There are homes decorated to look good in a photo, and there are homes decorated to be lived in loudly, with no shame and no empty wall. The attic of Alaska and Mario Vaquerizo in Madrid - their "blue house" - is without a doubt one of the latter. It isn't a home in the classic sense; it's a private club, a space to celebrate life, separate from the pink house three floors below where the couple actually live.

The first thing that hits you is the color. Electric-blue walls and a ceiling clad in mirrors, so the whole space multiplies when you look up. The floor is in animal print, the upholstery in zebra and leopard, and tapestries with landscape motifs hang on the walls. This is no home that whispers - it shouts, and it does so deliberately.

The details are piled one on top of another by a logic Alaska herself calls the opposite of minimalism. Fluorescent glass vases in lime, orange and red, disco balls scattered across the ceiling, neon signs and old gambling machines. Framed retro photographs with frames in gold and shine, reproductions of souvenirs, porcelain plates with the faces of Marilyn Monroe and Pamela Anderson. Among it all - original oils by Juan Gatti.

The space is divided into zones with "possibilities," as Alaska puts it, rather than classic rooms. There's a games area with a machine next to a fake bakery counter, a kitchen, and a library-office with an imposing collection of art books - from Caravaggio and Greek architecture to palmistry. Crystal chandeliers hang above plastic hot dogs and ice creams; advertising posters for patatas bravas stand next to religious icons - Our Lady of Fatima, Mexican sacred hearts, porcelain tigers.

Behind all that chaos lies a clear philosophy. "Minimalism leaves you bare; clutter is much more welcoming," Alaska says. For her, every object isn't just an object - it's a meaning and a memory. "I'm very materialistic - I love things, but not for the thing itself, rather for its meaning and the memory." In this home, nothing is randomly scattered; everything carries a story.

And behind the aesthetic lies something warmer too. After 27 years together, Alaska says that simply still wanting to be with the same person is a gift. The blue house isn't just a stage for guests - it's the shared language of two people who built a world exactly the way they want it. For the Balkan reader used to "clean and neutral" as the only good taste, this home is a reminder that taste is personal - and that a cluttered home with a soul sometimes warms you more than a perfectly empty one.