I keep coming across the word tony, an adjective meaning, fashionable among wealthy or stylish people.
The Carlyle is a tony hotel. We went to a party with a very tony guest list. Alva and William K. Vanderbilt were the toniest of couples.
In a book I’ve recently read by the late Vanity Fair writer, Dominick Dunne, he used it a lot to describe the upper-crust of society….chic, showy, plush and posh. Lavish, luxurious, ritzy and grand. Swank, snazzy, opulent and elite…the creme de la creme brandishing their wealth minus modesty nor meekness.
I’ve often wondered what it’s like to live in that entitled world where money is no object and life provides the best of everything without ever missing a beat. I do know people like that sincerely fascinated by their lifestyle.
Multiple homes, travel to the fullest. I even know a couple with a yacht right out of an F.Scott Fitzgerald novel. Jay Gatsby, is that you at the helm in your Tommy Hilfiger windbreaker while Daisy Buchanan sunbathes on deck?
The one thing about not being so tony is, your appreciation is much higher given the lack of chronic opulence bestowed upon your life. There’s something to be said for that. Where’s the high when you already have everything 100 times over? Hubris verses humility. Expectancy rather than surprise.
It’s also interesting how unhappy many of the Tonys are, as though they’ve peaked depleting the best life has to offer.
Less is more rewarding it seems in the long run.
To be exclusive and deluxe, upmarket and of the manner born, in your own little sphere surrounded by clones might just end up a little disappointing…
But, wouldn’t you like to know, what it was truly like to be just a little tony, for one long weekend, in Paris perhaps?