On beauty
It’s easy amid the stresses and demands of getting from one day to the next to become numb to the beauty that surrounds us. Big cities, especially, have a way of making the extraordinary ho-hum: you’re so busy avoiding trash on street or tourists blocking the sidewalk or trying to figure out exactly where that skunky weed smell is coming from that you blast right past one of the world’s most famous buildings. Having your head permanently buried in your phone doesn’t help.
I’ve had a troubled relationship with Chicago. It’s my second stint living here: the first time around, I came fresh from New York City and Chicago didn’t fare well by comparison (the phrase “poor man’s New York City” may have been used once or twice). I was being a brat and not giving America’s third-largest city its due. It’s not New York City, of course—it’s Chicago. And the second time around, I’m much more appreciative of what it has to offer.
Near the top of that list is the Art Institute which, despite ranking among the world’s greatest museums, I’d somehow decided not to visit for the past decade (I also lived in Alice Springs for three years and never went to Uluru, but my defense there is it’s a 300-mile drive). So, I recently took a few hours to rectify my mistake and it was … beautiful. Beautiful works, beautiful to see so many people appreciating them, and beautifully surprising. I followed the institute’s audio highlights tour and the museum is so stacked it didn’t include American Gothic, The Great Wave, Nighthawks, or various works by O’Keeffe, van Gogh, and Rembrandt. The Art Institute is one of those places where you kick yourself for not seeing a Renoir, only to turn the corner and there are six more of them.
But what if art’s not your thing? Well, there’s the beauty of a city coming back to life after the long COVID shutdown; of people dining al fresco, laughing and gossiping on a mid-summer afternoon; and the perpetual miracle of just how cities hang together and somehow make everything work. There’s also the shopping.
There’s two ways of looking at how retailers are increasingly seeking deeper emotional connections with consumers. One is the true but cynical view: they’re manipulating us to sell more stuff we may want but certainly don’t need. The second is knowing that but not only not caring, but welcoming it. Of course retailers want us to buy what they’re selling—not only the products, but the lifestyle it promises. And I’m cool with that.
For me, the grand pooh-bah of selling a lifestyle is Brunello Cucinelli, whose eponymous company makes exquisitely crafted products at eye-watering prices, pitched as the tradeoff for not only its quality but the manner in which it’s made (the company is based in the Italian hamlet of Solomeo, and Cucinelli himself is passionate about what he calls “humanistic capitalism”). I’m all in. If I had to choose one brand to swaddle myself in for the rest of eternity, it’d be Brunello Cucinelli—although the fact it doesn’t yet make men’s underwear means it’ll be a free-balling existence (a price I’m willing to pay. Look out, ladies).
Is this important in the grand scheme of life? Absolutely not. Do I find deep pleasure in appreciating beauty in all of its forms? Absolutely. Some of that is aspirational, reflecting the desire to live a beautiful life (for intrinsic purposes, not for heavily curated posting on Instagram). But a big chunk is because consciously recognizing beauty provides me with a deeper sense of gratitude and purpose.
Of course, everyone has their own definition of beauty. Maybe it’s the act of helping others. The security of your home and a life surrounded by family and friends. The morning ritual of making the perfect espresso. I know the day will come where I’d trade everything to experience just one more moment of the beauty of my children snuggling close to me, safe in their father’s arms.
And what’s life without beauty? Bloody awful. And depressing. It takes effort to find joy and see the beauty that surrounds us, for sure. And it’s certainly hard to see it in the tool who cuts you off in traffic or insists you wear underwear because apparently saying “Brunello doesn’t make boxers” isn’t a valid excuse. But it’s worth the effort, if for no other reason than it will force us to look up from our phones. I suspect we’ll be surprised and inspired by what we see.