within the earth itself. Rather than standing tall like a you know what, this venue embraces the desert beneath it, a sanctuary carved into resilient stone walls, powered by the natural geothermal warmth of the earth below. Visitors enter through a portal into an oasis, where light and sound rise organically around the audience, blending modern technology seamlessly with an human-centric experience that respects the environment as an equal partner. This sunken wonder nourishes a symbiotic relationship with the earth, its foundation transforming the desert’s extremes into a haven of temperate comfort. Patrons finding respite in the climate-controlled embrace of the earth, where natural energy reduces environmental impact and enhances sustainability. Geology becomes part of the story, embedding cultural significance and grounding each performance in a living narrative of one descending to be lifted by the experience.
Is such a venue without its challenges. No. While conceptually feasible and rich with innovation potential, an underground geothermal venue in Las Vegas would need to undergo exhaustive structural, thermal, acoustic, and safety testing. But in the end, assuming the concept is feasible, its architectural and engineering soundness create a sustainable, and unforgettable human-centric experience within the earth's embrace. Assuming its cost mirrored the urban rock awaiting some innocent toe, it would be money spent with respect for the symbiotic relationship between place and people, hospitality and host; the things that make entertainment entertaining. But here we are, stuck with an abominable $2.3B moldy focaccia billboard... Aaah. Wait! Is the bill in this billboard for the billions (wasted) or the ever present bill of ignorant excess? That would actually be kinda "genius".