Perched atop a velvet-lined box on my étagère sits a petite pair of opera glasses—delicate, mother-of-pearl clad, and somehow ageless. They were not a planned acquisition. I discovered them years ago in a small antique shop in Hubbard Woods, one of the more charming corners of Chicago’s North Shore. I was meandering after lunch, not looking for anything in particular, when they caught my eye in the window: a tiny telescope into a world of elegance.
I stepped inside, held them in my hand, and knew immediately they were coming home with me. Not because I attend the opera every weekend (though I wish I did), but because they stirred something visceral—memories of my grandmother’s vanity tray, the scent of her powder, the hush before a curtain lifts. These opera glasses are less about utility and more about memory, intention, and the kind of life I aspire to live: observant, refined, and attuned to beauty in the smallest of details.
Design, Yes—But Also Devotion
What makes opera glasses different from binoculars or modern lenses? It’s not just the materials—though let’s be honest, mother-of-pearl feels like moonlight made tactile. It’s the intention.
Opera glasses are about pause. About wanting to see—not just look. They elevate not the spectacle, but the act of witnessing. That, to me, is the definition of Happily Ever Always™: living in a way that allows the ordinary to take on ceremony.
Design That Dazzles Quietly
They now sit not in a drawer, but on display—a glimmering fragment of old-world charm among the more modern lines of my living room. Their soft luster plays off the marble-topped console beneath them; they catch the morning light like a prism.
Guests often ask about them. “Do you use those?” someone will say, half-laughing. “Only all the time,” I reply—if not with my eyes, then certainly with my imagination. Because like so many of My Favorite Things, these glasses are a mood-setter, a character in the room, a whisper of a more ceremonial age. They don’t have to do anything to justify their place in my life. Their very presence elevates the everyday.
A Ritual in the Palm of My Hand
The glasses, likely from the early 20th century, are surprisingly weighty for their size—cool brass beneath the iridescent veneer. When I cradle them, I think of how many hands have held them before mine. A woman in gloves, perhaps, lifting them to her eyes just as the overture begins. A child secretly borrowing them during intermission, mimicking the grown-ups. A keepsake passed quietly from one generation to the next.
For me, they conjure a different kind of theater: the everyday drama of real estate. Peering through them feels like a reminder to see the world with greater clarity, to zoom in on what matters—a pristine cornice, a family’s body language during a showing, a buyer’s hesitation when crossing the threshold. As with the opera, much of life’s emotion lives in the subtext.
Design Lessons from the Opera Glasses
- Romance the Everyday. Even a utilitarian object can—and should—be a little poetic.
- Preserve Ritual. Whether it’s Sunday brunch, Tuesday’s flowers, or opening night at the symphony, honor the moments that slow you down.
- Buy for Emotion. I didn’t need them. But I needed what they meant: the continuity of grace
A View Worth Keeping
We live in a culture that moves fast and values novelty. But these glasses remind me that not everything worth keeping is practical, and not everything practical is worth keeping. They reward stillness, ceremony, pause.
They’ve taught me to begin the day with composure. To notice what deserves a closer look. And to remember that life, like theater, is best appreciated when we take our seat, dim the lights, and look closely—really closely—at what’s before us. When you live Happily Ever Always™, the best view isn’t always from the front row. Sometimes it’s right there, resting in your palm.
Your Turn
What’s your version of the opera glasses? A lipstick shade passed down from a mother? A valet box your grandfather used? A locket, a letter opener, a monogrammed handkerchief? Whatever it is, place it where you’ll see it. Let it remind you: a life lived intentionally is a life well-framed. Because in this story we’re writing—this Happily Ever Always™ of ours—it’s not the newest things that shimmer most. Sometimes, it’s the ones that knew you back when.