Tag Archives: luxury

Pointy or Pointless: Are There Limits to the Satisfactions of Pampering?

Should our delicate limbs trudge through a sorghum field when we might repose at table, our heads covered in white linen as we savor the tiny life of the ortolan?  “What songs were in its wee heart?”, we may wonder as we swallow it whole.

Cottages and mason jars, we may be dirty, but we are not *filthy*.  Those who are bored with the finer things simply lack imagination.  When was the last time you had a sliver of carpaccio served to you upon the eyelid of a dwarf as you lay prone upon your shiatsu pillar?  You have neglected yourself far too long.  Did you know that for a paltry sum, you could be shot into space, to float in a private celestial womb?  Surely, the pressures of being “you” merit a brief spot of weightlessness.  I bet you have not even given yourself the consideration of booking passage on the ship that is even now tracing the route of the Titanic.  It is about time the Arctic had its comeuppance, and it is a lucky party indeed that will wear tiny hats and feast on marrow farci, roasted squab, and Maynard’s glaze.  To say nothing of the fresh shavings of iceberg tinkling in highball glasses.  It really is just *better*.  To say that we are jaded by finery is to admit that we have overlooked the limitless nature of pleasure, we have overlooked our very selves.  To fail to properly esteem oneself is the worst of crimes, and can only be righted by shooting something silken-furred right this instant, and sporting the entire carcass for a smock.  I have always wanted a bunny’s tail to wave from my bosom.  It says “adieu, adieu!”

Pointy or Pointless: Is Luxury as Dead as My Ermine Socks?

so soft

I am in such ill spirits today that I actually cursed my chiropractor out of my office.  Then Felipe, my manservant, came by with my artisan volcanic water mister, and I threw a Manolo at him. I missed, so I threw my iPhone with slightly better results. Remind me to cancel my trainer, that was a lot of work.

When Mark Zuckerberg popped up on OneChat (that’s just for us 1%, got to keep the electrons unsullied) and asked if I wanted to catch a ride on his plane to Coachella, all I could do was roll my eyes. I have paddled around in enough infinity pools at sprawling villas for the last month.

I don’t know what it is lately, but I just can’t muster enthusiasm for my normal routine. I could seriously strangle myself with this Hermès desk runner. I am wondering if it’s time to return to my primal roots and buy a rustic little farm somewhere? Just think, I could get my feet in the grass and not even care if I ruined my diamond pedicure. The very thought is exhilarating. I could learn to make pie from scratch. I could can food instead of people and make the cutest jar labels with handmade paper.

I think my first order of business will be to have a search team assemble a selection of fine strapping farm hands, and this will naturally unfold from there. Back to nature, as naked and simple as the day we were born!