An impromptu lunch in the car somewhere in South France.
Are You an ESE Follower?
Over the past months, I began developing a new way of thinking about how we spend our money and what truly brings value into our lives. I called it ESE — The Extra Sensory Experience — a personal framework for navigating consumption in the modern world, one that has nothing to do with price tags, external validation, or labels. ESE proposes a quiet but radical shift: valuing what we purchase, use, and enjoy not by how it looks to others, but by how deeply it connects to our own senses.
At its core, ESE is about making choices that elevate your sensory experience. It means buying things that give you joy — that delight your senses through texture, flavor, sound, scent, or visual beauty. Whether you’re wearing, using, or consuming something, the value lies in how it feels to you, not in how it looks to others. ESE is not about showing off — it’s about tuning in.
Consider this: an ice-cold Coca-Cola from a glass bottle on a hot summer day. The satisfying hiss of the cap, the condensation on the glass, the fizz cracking against your throat. That is an ESE moment. It's not about how much it cost. It’s about how fully it engages your senses.
Or imagine biting into an Oishii strawberry — that rare, almost ethereal Japanese fruit cultivated with monk-like precision. When its sweetness explodes across your palate and the texture yields like silk, you are experiencing something far beyond nutrition or snacking. That’s ESE.
Think of a Porsche 911. Its timeless curvaceous silhouette, the swell of the fenders, the engine’s hum turning into a crescendo as you corner a mountain road. You’re not driving. You’re conducting an orchestra of steel, speed, and emotion. That’s ESE.
You don’t have to be rich to live by the ESE principle. But if you are wealthy, you do need a certain level of sophistication to truly access it. ESE is democratic, but not populist. It demands attunement, curiosity, restraint. It rewards those who are not led by trends but by their own refined intuition.
A €2 souvlaki savoured with friends in the street can be more ESE than a €200 meal crafted for Instagram. A handmade clay cup that sits perfectly in your palm can bring more joy than a thousand mass-produced mugs.
To live an ESE life is to curate experience with intent. This requires sophistication — the capacity to appreciate nuance, not just noise. Self-belief — a rejection of approval-seeking through consumption. Calmness — a refusal to rush; to allow sensation to bloom. Knowledge — general cultural, artistic, and historical awareness that gives context to your choices. Politeness — not just etiquette, but a graceful way of moving through the world.
Let’s take an example. Some designer t-shirts cost €900 just because they have a big logo on the front — someone else’s name, not yours. You’re paying a lot of money to advertise someone else every time you step outside. Why not wear a high-quality shirt that feels great on your skin, and if there’s going to be a name on it, let it be your own? After all, we are each a brand of our own.
ESE is not about asceticism or luxury. It is about intimacy with the material world. It asks one simple question before any purchase or experience: Will this enrich my sensory world in a way that is real, private, and personal?
It’s that moment when you sip your morning coffee and it tastes exactly the way you love it. When your shoes feel like an extension of your stride. When you drive your car and it gives you the exact kind of thrill or calm you need — and not because anyone else is watching.
It’s about trusting your own taste more than the trends. Slowing down. Listening to what you actually enjoy, not what you’re told to enjoy.
But the real shift happens when you start buying and doing things for how they make you feel. Not to post, not to brag — just to be present.
This way of thinking isn’t entirely new. Philosophers like Epicurus believed in the quiet joy of sensory pleasures — not through excess, but through deep appreciation. Thoreau, in his cabin at Walden Pond, showed that meaning can be found in simple, personal experiences. And artists like Tarkovsky and Fellini explored the richness of everyday life through slow, immersive storytelling that focused on feeling, not spectacle.
The Japanese have long embraced ideas like wabi-sabi — beauty found in simplicity and imperfection — and mono no aware, a gentle awareness of life’s passing beauty. These ideas echo what ESE is about: personal, rich, meaningful moments that don’t need an audience to matter.
Having spent years in the world of marketing and advertising, I’ve come to see that the most powerful brands are those that manage to create ESE moments. When a product truly connects to the senses — through taste, texture, sound, or aesthetic — that’s when it becomes unforgettable. In a way, what used to be called a “unique selling proposition” might today be better described as a unique sensory experience. It’s not about pushing products. It’s about helping people feel something real.
Finally, I see ESE as a mirror. It reflects who you are when no one else is looking. If we can tune ourselves to that quiet voice — to those private, rich moments of joy — we’ll not just live better. We’ll live deeper. More honestly. More beautifully. And maybe, more successfully too — on our own terms.