We should bring in an environmental attitude, and I think luxury

Host: The boardroom was a cathedral of glass and silence. The city below pulsed with lights and motion — streams of cars, neon signs, and the faint echo of sirens that never stopped. Inside, the air smelled faintly of leather, espresso, and the metallic tang of expensive ambition.

Host: Jack stood by the window, his suit jacket slung over a chair, the top button of his shirt undone. His reflection merged with the skyline — a ghost among towers. Jeeny sat across the long oak table, a slim laptop open before her, its screen casting a pale glow over her thoughtful face.

Jeeny: “Jochen Zeitz once said, ‘We should bring in an environmental attitude, and I think luxury should automatically be about sustainability and quality.’”

Jack: (smirks) “Luxury and sustainability — that’s cute. Like trying to make greed sound spiritual.”

Jeeny: “Or like trying to make responsibility sound beautiful.”

Host: The air conditioner hummed softly. A stack of documents lay untouched between them — contracts, projections, profits, loss.

Jack: “You can’t sell ideals, Jeeny. You sell dreams. And dreams don’t have expiration dates or recycling instructions.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe you’re selling nightmares — just ones that look good under soft lighting.”

Jack: (chuckles) “You’ve been reading too many sustainability reports. The world doesn’t run on conscience. It runs on consumption.”

Jeeny: “And consumption runs out. Always. You can’t keep building paradise out of what’s burning.”

Host: Her voice was calm, but her eyes carried heat — conviction born of sleepless nights and the slow ache of watching the world unravel while people clapped at quarterly growth charts.

Jack: “You think luxury’s supposed to save the planet?”

Jeeny: “No. I think it’s supposed to stop killing it.”

Host: He turned, facing her fully now. The city lights drew sharp lines across his face, carving half in shadow, half in gold.

Jack: “Luxury is desire, Jeeny. It’s human nature. You can’t greenwash instinct.”

Jeeny: “Desire isn’t the problem. It’s the emptiness we try to fill with it.”

Jack: “So what? You want to make handbags out of recycled ocean plastic and call it salvation?”

Jeeny: “If it stops another whale from choking on what we threw away, then yes.”

Host: The silence thickened. Outside, the wind pressed against the glass like the world trying to get in.

Jack: “You talk like the planet’s a religion.”

Jeeny: “It is. We’re just bad worshippers.”

Host: Her words hung in the room like incense — fragrant with truth, impossible to ignore.

Jack: “You really believe luxury can be moral?”

Jeeny: “I believe it has to be. Otherwise, it’s just vanity with better branding.”

Jack: “And morality doesn’t sell.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe selling isn’t the point anymore.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked once — a small, clean sound that felt louder than it should.

Jack: “You think consumers care about ethics? They care about image. About shine. About feeling like they matter — not if the planet does.”

Jeeny: “That’s because we’ve never taught them otherwise. We’ve been telling the same story for a century: that value means waste, that wealth means excess. Maybe it’s time we changed the script.”

Jack: “And who’s going to buy the rewrite?”

Jeeny: “The ones who still believe beauty shouldn’t cost the Earth.”

Host: The words struck something in him — a tremor beneath his cynicism. He looked down at the papers, the long list of suppliers, the factories overseas, the endless loop of exploitation disguised as efficiency.

Jack: “You think people like me can change?”

Jeeny: “I think people like you must change. Because you have the power to.”

Host: He ran a hand through his hair, the city lights shimmering against the window behind him.

Jack: “You sound like my conscience.”

Jeeny: “Maybe I’m just the voice you keep ignoring.”

Host: The rain began to fall outside — slow at first, then steady. It slid down the glass in silver streaks, blurring the skyline into something softer, almost human.

Jeeny: “Do you know what Zeitz did at Puma? He didn’t just sell shoes. He built an environmental profit-and-loss system. Measured the invisible costs — carbon, water, waste. For once, the numbers started telling the truth.”

Jack: “And what did it change?”

Jeeny: “Perspective. And that’s where every revolution starts.”

Host: Jack looked out the window again, watching the rain weave over the glittering city — a network of reflections and regrets.

Jack: “You really think sustainability can be luxury?”

Jeeny: “Sustainability is luxury, Jack. Because it’s rare. Because it lasts. Because it honors what it takes.”

Jack: “So your version of luxury isn’t about owning more?”

Jeeny: “It’s about needing less.”

Host: He let out a low laugh, but it wasn’t mocking. It was the laugh of a man seeing a horizon he didn’t trust but couldn’t look away from.

Jack: “You know, if we marketed that — simplicity as luxury — people might actually buy it.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe marketing isn’t the problem. Maybe it’s the motive.”

Host: A thunderclap rolled in the distance. The lights flickered, and for a brief second, both their faces were reflected perfectly in the window — side by side, equally uncertain, equally alive.

Jack: “You think luxury has a soul?”

Jeeny: “Only if we give it one.”

Host: He walked back to the table, picked up a pen, and stared at the contract before him — a deal worth millions, a deal that came at a cost measured in more than money.

Jack: “What if it’s too late?”

Jeeny: “Then we start anyway.”

Host: Her tone was gentle but unyielding. She reached out, turned his pen toward a blank page, and said:

Jeeny: “Write something worth leaving behind.”

Host: Jack’s hand hovered for a moment, then began to move — slow, deliberate strokes across the white paper. The rain continued its steady rhythm, a baptism against the glass.

Host: Outside, the city glimmered like a constellation. Inside, two people began the fragile act of redemption — rewriting what luxury meant in a world that could no longer afford ignorance.

Host: In that quiet, candlelit moment of corporate confession, Jochen Zeitz’s words found new life — not as a slogan, but as a promise:

Host: That luxury, at its truest, is not excess, but endurance. Not waste, but wonder. And that the finest thing a human hand can craft… is a future that still breathes.