When I was little, my mom wanted a mink coat because, as she said, “it was the ultimate luxury.” But every year orthodontist payments, a new car, cleaning after a flood, etc., etc. prevailed over the mink.

Finally, my dad bought her the mink coat. She went accessorizing, paraded with him (even on hot summer days), was happy to show us how soft he was, and overall she just loved his big luxury item.

Back then, I knew what Luxury meant. I’m not sure anymore, not since I started coming across things that are billed as luxury but seem to be pretty common.

Companies call us to do “luxury marketing“.

My most obvious encounter with fake luxury occurred a few years ago when I was invited to speak to the Luxury Marketing Council at a new “luxury” hotel in downtown Miami. The hotel was new and clean, with great service, but the decor and design were minimal. Maybe that’s luxury these days. If so, what do we call the 7-star hotels in Beijing, Milan and Dubai? Luxury luxury?

A few weeks ago, I took a cruise on Royal Caribbean’s Oasis of the Seas, the largest cruise ship in the world.

Many of my fellow cruisers thought the ship was luxurious. They had saved for years to take this vacation. I thought the Oasis was nice, the food and service were excellent and the crew and staff were exceptional. And there was a spa. But it wasn’t even close to being luxurious. It was very good.

I looked up the word Luxury in the dictionary and the words that describe it include lavishness, lavishness, opulence, magnificence, indulgence. Like the London Savoy in the old days, with two butlers on each floor and eight foot long bathtubs.

Wikipedia, which is difficult to trust, says that a luxury good is an economic good or service whose demand increases more than proportionally as income increases.

I’m not sure about that. When I was studying at Boston University, my summer job was at a Franklin Simon store in New York City. I sold very expensive handbags and most of the people who bought them were middle-income women. Some of them paid for the bags over time (layaway). Her income did not increase, but her desire for these status bags remained strong.

I think we abuse the term luxury as much as we abuse “world class” and it means different things to different people. Last Saturday, my friend Angela and I went to a luxury auction because she had received an invitation in the mail. We arrived at the house on the “farm”, we entered and were surprised that we had driven all that way to a nice but middle-class house and that they were auctioning televisions and jewelry.

There were no luxury items there, none at all, so we turned around and headed home. Angela commented: “We have thrown better things than that.”

So what have we done with this word? We’ve overused it, so now it doesn’t really mean anything to us. Luxury can mean a new Bentley for Angela or a Maserati for my friend George. Perhaps somewhere on Long Island, there is another mother who thinks a fur coat is the ultimate luxury. For me, it is free time. For Mike, our creative director, it’s a good book, a double Irish whiskey, and a comfortable chair in the shade.

I have no problem with the concept of luxury. Is something cute. It’s hard to define, except I know that really rich people expect it and people who are simply well off can afford a lesser version and too many middle-income people recklessly spend money on it. I also think that if what you are offering is really a luxury, you don’t have to use the word. Res ipsa loquitur – the thing speaks for itself; it is something rare and magnificent, like a Vermeer painting.

My mom passed away a few years ago. When I finally started packing her things weeks later, I found her mink coat in the back of a closet. It was in a beautiful cotton bag that she had made herself. I opened it and ran my fingers through the fur. It was still smooth and perfect, and I smelled Mom’s Shalimar perfume on it.

It was her perfect luxury. I save it.