When Succession turned Quiet Luxury into a global phenomenon last year, I struggled to grasp the concept—especially when it was linked to brown-on-brown ensembles punctuated by Shiv’s ever-pursed upper lip. I chalked up not understanding it being way above my pay grade, at least until someone offered me an accounting job that included a work retreat to Deplar Farm.
But then I went to Helsinki.
On my first morning there, I woke up alone in a massive bed with the softest mattress (Hotel F6, in case you are wondering), overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude after one of the best sleeps I’d had in ages.
I stretched, lingered under the cozy covers, and journaled before eventually joining Fafa for breakfast.
The breakfast setup felt more like a homey kitchen than a boutique hotel buffet. One corner featured a fully equipped kitchen with Le Creuset appliances and Marimekko cutlery, accompanied by offerings of freshly baked pastries and typical Finnish breakfast fare.
An hour later, we strolled through quiet traffic lights and calm streets to board a noiseless tram. It struck me how nobody spoke or took phone calls while riding—silence, in general, seemed to be an unspoken rule.
The day unfolded in moments of tiny joys: stops at pastry shops, writing postcards in a stationery store, strolling through the market, and savouring hearty salmon soup—all while admiring impeccably dressed Finns, many of them sporting Marimekko pieces. Being stylish seemed to be another unspoken rule in Helsinki.
By evening, we visited Löyly for a quintessential Finnish culture experience: alternating between the warmth of the sauna and the bracing chill of a seawater dip.
The sky was dusky orange when we left the spa. The air was chilly, but an invisible warmth enveloped me.
After another zen-like, quiet tram ride, we were in bed. And just before drifting off, I remember thinking: I had found Quiet Luxury. It’s here in Helsinki—understated, intentional, and deeply fulfilling.
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