What Happens When You Get Rich and Let Technology Run Your Life?

I do not wake up to an alarm. That sounds unnecessarily stressful. My bedroom simply decides that I have had enough sleep. At 8:30 every morning, the glass ceiling above my bed slowly changes from midnight black to a warm morning glow. The curtains open by themselves. The temperature rises by exactly two degrees. Somewhere behind the walls, the air purifier changes its setting because apparently I breathe differently before breakfast.

My mattress has already analysed my sleep. Apparently, I slept for seven hours and 42 minutes, had excellent deep sleep and spent 11 minutes tossing around at 3:14 am. I have no idea why. I was asleep. My AI assistant knows, though. And it knows everything.

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I stretch, and the bedroom speakers quietly play whatever music the system thinks I will tolerate this morning. I tell it to stop. It stops. I tell it to make coffee. It does. I do not own a coffee machine, by the way. I own a coffee system. There is a difference when you have enough money.

The machine grinds beans selected according to my taste, adjusts the water temperature and prepares the coffee before I have even left the bed. My humanoid assistant, Alfred, walks in carrying it. Yes, I named the robot Alfred. No, he does not wear a suit.

Breakfast is prepared by machines I barely understand

By 9 am, my kitchen is already working. The refrigerator has checked what I have eaten recently, what I am likely to want today and what I have run out of. It ordered everything overnight. I did not approve the order. And I stopped doing that years ago.

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A robotic arm prepares breakfast while an AI nutrition system quietly complains that I have had too much sugar this week. I ignore it.

The eggs are served on a plate that costs more than some people’s monthly rent. I eat them while looking out at my garden. I call it a garden. It is technically 1.5 acres of landscaped technology. The sprinklers adjust themselves according to soil moisture. Cameras monitor the plants. Drones inspect the trees. A robotic mower cuts the grass without being asked.

There is even a small autonomous robot whose only job is to collect leaves. I have never seen it do anything. I assume it is working.

My car does not need me

At around 10:30, I decide to leave the house. My electric SUV is already waiting. The doors unlock when I approach. The seat adjusts itself. The car knows where I am going because my calendar knows where I am going. I sit down. That is my contribution to driving. The car takes over.

It communicates with traffic systems, studies road conditions and changes the route before I even notice the traffic. I spend the journey watching a giant screen embedded across the dashboard. Sometimes I work. Sometimes I watch Formula 1.

Sometimes I stare out of the window and pretend I am the kind of person who still enjoys driving. The city outside is running on technology too.

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Traffic lights are adjusting themselves. Cameras are monitoring congestion. Charging stations are managing energy demand. Delivery robots are moving around pavements. Autonomous vehicles are quietly negotiating roads with each other. I barely notice any of it. When you have enough technology around you, the impossible becomes background noise.

I have robots for things I could easily do myself

I stop at my private office. I say “office”, but that makes it sound as if I have colleagues sitting around waiting for me. I don’t. Most of the building is automated. An AI system handles scheduling. Another manages finances. Another monitors security. Another analyses business data. My human staff mainly tell the machines what I want.

I have three mini robots. One can carry things. One handles basic maintenance and the third one is still being trained. Yesterday, I asked it to bring me water. It brought me a flower. We are still working on that.

I also have a digital twin of my home. It is basically a virtual copy of the entire property that lets me monitor energy consumption, security, air quality, appliances and anything else I have forgotten exists. The system can even predict when something is about to break. That feels less like luxury and more like being watched by an extremely wealthy ghost.

Lunch arrives before I decide what I want

At 1 pm, I get hungry. I order nothing. My AI assistant has already suggested lunch based on what I have eaten during the week. A private chef prepares it. The Chef is human, for now. I eat on the terrace while a delivery drone drops off.

The afternoon gets unnecessarily futuristic

At 3 pm, I have nothing scheduled. This is one of my favourite benefits of being rich. I have nothing to do. So, I ask my AI assistant what I should do. It suggests a yacht trip around Monaco and watching the Monaco race live. I say no.

It suggests flying to Dubai for dinner. I say no.

It suggests a virtual reality experience. Fine. Twenty minutes later, I am standing in a digital recreation of the Moon. My room has disappeared. My body is being tracked by sensors while the system builds an immersive environment around me. It is impressive. I get bored after seven minutes.

So I take off the headset. Alfred is standing there. He asks if I need anything. I ask him to make tea. This is apparently what the future has achieved. Putting a robot in front of me so I do not have to walk to the kitchen.

My house knows when I am coming home

By evening, I decide to go home. Technically, I am already home. I mean the main house. The car knows. The house knows. The security system knows. By the time I reach the driveway, the lights are already on. The curtains have adjusted. The air conditioning has changed the temperature. The bath is filling.

I walk into my bedroom. The television turns on. I tell it to stop. It stops. I lie down. The mattress adjusts. The lights dim. My phone charges without a cable. The window darkens automatically. Outside, security drones patrol the property.

And then I remember how ordinary all of this has become

This is the part where I am supposed to tell you that technology has changed my life. It hasn’t. It has replaced it. There is a difference. I no longer remember the last time I manually adjusted the temperature, checked whether I had groceries, searched for a route, switched off the lights or even wondered whether I had locked the front door.

Machines do it. AI does it. Robots do it. Cloud servers remember it. Data centres keep it running. And I simply exist somewhere in the middle of all of it, occasionally giving instructions to machines that are becoming better at anticipating them.

It is wonderfully convenient. It is also slightly ridiculous. I have a humanoid robot that can walk around my house, but I rarely walk around my own house. I have an autonomous car, but I barely look at the road.

I have an intelligent kitchen, but I do not know how half of it works. I have a house that can practically think for itself, yet I spend an embarrassing amount of time asking an AI what I should do next.

And perhaps that is the strange thing about having everything. You can remove almost every inconvenience from life. Eventually, you might remove some of the living too.

Would I actually want this life?

Now take away the mansion. Take away the humanoids. Take away the autonomous SUV, private robotics lab, smart mattress, AI chef and the house that knows when you are coming home. The technology is still there.

Your phone wakes you up. Your smartwatch tracks your sleep. Your smart speaker tells you the weather. Your fridge tells you that you are out of milk. Your navigation app finds the fastest route. Your streaming service knows what you want to watch before you do. Your AI assistant writes, plans, searches and remembers. You may not have a robot carrying your breakfast. But technology is already carrying pieces of your life.

And that is what makes the ultra-rich version of this lifestyle interesting. It is not really about having the most expensive gadgets. It is about what happens when convenience becomes so complete that you stop noticing how dependent you have become.

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Maybe I am lucky. Maybe I am spoiled.

Maybe I have simply spent too much money turning every minor inconvenience into a technological problem. I have everything I could possibly want. Everything is automated. Everything is connected. Everything is effortless.

And yet, at the end of the day, I still lie down in the same way everyone else does. No robot can sleep for me. No AI can enjoy a sunset for me. No smart home can tell me whether I actually had a good day. Perhaps that is the one thing money still cannot automate.

And maybe, after surrounding yourself with the best technology money can buy, the real luxury is still being able to switch it all off.