Luxury smells like an herb from Madagascar. It is a light fruity scent, not cloying at all, and according to the Dior company, that aroma plus a Nobel prize will combat 11 of the 20 signs of aging. The other 9 are battled by a combination of other extracts and acids, also available from the brilliant minds back in France.
Luxury feels like a trip to fairy land. It is the gentle brush of kitten fur against your cheek. It is the soft tap of butterfly toes on your eye lids. It is the soft exhalation of a pretty girl looking over her work, and the little burst of giggle bubbles in your mouth as you take the gold-rimmed mirror and see yourself as you have never seen yourself before, as beautiful as an elf-queen.
Luxury is pretty damn great.
But be prepared for luxury's fall-out when you come back from fairy land. Be prepared for the one-eyed beggar girl and her sweet smile. Be prepared for the wave of overwhelming guilt. Luxury is not for the weak. The faint of heart will succumb to luxury's power or cower away from its persuasive touch.
The better option is to hold it quietly in your heart, a secret treasure. A source of knowing you never guessed at before. Luxury transcendant.
And as you give the girl your last fifty cents, she looks beyond the shopping bags and says: "You have a beautiful smile."