I have always considered the concept of aspiration as the most unattainable luxury, just an arm’s length, a hundred dollars, or a year or two away. We are constantly pushing to upgrade to the latest, experience the greatest, and be the hostess with the mostess (translation: Chanel No 5) – relatively speaking, anyway. And there, dear friends, lies the problem. As we progress in society and make friends in higher places, the luxury yardstick creeps ever higher, and in disproportionately larger leaps and bounds. When I started this blog, I was ecstatic that I had finally saved enough dollar bills to buy a pair of Lee shorts. When I bought my first pair of designer shoes this year, I definitely had heart palpitations, but I was ok with the expenditure that would suffice any expenditure on flats for at least two years. And now I have friends who talk about helipads and sexy Rolexes (but really, that just freaks me out so I block it out and continue buying comfy undies).
Indeed, age is most likely the one and only gravity-defying factor in life – I spent my adolescence wishing myself to my ‘prime’ twenty five, and now that I’m halfway there, all I want is to Benjamin Button all the way back to those spoonfed and absolutely trivial highschool glory days.
And then you visit rural Costa Rica and realise that you’re just a total dickhead in all walks of life. But I suppose that’s a separate debate altogether. Much like fur. And possibly religion. And maybe gun control… no, veganism. Definitely veganism.
But today, we live a little.
My point so far has been that when you do make it to that luxury threshold, it’s freaking awesome. Why yes, I rented this dress. Why yes, The Luxe Nomad‘s rates on The Balé are wonderfully reduced. But at the end of the day, you’re getting your print on by your private pool at your private villa, and the immense amount of work you have to do suddenly doesn’t seem so monstrous. So, who even cares? Call it a shortcut. And call it with pizazz.
Further, I just noticed that one of my bikini ties is hanging out of the front of my dress in a way most offensive and confusing (really – why and how is it even there, and where is the other one? We’ll never know…), so I apologise profusely.
And now, back to contemplating a new laptop.
photos by Camille Charrière; editing by Margaret Zhang