Of all the places in the world to meet Philippe Starck, the Wynn Las Vegas seems downright perverse. With its ersatz vibe, ho-hum interiors, and Yanni-esque soundtrack playing in the lobby, the 2,700-room hotel is like superdesigner Kryptonite. "On zee form, on zee style, on zee philosophy — money money money money — I don't agree with this city," Starck tells me in his patent Frenglish, kicking his white sneakers up on the couch of a 39th-floor suite overlooking the neon nightscape. "But it is a prototype of what a city can be when energy replaces architecture. And when I see this big Vegas machine, I say, 'How can I take this incredible machine and change it'" — Starck's raison d'être — "'from dark to light, from stupidity to intelligence?' I think it is possible."

Sporting a racing-striped leather jacket, black T-shirt, and pro quarterback salt-and-pepper stubble, the 59-year-old has just returned from a gusty ride across town on his Kawasaki motorcycle with his fourth wife, the stunning Jasmine Abdellatif, a former Louis Vuitton PR exec. It was the first time the famously hermetic designer had left his room at the Wynn in three days, and he did it only to visit the project that brought him to Sin City in the first place: his redesign — "new blood, and perhaps even revolution," as he puts it — of the Sahara Hotel and Casino. Once the swank nest of the Rat Pack, the Sahara is about due for a Starckification; the current in-house entertainment consists of a nightly performance by Roseanne Barr.

Given that Starck has brought a fourth dimension — one of utility and utopia — to hotel interiors, plastic chairs, underwear, baby bottles, lemon juicers, toothbrushes, luggage, glasses, watches, and sailboats, it's perhaps inevitable that he would eventually turn his eye toward gamblers' Gomorrah. Having democratized high design with his home goods for Target — while resisting the urge to treat it like Tar-jey — who better than Starck to upgrade fanny-pack territory? Set to open in 2010, the 2,500-room Sahara is just part of the hotel line dubbed "SLS" (unofficially an acronym for "style, luxury, service") that he's doing with Los Angeles nightlife nabob Sam Nazarian, which will span from Beverly Hills to Miami Beach.

And just as Starck teamed up with Ian Schrager in the eighties to birth the boutique-hotel boom — the Royalton, Delano, Mondrian — he has signed a 15-year exclusive contract with Nazarian that also includes restaurants (Katsuya) and nightclubs (S Bar). "I wanted to see what he was gonna design when he was 72," Nazarian jokes when I reach him on his cell phone. "People thought I took a risk with him, thought he was a minimalist designer who came out of the world of Schrager. But the perception that he was passé has been proven wrong, and it is going to be proven more wrong as our projects in the United States open."

Indeed, throughout all of the ups and downs of Starck's career — not to mention the occasionally cool critical reception — he has consistently defied the notion that he's over. From the subversive Royalton lobby to the fun-house Faena Hotel + Universe in Buenos Aires to the SLS hospitality empire, which will combine a more mature, restrained elegance with sustainable green elements, Starck has managed to endure the fickle era of the überdesigner: Marc Newson, Marcel Wanders, Yves Béhar. "There's always been attention to Starck, but there's particular attention now," says his pal Murray Moss, the blue chip design gallerist and retailer with whom Starck has conspired to create a Moss bazaar in the lobby of the Beverly Hills SLS, which opens this summer on La Cienega Boulevard (at the former site of Le Meridien). "Starck's work is totally autobiographical, and in his life, this is a high moment. He's energized because he feels good, he's loving California, he looks good, he's healthier than he's ever been, and he's in love. That's led this to be a Philippe Starck moment."