The Real Mark of Value
- Kim Chilton Griffith
- 6 days ago
- 3 min read
One of the most confusing things about taste is how often it gets mistaken for price.
We’re surrounded by expensive things — homes, cars, clothing, hotels, restaurants, objects — yet so many of them still feel oddly temporary. They impress quickly, photograph well, and then quietly lose their hold. A few months later, they’ve been rethought, re-evaluated, or quietly forgotten.
That’s usually the moment it becomes clear that expensive and valuable are not the same thing.
Value shows up quietly, in ways that don’t always announce themselves.
In a home, for instance, value has very little to do with how new or impressive something looks. It has everything to do with how a space supports real life. Does the lighting feel flattering both at night and during the day? Do you naturally gather in certain rooms because they feel good to be in — or do you find yourself drifting elsewhere? Are there areas that quietly work harder for you — storage that simplifies routines, seating that invites people to stay, a layout that flows without effort?
Homes that hold their value emotionally don’t ask to be constantly adjusted. They don’t need to be restyled every season to feel relevant. They feel considered from the inside out.
Clothing reveals this difference just as clearly. Expensive pieces often make a strong first impression, but valuable ones are the pieces you keep reaching for once the novelty wears off. The jacket that works with more than you expected. The shoes that don’t require planning. The tailored look you feel good in at noon and still like at dinner.
Over time, value shows up in fit, fabric, and ease — not in trend cycles or labels. The pieces that last are the ones that feel like an extension of you, not something that feels forced.
The same distinction shows up in travel and experiences. Some places make a strong impression while you’re there — big hotels, famous streets, the places everyone says you should see — but they don’t always leave much behind once you’re home.
What tends to stay are the smaller, more personal moments. The café you keep thinking about weeks later. The way a city felt at a certain hour of the day. A conversation, a walk, or a detail that somehow captured the spirit of the place better than any plan.
It isn’t about how much you did. It’s about what stayed.
The excursions that feel meaningful are usually the ones that let you follow what genuinely interests you — the food, the culture, the rhythm — rather than just moving from one “should-see” to the next. That’s what turns a destination into an experience that actually belongs to you.
The same thing shows up in smaller cultural moments, too. A glass of wine poured just right — the right vintage, in the right glass, at the right moment, with the right company. A museum visit that quietly shifts how you see something familiar. A restaurant you return to because it consistently gets the details right. These aren’t loud experiences, but they’re the ones that linger. They’re the moments that hold their value long after they’re over.
What separates expensive from valuable is how much something depends on novelty.
Expensive things often need to be replaced, updated, or talked about to stay interesting. Valuable things tend to deepen with familiarity. You notice new details. You grow into them. They become part of how you live, rather than something you have to think about.
Once you start seeing that difference, choices become clearer. You become less interested in what makes a quick impact and more drawn to what quietly earns your loyalty. You stop asking whether something is impressive and start noticing whether it’s still working months — or years — later.
That’s where authentic taste shows up — not in what costs the most, but in what continues to feel right when everything else has moved on.
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