![]() ![]() While the company's Quantom shelters can be had for a base price around $35,000, add-ons can make the sticker price skyrocket to six figure heights. Media director Barbie Grossman gives us the skinny on Vivos' glammed-out bomb shelters which, she says, are designed for the "long-term psychological welfare of all Vivos shelterists." When the radioactive dust settles, the world you've created within your ultra-chic bunker is, arguably, the only one you'll know till it's safe to venture outside again. CEO Robert Vicino told CNN that his company created "doomsday bunkers that are just as luxurious as the houses behind the world's most sought-after gated communities."Įmbrace opulence-the world is what you make of it at this point. But if you'd prefer to sidestep those linoleum floors for more stylish wood offerings, Vivos is more your bag. ![]() The Rising S Company is more geared toward the plebeian budget: The all-steel eight-by-12-foot economy bunker starts at $40,000 and comes with bunk beds, an alcohol-burning sink, food storage and a TV and DVD, not to mention a lifetime warranty and financing. If you've been blessed by the real estate gods with space enough to build said bunker, your go-to contracting companies will likely be either Rising S Bunkers or Vivos. And because you are an animal lover, you also have two dogs, a cat, and an enormous python. Even the largest of doomsday shelters-they commonly run about 2,000 square feet-can only comfortably house about a dozen so of your closest family and friends. Should the missile sirens start reverberating off Telegraph Hill, you'll have to embrace your inner Regina George and realize quite quickly that not everyone can sit with you around your bunker's kitchen island, no matter how generous the marble. So, here's how to plan for when the doomsday clock finally does strike midnight. Investing in a property that would be capable of safeguarding all your first-world tastes while the world outside falls to literal pieces (never mind that you probably can't afford a house with regular old walls and floors that may crumble with the next quake), would bring you a certain peace of mind. Well, let's imagine you are a blinding pessimist and that you fully conform to the idea that everything around you is in a state of limitless entropy. If you don't share a tax bracket with Zuck (or Ellen or Oprah or any other human known to the world by their first name who is unlikely to invite you to share their underground lair), then the question becomes, What the eff am I supposed to do when armageddon strikes? As The New Yorker reported last winter, doomsday bunkers are officially a thing among the super rich and, as rumor has it, Mark Zuckerberg has been planning his own post-apocalypse world domination from a panic room on his Palo Alto property since at least the spring of 2016. With talk of nuclear catastrophe continuing to bubble up at cocktail parties, many Silicon Valley elites are taking the question of survival rather seriously. Money can't buy you happiness-unless, of course, the apocalypse happens and you define happiness as still having a place to live. ![]()
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