Living in the lap of luxury is a pursuit not worth pursuing
Once again, I am disappointed in my generation, the baby boomers.
We spent most of our youth loudly and obnoxiously complaining about wealth, status-seeking and luxury. Now, we are spending our adulthood loudly and obnoxiously embracing wealth, status-seeking and luxury.
Wealth? OK, maybe I understand that. It has some practical, if not exactly moral, advantages.
Status? Yeah, every generation ends up seeking it, despite the fact that most people are too busy seeking their own status to notice yours.
But luxury? That one escapes me. I don’t understand why anyone bothers.
Luxury has two main problems. No. 1, it’s a massive waste of time and money. No. 2, it’s usually not all that luxurious anyway, at least the way it’s marketed (mostly to baby boomers) today. So, to sum up, luxury is simultaneously too decadent and not decadent enough. What a lousy combination.
Let’s take a look at what “luxury” seems to mean, in various consumer categories:
Luxury townhouses: I swear, everywhere I go I see signs for luxury townhouses and luxury condos. Well, I just spent a weekend visiting some of those, and as far as I can tell it means … cathedral ceilings. It means that you get to pay extra to heat the 10 extra feet above your head.
Luxury spas: I think, but am not certain, that these are places where you can go to have rocks placed upon your back and mud smeared on your face. The nonluxury version of this is called “a camping trip.”
Luxury timepieces: They tell time almost as well as a Timex, but they have … I don’t know, moon phases and garnets or something. If you really want to feel luxurious, get a “chronograph.”
Luxury cars: It means leather seats, and everyone knows cow skin is vital for your sitting-at-a-stoplight-on-Division experience. You also get automatic climate control, which means your spouse will still complain that it is always too hot or too cold. You also get an alarm system with which to annoy your neighbors. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot: You are guaranteed to get lousy gas mileage. Too bad some marketer hasn’t invented a luxury gas station yet, or should I say, a luxury refueling center and spa.
Luxury hotels: You get desk clerks that call you “sir.” You get “turndown service,” like you’re too feeble to yank your own covers off the bed. You get way too many pillows. You get a robe that you don’t even get to keep. You get some quality soap that you do get to keep.
Luxury cruise: Actually, I have no idea what this entails, having never taken one. I assume it means you get your own “head,” to use nautical jargon, instead of having to hang out over the “taffrail.”
Luxury plumbing fixtures: Yes. They exist. They mostly consist of faucets in the shape of a swan’s neck.
Luxury estates: They have acreage, or at least a “yard.” The really luxurious ones have county sewer service.
Luxury RVs: I think they usually have satellite dishes on the roof and maybe extra “Wall Drug” stickers for the bumper.
Luxury boxes: These allow you to watch the game in a surprisingly sad and lonely private enclosure that is farther away from the action than approximately half of the regular seats. But you do get your nachos delivered.
Luxury retirement living: This generally entails Queen Anne furniture in the lobby and a chandelier in the dining room.
Oh, I’m sorry. Did that last item hit a little close to home for you, my fellow baby boomers? Did it remind you that we might, like the rest of the human race, grow old?
Even worse, did I hint at our own mortality?
We do not acknowledge such uncomfortable truths. But when the time comes, we’ll no doubt go in our usual, humble style.
We’ll go in silk-lined, luxury caskets fitted with satellite dishes and automatic climate control.