The New Luxury

What is luxury? Every few seconds, for the last five years at least, this or that handbag/ store/ watch/ lipstick has been touted as the last word in luxury. No self-respecting house purveys mere merchandise anymore: They are all selling “Luxury”, yes, with a capital 'L'. Unlike the many worldly people I meet with and talk to for my work, my idea of luxury is something quite quotidian.
There’s nothing more luxurious to me than to spend an entire weekend at home, just catching my breath. Only recently, I indulged in just such a weekend at home with my phones off, and didn’t step out from Friday night to Monday morning. I watched the old BBC drama Brideshead Revisited on dvd (12 hours of Jeremy Irons!), I caught up on my reading, I did my laundry, and I slept. The new luxury is good old-fashioned sloth! Dawdling over the papers with coffee is an increasingly rare treat for me, and represents a rare luxury. There aren’t many mornings when I don’t have to be rushing somewhere pronto, even on weekends. And I mean a real newspaper, not the electronic editions you read with a mouse. Computers aren't luxurious at all, however recent or expensive the model, however sexy the design and speed. Nothing so cold-blooded and busy can be luxurious.

I love a bubble bath while listening to jazz. I love a snooze after lunch. I love having flowers in the house for no reason at all, and I love tending to my plants and watching them grow. I enjoy a marathon cackle-fest over tea. Even though I enjoy a Krug-soaked night out now and again with the girls, I mostly like sitting in bed with an engrossing book (I’ve started on the new Hermione Lee biography of Edith Wharton) with my Laduree candle. I envy the energy of those who can party all week and shop all weekend. They do set up such elaborate luxuries for themselves, jetting off regularly to Paris or Tokyo, just to shop. They lead such full lives: Days are “opportunities” for staggering schedules of parties and meals. Who takes care of the logistics for them is what I want to know? Just thinking about the flight details would make me whimper with defeat. Doesn’t the stress of setting up the spree actually cancel out the luxury of the trip? It would for me. I would rather lie in my own bed and space out than get three people onto a plane and book the rooms, troop about in Aoyama, trying on clothes. How crazily exhausting is that? I love my days like my meals - predictable and regular, rather than novel and singular. For me, a simple, mom-cooked meal a really precious treat. I dread fancy food, I dread fancy dress, and I dread fancy people, no matter how luxurious the restaurant, shop or party.