We've Forgotten What Luxury Means

I work in an industry that uses the word luxury constantly.

Luxury hardware.

Luxury homes.

Luxury plumbing.

Luxury appliances.

Luxury design.

The funny thing is, the longer I spend around genuinely exceptional products, spaces, and people, the less useful I find the word.

Not because luxury doesn’t exist.

Quite the opposite.

I think we’ve simply forgotten what it means.

Somewhere along the way, luxury stopped describing an experience and started describing a price point.

If it costs more, it’s luxury.

If it’s exclusive, it’s luxury.

If it has the right logo, it’s luxury.

If it’s sold in the right showroom, it’s luxury.

The problem is that many of the most luxurious things I’ve experienced wouldn’t fit that definition at all.

One of the most luxurious hospitality experiences I’ve ever had was at a renovated motel in Palm Springs.

Not a palace.

Not a five-star resort.

Not a place trying to impress anyone.

But every detail felt considered.

The rooms.

The staff.

The atmosphere.

The drinks.

The small touches that most people never consciously notice.

Nothing felt accidental.

Nobody was trying to convince me it was luxury.

The experience simply reflected the standards of the people behind it.

That’s a very different thing.

I’ve experienced the opposite too.

Places with incredible reputations.

Beautiful branding.

Compelling stories.

Big promises.

The kind of places that look luxurious from the outside.

Then you arrive.

The service is average.

The experience feels disconnected.

The execution doesn’t live up to the story.

Nothing is necessarily wrong.

But nothing is exceptional either.

The luxury exists in the marketing more than the experience.

And that’s where I think many industries lose the plot.

Including my own.

One of my favourite tools is an old pair of snap-ring pliers.

They don’t make them anymore.

They’re not rare because somebody manufactured scarcity.

They’re not valuable because they have a famous logo.

They’re valuable because they’re right.

The balance is right.

The weight is right.

The function is right.

I’ve used them for years and never once wished they were different.

There’s something deeply satisfying about an object that completely understands its purpose.

I would argue that’s luxury.

The same thing happens in homes.

People often assume luxury means larger.

More expensive.

More dramatic.

More visible.

But some of the most expensive homes I’ve ever walked through felt strangely uncomfortable.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

They felt designed for admiration rather than living.

You walk through them and immediately start noticing the effort.

The statement pieces.

The gestures.

The features.

Everything wants your attention.

Then there are homes that feel entirely different.

Natural light where it matters.

Materials that age gracefully.

Spaces that have room to breathe.

A kitchen designed for someone who actually cooks.

A gym located where somebody might realistically use it.

Storage where it belongs.

Bathrooms where they make sense.

The details aren’t trying to impress you.

They’re trying to support your life.

Those homes feel luxurious in a way that’s difficult to explain.

Not because they’re extravagant.

Because they’re thoughtful.The longer I do this, the more I believe luxury is really the absence of friction.

A hotel that simply works.

A restaurant that delivers on its promise.

A product that performs beautifully for decades.

A designer who understands how all the moving pieces come together.

A supplier who knows their role in the bigger picture.

The customer doesn’t see the effort.

They experience the result.

That’s the magic.

And maybe that’s why the word luxury feels increasingly hollow.

It’s become a substitute for expensive.

A shortcut for premium.

A marketing term.

Meanwhile, the things that feel genuinely luxurious are often much quieter.

They’re defined by craftsmanship.

By service.

By care.

By consistency.

By the relentless pursuit of getting things right.

Not because somebody wanted them to feel luxurious.

Because somebody cared enough to make them excellent.

And excellence has always been the most convincing form of luxury.

Cameron Varner
Banbury Lane Design Centre