Corinthian Leather and Diamonds

Some years back I read an article about De Beers diamonds. I don’t know if it is true, but they basically said that De Beers turned a relatively unknown stone into treasure through marketing, making them scarce, and making them expensive. Like I said, I don’t know if that’s true, but as usual it got me thinking about how we think about stuff. In this case, luxury.

Luxury is a weird concept. A lot of us think of it as something we don’t have. Or something really pricey. Many years ago, I thought it would be great to have some really luxurious towels. I found a set that had been really expensive marked way down at a going-out-of-business sale. They were super fluffy, and white as snow. Fancy cotton. I felt great using them, and even enjoyed folding them and putting them away with my linens. And within a couple years, they were fraying. I expect my towels to last longer that two years, especially being line-dried, and was so sad.

They were fancy, but didn’t seem luxurious after that. They certainly weren’t worth the original price, at least not to me, and I resolved then to look for the fancy stuff I wanted at my stuff more reasonable prices, or even less if I could find it.

What makes me luxuriate? How do I feel lavished? Why am I aware?

These days, I find that my sense of luxurious seems to have more to do with my degree of awareness than cost or rarity. Time with my loved ones. Time in solitude. Time in activities I love. When I am present, these are priceless treasures. A delicious something like the sweet potato tater tots I had for lunch the other day. Sleeping well when I am really tired. Coming upon a task I completed after I’ve finished it, and forgotten I did it, like shining my sink up after washing the dishes.

When I feel like I am luxuriating I am usually relaxed and feeling peaceful, even if I am also excited about whatever it is. It means that I can luxuriate in the mundane on a regular basis. I find I like luxuriating a lot. And since being present is a good component of that, it pays off to be present. Sitting on my porch at the end of the day when the traffic quiets down is a really nice example. I love the hubbub of the flow, and the quiet is like a soothing unguent afterwards.

Expecting my life to be filled with luxuries helps me spot them. The De Beers story made me think about things that fill my life, and how marketing them, that is, changing how I think about stuff, can turn things from rocks that look like little chunks of glass into diamonds.

Taking time to think about how I find luxury, about how I feel when I luxuriate, why I am open to luxury, all help me enjoy it more. Slowing down inside enough to savor my experiences.

It’s all about the marketing. Like the commercials for chocolate, where the actor takes little tiny bites with a look of bliss on her face. Savor. Or the lovely car commercials where a car is driving down a lovely country land, or through some other beautiful scenery. Or the happy families who just bought a house, or are eating dinner with big smiles, or being all thrilled about their laundry.

We do marketing for ourselves all the time. We are telling ourselves how great something is, or will be, or how awful something is or will be, and without the marketing, it’s all pretty much neutral. One of my favorite examples is from an old Chrysler car commercial where a sultry male voice crooned about “rich Corinthian leather” which actually came from Newark. But for ages, that phrase made us feel like we needed it in our cars for them to be fancy.

How have I changed from languishing in an inferior life to upping my internal marketing to luxury?

(c) Pam Guthrie 2014 all rights reserved 07312014