Along with “actually” and “amazing,” the word “luxury” is so widely used that its meaning has become diluted. The word can be paired with so many others — try “affordable,” “ultimate,” or “condo” — that it can connote vastly different aspects of our culture. But a trip to the dictionary provides some clarity.

The definition of luxury starts with the archaic: “lechery” or “lust.” Which seems a touch judgmental coming from Webster’s unabridged New International Dictionary.

The second definition is “luxuriance, exuberance,” which is considered obsolete. The third entry moves closer to modern usage: “A free indulgence in costly food, dress, furniture, or anything expensive which gratifies the appetites or tastes; also a mode of life characterized by material abundance.”

Ah, yes: sipping unlimited Château Haut-Brion while wearing a Chanel dress and lounging on a Rose Tarlow sofa. Divine. But it gets better.

The fourth definition is split into two parts. The first takes up objects: “Anything that pleases the senses, and is also costly or difficult to obtain; an expensive rarity; as silks, jewels and rare fruits are luxuries.” And the second addresses the idea of service: “Any convenience regarded as an indulgence rather than a necessity.”

That adds up to a Maybach — with an around-the-clock driver.

Not until the fifth definition do we get to the cabanas lining the Beverly Hills Hotel pool: “An experience, esp. of a mental or emotional sort, which is marked by exclusiveness, lack of utility, and usually intense pleasure; as, the luxury of idle hours.”

What do those hours entail? The list of synonyms suggests plenty, some of which should be kept behind closed doors: “voluptuousness, sensuality; richness, elegance; extravagance; pleasure, gratification.”

It’s enough to remind us of that first, archaic definition (“lechery” or “lust”), which in turn is close to the definition of “luxurious”: “Lascivious. Extravagant; excessive or given to excess. Excessively desirous.”

The last two words in that definition go to the heart of the matter. Regardless of what the object, service, or experience is, it becomes a luxury if we desire it — lust after it — with a passion beyond reason. Or, in more common parlance, if we “obsess” over it.

But it’s the allure of that fifth definition — experiences that are exclusive, lack utility, and provide intensepleasure—thatisfarmore pertinent now. Stretches of free time are harder to come by than most material goods. Those idle hours are more precious, more lusted after, than items that were once considered expensive rarities. The “silks, jewels and rare fruits” of the dictionary example can be had just about anywhere. Old Navy sells cashmere. Target sells diamonds. Gristede’s sells pineapple.

Thanks to technology, distribution, and credit cards, costly things that provide pleasure are not necessarily difficult to obtain. The fashion industry is geared toward making you salivate as frequently as possible, and then giving you instant gratification.

Instead, it’s the idea of a mental break from the pace of life that is so attractive. Real estate marketers tap into it with the use of “luxury” to define condominiums. They want to link their building to the idea of an exclusive experience with intense pleasure and idle hours. But in real terms, all that means — at least in New York — is that the building is new. It has expensive finishes, a concierge (or what used to be called a doorman), and a gym.

If having a kitchen with a granite countertop makes you feel you’re living the high life, then the marketing strategy worked. You’ve arrived — in the fifth definition. That’s true even if you’re buying a “luxury” beachfront condo in Rockaway, Queens.

The idea of luxury as relaxation and calm, rather than abundance of costly things, is also in evidence on the cover of House & Garden magazine’s August issue. The words “Easy Luxury” grace the cover, along with a photo of model Carolyn Murphy barefoot in a Badgley Mischka caftan.

That luxury could be thought of as easy — not to mention “affordable” or “everyday” — runs counter to the first four definitions of the word. But nothing on the cover photo would be so hard to obtain as the time to relax, as Ms. Murphy is depicted, in a deep leather armchair.

In fashion, too, selling a lifestyle — of ease, fun, and idle hours — is key to making people like me lust for luxury goods, which also lack utility. What else can a Badgley Mischka caftan be used for but lounging in the summer?

The Brazilian brand Osklen, which just opened a shop in SoHo, taps into this breezy spirit. Designed by Oskar Metsavaht, the line is full of chic dresses, sandals, and bikinis inspired by Ipanema. A photographic essay of the collection — with models cavorting at the beach at sunset and zipping around on scooters while wearing evening clothes — makes it all look completely enviable.

If you buy the flowing dress, flat sandals, and bright green bikini, then you’ve got costly things in abundance. But it takes a few hours of cavorting before you’re living that fifth, and most contemporary, definition of luxury.

pcatton@nysun.com