Hamza

I tweeted this when I was 20 and still sharing a small room with my sister at my parent's apartment, working minimum wage as a cashier at an art store. In the past few years, when I would share similar scenes as below, or anything lounging and indulgent, making the case for their importance and availability at all times, many would scoff and say I can only do relaxing dreamy things because of "privilege", that it was tone-deaf to the average struggle, assuming that the only way to have such situations was with a gilded jobless LA life. I absolutely hated this take, not only because it was such a repetitive, empty contagion of the past decade, but also because it was deeply untrue. Sinisterly untrue. And to repeat such untruths robs others from believing and experiencing the sneaky luxury that exists everywhere. My entire life has been dappled with crafty ways to find spots of ease and indulgence even when I had no money. In this case, going on my parent's apartment roof and hiding between two giant air conditioners to strip off all my clothes and sunbathe constantly. At work, friends and I would manipulate the clock-in system to give each other longer lunch breaks, and I'd take mine at a tree in a planter instead of the fluorescent windowless breakroom. I'd buy green tea haagen daaz and hot fudge with food stamps. There is a specific luxury apartment building in the hills of Brentwood that I have broken into countless times to smoke blunts in their jacuzzi with friends. There was a year when I'd take a 1-hour blue bus to work from Venice to Westwood, and I'd wear over-ear headphones with an ideal playlist and a huge hoodie curled up at a window seat, soaking in the experience of moving forward in space with no responsibility or effort. Sometimes, I was so soothed by the end of the ride that I wouldn't want to get off. These days, I sunbathe naked through the window in my bedroom in LA that casts over the first bed I have ever bought for myself. Next to me lays a bed tray with coffee and green tea and chocolate cake. At my boyfriend's house, I get to sunbathe nude on a patio with an ocean view and the sound of jungle birds. He's a blue collar worker and his rent is 1500. He wakes up every day in a situation that visitors here pay hotels one night for what he gets in a month. I can afford more luxury now, but sneaky luxury that costs me nothing still finds its way to me as it always has. Sneaky luxury also hits harder than when I seek it out and pay up, and I prefer it, as purchased luxury often feels like falling for a simulation or advertising. Sneaky luxury feels like a gift from God, a secret room. Luxury and ease is everywhere, and if you focus on it, it will keep multiplying. The keepers of sneaky luxury will open their doors because the joy and love you create in response to their offerings is their fuel.