Privacy is not modest. Privacy is decadent.
In a world where everyone is feeding the algorithm like a starving god, withholding is erotic. To keep something untouched, unshared, unseen, that is power. The richest luxury I tasted this summer was not champagne, not couture, not rooftop views of Paris. It was the act of saying: No, you don’t get this piece of me.
Privacy is the new mink coat. It drapes around you, it whispers wealth. It’s dangerous because people crave what they can’t see. Invisibility? That’s the curse. But privacy? That’s the jewel. The two are cousins, yes, but don’t confuse them.
Privacy is a performance in its own right; the tantalizing almost, the withheld sigh, the door shut just as curiosity peaks. To have privacy in 2025 is to walk into a room, smile, and give nothing away.