People think luxury is about money. About the car you drive, the bag you carry, or the digits on your invoice. But to me, luxury isn’t the number on the receipt—it’s the way something makes you feel. It’s an experience, not a transaction.
Luxury is being seen. Really seen. Like when a client remembers how I take my espresso, or sends a car without me asking because he knows I hate the subway in heels. It’s the sound of silk whispering against your skin, the weight of a cashmere throw in a chilly suite, the soft lighting that makes you feel like you’re always in golden hour.
I’ve sat front row at fashion week and felt invisible. And I’ve been on a beach at midnight in borrowed linen, no makeup, with someone who made me feel like the most exquisite thing on earth. Guess which one felt more luxurious?
My favorite kind of luxury is thoughtful. It says, “I anticipated your needs before you even knew you had them.” A handwritten note. A bottle of water in the car. A playlist made just for the drive. That’s where the romance lives. Not in extravagance, but in elegance.
I remember a trip to the Amalfi Coast. The hotel was fine, but it was the local woman who brought fresh figs to my room in the morning, wrapped in a linen napkin with a sprig of mint, who made it feel unforgettable. That’s luxury.
It’s also in the internal things: time, space, and peace. Being able to take a long bath without looking at the clock. Saying no to work for a day and spending it under the covers with room service and a lover who knows not to speak until coffee. Those moments are priceless.
Of course, I enjoy designer heels and private flights. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. But those are just props. What matters is how they make me feel—and how I carry that feeling into the rest of my life.
Luxury is quiet confidence. It’s wearing something because it fits your mood, not the occasion. It’s investing in things that whisper, not scream. It’s knowing you don’t have to prove anything because you are the experience.
So the next time someone asks me what the most luxurious thing I own is, I won’t point to my wardrobe or my jewelry box. I’ll say: My peace. My presence. And the power to choose who gets access to it.
Because real luxury isn’t something you buy—it’s something you live.