July 1, 2026 · Nikita Khandheria
There was a time when luxury was easy to recognize.
It was the designer handbag, the sports car in the driveway, the watch that everyone noticed when you walked into a room, or the vacation home that sat empty for most of the year waiting for long weekends.
Those things still exist, but they no longer define luxury the way they once did.
Over the last decade, and particularly since the pandemic, we've watched something remarkable happen. People have started placing a greater value on experiences than possessions. They still appreciate beautiful things, but increasingly, the memories they create have become more important than the objects they own.
As someone who spends every day helping people celebrate some of the most important moments of their lives, I don't think this shift is a trend. I think it represents a fundamental change in what people value.
When I ask clients why they're planning a celebration, almost none of them talk about the event itself.
They talk about bringing family together from different parts of the world for the first time in years. They talk about introducing business partners who have worked together for months but have never met in person. They talk about creating a weekend their guests will still be laughing about twenty years from now.
What they're really investing in is time.
Time has quietly become one of the rarest luxuries we have.
Our calendars are full. Our phones never stop buzzing. Most conversations happen through screens instead of across dinner tables. Even families who live in the same city often struggle to find an evening when everyone is available.
When someone chooses to gather one hundred people in the same room, they aren't just hosting an event. They are asking people to give up something incredibly valuable: an evening they could have spent anywhere else.
That is why expectations have changed.
People no longer attend events simply because they receive an invitation. They want to leave feeling that their time was well spent.
The companies that understand this have completely changed the way they think about events.
Ten years ago, a corporate dinner might have consisted of a ballroom, a buffet, and a PowerPoint presentation.
Today, the strongest companies approach events very differently. They invest in storytelling. They create environments that reflect their culture. They think about how guests arrive, how conversations begin, what people photograph, what they take home, and how the evening supports relationships long after it ends.
The same shift has happened in weddings.
Couples aren't asking for the wedding they saw in a magazine fifteen years ago. They want a celebration that feels unmistakably like them. They want to introduce guests to their favorite local coffee shop the morning after the wedding. They want handwritten notes at every place setting. They want family recipes on the menu and music that reflects their own story instead of following a traditional playlist.
The most memorable celebrations have become deeply personal because personalization has become the ultimate luxury.
One of the things I find most interesting is that people often assume luxury means spending more money.
In my experience, those two things are only loosely connected.
Some of the most memorable events we've ever planned were not the most expensive. They were the most thoughtful.
One client wanted to surprise his wife for her birthday. Rather than booking another beautiful dinner, he decided he wanted to fly her to the Hamptons himself. The only problem was that he didn't know how to fly an airplane.
So we helped arrange flying lessons.
Months later, he earned his pilot's license, flew her there himself, and created a memory that neither of them will ever forget.
Another couple wanted a wedding that reflected both of their cultures in a way that felt authentic rather than symbolic. Instead of choosing a dress from a boutique, we worked with designers in India to create one specifically for the bride. It wasn't about having something expensive. It was about creating something that existed nowhere else.
Those moments are memorable because they could not have belonged to anyone else.
That is becoming increasingly rare in a world where almost everything can be ordered online and delivered the next day.
Experiences cannot be mass-produced.
You cannot buy the feeling of watching your father give a speech that leaves an entire room in tears. You cannot recreate the moment when your employees walk into a product launch and suddenly understand the future of the company they helped build. You cannot replace the conversations that happen when people put their phones away, sit around a table together, and genuinely connect.
Those are the moments people remember.
They are also the moments people talk about.
One of the reasons we built ERIA the way we did is because we saw how many remarkable ideas were being limited by traditional venues. Again and again, we watched clients imagine something extraordinary only to be told it wasn't allowed, wasn't practical, or wasn't possible.
Eventually, we stopped accepting those answers.
We began acquiring and operating venues because we believed the buildings themselves should encourage creativity instead of limiting it.
That philosophy continues to shape every event we produce.
Our job isn't simply to book a room or organize a timeline. It is to understand what someone wants people to remember years from now and then build an experience around that answer.
When people ask me where I think hospitality is heading, I don't believe the future belongs to the companies with the biggest buildings or the fanciest menus.
I think it belongs to the companies that understand people.
Luxury is no longer defined by what you own.
It is defined by how you make people feel.
Long after the flowers have been taken down, the tables cleared, and the music has stopped, the stories remain.
Those stories have become the most valuable thing any of us can create.
And in my opinion, that is the future of hospitality.
