Crónicas: On Las Vegas, the first and last showgirl

The bricks of this city are cities: Cobblestones rippling around the street lamps of Central Park. Marble fountains with sculpted gods who come to life every hour. An Eiffel Tower built at half-scale because planes could collide with anything higher. It was built too close to the airport.

Plucked from their homes in time and space, these landmarks are stripped down and made up. Las Vegas has transformed authentic history into lucrative novelty in what might be the peak manifestation of America. The world is peppered with replicas of famous attractions (see the Leaning Tower of Pisa in Illinois, the Taj Mahal in Bangladesh, the Colosseum in Macau, and a Japanese recreation of the Eiffel Tower that's taller than the original), but Las Vegas might be the only site where large-scale global replicas converge like moths to a strange, metaphysical flame.

For all the novelty, the Strip's knockoffs aren't new; few of them were new when I moved there more than twenty years ago. Beneath renovations and ad campaigns, hotels like Paris, Caesar's, the Luxor, and New York New York are relics that survived their contemporaries: Monte Carlo acquired and rebranded, Imperial Palace renovated and renamed, the Aladdin demolished, reopened, and finally renovated and rebranded as Planet Hollywood, a name that represents more of a commitment to celebrity than a design directive. Middle Eastern motifs are still woven throughout the revived property.

These days, the fresh young faces on Las Vegas Boulevard are hotels that ape elegance and taste instead of far-off places. These upstarts dress less in costume than uniform, performing as much ceremony as show. While most still offer chiming, windowless casinos and grand performances from household names, they also fold in understated rooms, Michelin stars, and elaborate spas, building on the blueprints of the Peninsulas and Mandarin Orientals of the world. The new wave of elegance, however, is still an experiment. The Las Vegas Mandarin Oriental opened in 2009. Nine years later, it was sold, closed, and reopened under the Waldorf Astoria name.

Lurking beneath sleek new propositions and relics staying one step ahead of obsolescence, the real Las Vegas can be elusive. Tourists would be forgiven for wondering if the city is greater than the sum of its parts; if the mirage has an identity of its own. Such curiosity will be met with coy evasion. The only people who see the city after she takes off her makeup are those who break down the show: Dealers and dancers and housekeepers, and bankers and teachers too. They live in stucco homes and drive smooth, wide highways that shimmer with record-breaking heat, circling the valley that brings them the world.