Proximity to new luxury.

Yesterday on the subway we counted: out of twenty people in the carriage, eighteen were looking at the screen. The other two were asleep.

It’s fascinating that in 2026, when we have the technology that allows us to “be in touch” with anyone in the world in a split second, the most scarce commodity has become true intimacy. One that doesn’t need Wi-Fi to transmit emotions.

Urban loneliness in a crowd. We all know it. We run between a meeting, a quick coffee and a doctor’s appointment, writing off messages “on the fly.” The city spurs us on, tempting us with launches (according to some reports, that’s as many as 150 new products a day), promising that if we buy that one more serum or download a new app, we’ll feel better. But in the evening, when we finally step barefoot into everyday life, we often feel only lack.

The logistics of affection. The need to be close is not a sentimental slogan from a romantic comedy. It is our strong, biological necessity. In a rushing world, closeness becomes an act of rebellion.

It’s that moment when, instead of scrolling Instagram before bed, we place our hand on the shoulder of someone close to us. Or, just as importantly, we put it on our own face, massaging the cream in and feeling our skin finally “give up” the tension of the whole day. It’s an awareness of one’s own breathing in the midst of a concrete rush.

Why does it matter? Because proximity gives us a sense of security that we can’t buy at a promotional price.

• Closeness with each other: is the understanding that our vulnerability is not a flaw in the system, but our greatest strength.
• Closeness with others: it’s a shared silence that isn’t embarrassing; it’s tea made without asking, just when we feel that “the city has chewed us up and left us behind.”

Small returns. We don’t have to drop everything and go to the Bieszczady Mountains (although that’s a tempting option). Proximity is built in micro moments. In choosing what’s quality over what’s just new. In putting your phone down at the bottom of your purse to feel the texture of a paper cup in a coffee shop. In the tenderness we show to our skin, knowing that it is the only home we will live in forever.

We leave you today with one question: when was the last time you felt that you were really here, without any screen intermediary?

Tomorrow there will be a rush again. But today? Today, let’s choose what matters. Let’s be close.

Your Orivène.