What is Luxury?

Is it a blanket on your sofa? Also: I'm moving to Slovenia.

My boyfriend has a heavy faux fur blanket on his couch at his apartment. Over the past seven months, I’ve often enjoyed a glass of his excellent wine while nestled under that heavy, silky blanket.

My friend Anna, founder of Goodwood — the coolest shop in DC — recently told a story about her friend who said what broke her heart about a wealthy ex was that he had no blanket on his sofa.

So, first: Your sofa needs a great blanket. Absolutely. That should be obvious.

A second thing about couch blankets: When I picture what I want the upcoming year to feel like for me, I go back to boyfriend’s blanket. (I am becoming so woo, that I no longer think of what I want to accomplish in the upcoming 12 months; I think of how I want it to feel).

And I want my upcoming year to feel like the comforting weight of my boyfriend’s lux faux fur blanket. For this next year of my life, I want to embrace luxury.

I don’t mean the distasteful, consumerism-driven luxury — wanting something because a company has spent money convincing me I want it.

But I am moving to Europe for love. And there’s an undeniable luxury to that.

Soon, I’ll be packing up my (actually pretty luxurious) life in Washington, DC, putting most of my belongings into a storage unit, selling my little Fiat 500, and boarding a plane to Ljubljana, Slovenia. Boyfriend is moving for work and, some months ago, he asked me to go with him. For a time, I offered a middle-ground idea that I’d be a bi-continental jet-setting lady, flitting to and from America and Europe every other month but eventually he asked “What is holding you back from moving with me full-time?” When I considered his question, I realized it was all my own baggage from my marriage — a marriage spent following around my diplomat husband from country to country.

Another way to say "I’ve got baggage” is “I am afraid.” And as Liz Gilbert says, we should live our lives at least one percent more curious than afraid.

Plus, boyfriend and I are highly compatible in a lot of ways and we’re in love. Plus-plus, the lease on my dream apartment was up (my landlord is selling). So I decided to take the leap and move full-time. Scary, a little, as the creative life I’ve built in DC has turned into something even more fulfilling (though less lucrative) than I imagined. But I also really loved living abroad before and I know I’ll love it again.

Ljubljana looks pretty as a postcard: a small European city with cobblestone streets, a castle overlooking the riverside town, farmers markets, bicycling, a university in the center. I can picture boyfriend and I living a beautiful and calm life there — eating great meals at riverside restaurants, driving to nearby Italy for lunch on the weekends, learning to ski, becoming well-versed in Slovenian wine. Visiting the many friends I have who live on that side of the world, and hosting friends at our sleek and modern townhouse that boyfriend has already picked out for us.

In a recent lecture at the National Gallery of Art on the relationship between Henri Matisse and Pablo Picasso, senior lecturer David Gariff showed the crowd an image of Matisse’s painting “Luxe, Calme et Volupté” (Luxury, Calm and Pleasure), a pastel confection that evokes picnickers on a rocky shore as golden hour approaches. Gariff said Matisse was inspired by the Charles Baudelaire poem “Invitation to the Voyage.” A snippet of a translation of that poem:

Think of the sweetness

Of going there to live together!

to love at leisure

…

There, all is order and beauty

Luxury, calm, and pleasure

I’m always smitten when I hear of artists inspiring other artists, so much like real life that is, a thing you see inspiring a thing you do. I was especially taken with this connection because I want this new chapter of life to feel like Baudelaire’s poem, to feel like the Matisse painting. In both instances, luxury doesn’t mean bling, but rather a refined abundance, an artfulness. Of having the luxury of time and the luxury of possessing a quietude of mind to savor that abundance. Pleasure is a bodily ease and also delighting in sensuality. Calmness isn’t boredom but more of a softness, a stillness.

Brief aside on calm: It is a surprise to me that “calm” is something I’d crave. At this point, that is 2026 — one year into the fascist, evil, destruction that Trump has wrought here in the city at the political center of it all — there’s a constant tension that sounds like sirens and helicopters and things not said, and feels like averted eyes and retreat and not enough speaking up. It’s heavy. It’s disappointing. Despite all the joy and love that has blossomed during this tense time for me, I realize this tumult has taken its toll, and I find myself craving some calm.

For his recent birthday, I got boyfriend a small framed poster of Luxe, Calme et Volupté and did my best to explain how I hoped the ideas embodied in Matisse’s painting could be the framework of our new life in Europe together. Boyfriend and I have talked about the meaning of luxury a few times over the past seven months, and I’ll always remember one such conversation at Le Diplomate, DC’s most popular restaurant. My 17-year-old niece and her friend were visiting and we shared a decadent chocolate pot de creme. Boyfriend urged my niece to take a big bite because a little bite would be antithetical to the decadence of the dessert, antithetical to luxury itself, which, after all, is predicated on excess.

To me, luxury isn’t necessarily excess, but linger. Enjoying an experience - lavish or simple - without undue thought about the next thing. Not rushing. When I picture my life, in just a few short weeks, living outside of America once again, there is a lot of savoring, a lot of gratitude, a lot of lingering. What a luxury.

What I’m Doing: Wrapping up my life in DC, literally, as I’m planning to pack up all my things. Do I feel sadness about putting my beautiful treasures away for a while? Yes, but only because I feel bad for them, having to be in a storage unit and not getting to live out their purpose. If living alone, back in the U.S. for the past few years has taught me anything, it’s that I can create a beautiful place anywhere. Inspiration abounds. I’m also saying see you later to friends who probably think my moving abroad again for love is the most Emily thing I’ve ever done. Except for the time I did this before.

Also: I have some fun interior design projects for clients going full stream ahead. And I’m gearing up to host a second art show in my apartment. This one is “Masks and Mazes” and showcases Adam Mele, whose work I really love for its vibrating energy and its resonance with the time and place we’re living in.

What I’m Listening To: Helicopters, sirens, jackhammers, the melting snowcrete. Seriously, DC is very loud. Also, Spotify’s best songs of the year, which contain many songs I’ve adored from Big Thief, Bad Bunny and Chappell Roan.

What I’m Reading: When I was in Mexico City, while boyfriend was stricken with the flu, I went on a tour of Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera’s neighborhood and house. On that excellent tour, I met a retired art professor from New York. We talked art and I told him how I want to make art but don’t have the skill. He assured me that the ideas are the hard part and skill can be taught, and recommended a book called Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards. I ordered said book and was immediately bowled over by the author positing that teaching one to draw is like teaching one to read or to do math. Life got frenzied and I haven’t had time to draw the requisite self-portrait so you can compare how shitty you were to how good you are after learning what seems like a few simple tricks on perspective. Anyways, I’m here on the cusp of having my perspective changed forever and I’m excited about it.

To luxury. Be it a warm blanket, moving to Europe for love, or whatever else.

Emily