ON A THURSDAY EVENING in June of 2021, as golden hour settled and the sun slid west, I toured an apartment in East Hollywood. Housed in a 1931 Spanish colonial revival, the one-bedroom dwelling opened up into a bright white living room with a decorative, though decommissioned, fireplace and original hardwood floors. An elegant jute rug was laid over them. Light streamed through paned French windows, and in the kitchen there were terra-cotta floor tiles, butcher block wooden counters, and just enough space for a small table and some chairs.
The tell, I later realized, was all the blue—specifically, a dusty slate blue that bordered every edge: window frames, door surrounds, ceiling beams. The hue itself softened the room, as if to promise respite to the kind of occupant who might spend long hours under the harsh light of a computer screen.
As I made my way through the apartment, a woman in a breezy linen dress motioned me toward the patio, where she was telling a young couple about the sense of “community” the courtyard inspired. From outside, one could see even more …