On Luxury

I’m generally pretty anhedonic (thanks to VanderWoning.ca for this handy term). I don’t drink, I’m ambivalent to food and generally eschew behaviour-modifying narcotics. Fast, fancy cars leave me unimpressed, and while I appreciate well-made clothes, I’m neither a metrosexual nor a label-whore. In short, I’m usually unmoved by fineries.

One exception is holiday accomodation. I enjoy a really, really nice hotel. I like the valet parking, how they call me sir, how they know my name and call me by it. I like big beds and Egyptian cotton sheets with a high thread count. I like 270-degree views of surging seas or wind-swept vistas or teeming cities. In this way, I am a Taurus.

We were discussing this peculiar conflict in my characters, and I was trying to decipher this affection for luxury. Part of it is certainly about uniqueness. It’s not good enough to be at a luxurious accommodation–it must be unusual or unique. So, on the west coast, inns like the Wickaninnish Inn or Point-No-Point. In Greece, it might be Casa Delfino in Chania. Still, part of me just likes the rain room and the plush towels. What’s with that?