I was sitting in a wine bar at LAX when I first noticed the rift. The bartender—perfectly nice, blandly handsome—was trying to sell a passenger on a California red. This was not the Centurion Lounge. It wasn’t even the Delta Lounge. Yet above the din of gate change announcements, he was prattling on about the “notes of peppercorn in a high-altitude northern California red.” I wanted to scream. Or at least quote Into the Woods: “If life were only moments, then you’d never know you had one.”
Maybe you’ve felt it too. The 10-course tasting menu, the helicopter ride to the tarmac, Burning Man—it’s just not hitting the same way. If you want to raise someone’s pulse, the invitation better be further afield, more involved, so absurd that the only appropriate response is, of course, yes. How else to explain director Rob Ashford’s annual one-night-only performance in Tangier? Or the James Bond surprise party Floyd Mayweather threw for Robert F. Smith in Palm Beach?
When it comes to finding happiness, we’ve always thrown money at the problem. But lately, even now is starting to feel too late. Need to lose weight? Take Ozempic (no judgment!). Need to pledge Tri Delta? Hire a rush consultant. Want to see Beyoncé? For $24 million she’ll come to you—or at least Dubai. There are the too-too pilgrimages, the Vegasification of New York City restaurants alongside the exporting of New York City restaurants to Vegas—a service industry echo chamber that smells vaguely of truffles and Santal 33. But sometimes a journey is about more than chasing clout. Sometimes a true change in atmosphere can be powerful. Regular old travel is for other people, civilians, anyone using points. If you want to touch the third rail these days, you’re chasing vibes.
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