Exploring Personal "Taste" in a Copy-and-Paste Era

Toteme Coat my mother commented on

Dear Reader,

Despite sharing high-end designer pieces on the Internet, I’ll have you know: I wasn’t raised by a mother who prioritized luxury.

Yet, she has always held distinct taste.

My mother is the type to collect empty yogurt cups for different uses (usually, an art project). Growing up, she made our Halloween costumes, never daring to overspend a dime on a one-time-use occasion. My father gifted her a diamond Rolex, but I cannot recall one occasion of it on her wrist.

My mother is resourceful, frugal, a bit eclectic. She’s also particular.

Her vignettes in her home are some of my favorite, mixing random thrifted nicknacks in unusual places. She prefers an ultra-skinny wand in her waterproof mascara tube, and she often points out the intricate details of my garments (for example, the pocket stitching of my wool Toteme coat).

She has a defined sense for what she likes, and she uses discernment to select the things in the world that fit within her confined likings.

To me, that is “taste” — knowing who you are, what you like, and using discernment to collect pieces in the world that resonate with you.

It’s also knowing what you don’t like.

My mother is not easily swayed by trends. Right now, for example, she claims the “oversized” movement is unflattering.

She has told me before, “Megan, you dress like you are 300 lbs.”

Never am I offended; I fully appreciate the way she sees the world.

In all fairness, what she sees isn’t “wrong” (probably, a sumo wrestler could fit comfortably into my boxy sweaters). It isn’t “right” either, though.

Which begs the question: is there a “right” and a “wrong” when it comes to personal taste, anyway?

To me, the answer is no — but I think we get confused, especially in today’s world of social media when are fed the same algorithms, follow the same influencers, and consume the same trends.

It seems more now than ever, we are led to believe there is a “right” answer when it comes to taste.

Maybe we feel pressure to conform. Maybe we don’t want to be judged as having “bad taste” by the crowd.

Maybe we assume taste is an external thing (that is objective) when really, taste is more an internal thing (that is subjective).

Maybe taste is more akin to an intuitive knowing; a trusted feeling.

For example, I remember a specific time in high school during Humanities class, when our teacher, Mr. Taylor, introduced us to classical music, including Claire de Lune by Debussy.

Instantly, I was enamored by this song; the beauty, the peace it brought me. Since then, the piece has carried me through intimate moments of my life, including when I walked down the aisle at our wedding.

I am not sure if anyone in the classroom remembers that moment, that song, the way I do. Maybe they do, maybe they don’t — it doesn’t really matter to me, either way.

What matters is the way the song struck me, how it has stayed with me, how it connects to me in a special way. Whether the other students liked it or not — I could care less.

I’d like to think that’s how I approach other realms of taste in my life: my home, my closet, my food and wine, etc.

I want to feel connected to “the thing” without any regard for what others think of it.

For example, the author in this podcast talked about how he goes to museums and looks only at the art — not it’s year, nor it’s artist. He sits with the piece itself before he considers any external validation of it.

Sometimes, I do a similar mini exercise with myself when I shop online, where I scroll through merchandise without looking at price-points or brand names.

It is interesting to see what catches my eye.

I’ll admit, my eye often lands on the same brands with expensive tags—but I also discover new labels with affordable price-points.

Personally, I don’t want the label or price of a piece to be the benchmark of whether I like it or not.

I also don’t want to assume that a loaded wallet insinuates refined taste.

Money doesn’t guarantee taste; it just makes the process of buying beauty easier.

In some sense, I wonder if having more disposable income could make it easier to fall into the “copy-and-paste” arena with the ability to afford labels and trends without much consideration for how it reflects one’s true taste.

It’s easier to be frivolous, maybe.

Then again, one could argue all this “taste” talk is frivolous to begin with. Frivolous, pretentious, even meaningless.

Respectfully, I disagree.

Defining your “taste” isn’t a frivolous, pretentious, or meaningless venture.

Maybe it was during medieval times, when only wealthy Aristocrats could enjoy artful experiences and have the leisure to contemplate the notion of taste — but that’s not the case today.

In 2024 America, most of us can watch films from our home, explore museums and discover new music, choose to buy from literally dozens (if not hundreds) of makers for something as small as Christmas stockings or dog food bowls.

Most of us have the time, exposure, and privilege to define our taste, and doing so is not a meaningless endeavor.

Actually, defining my personal taste feels more meaningful now than ever before.

Maybe it’s because I am climbing into my mid-30’s, collecting belongings that I will pass down to my daughters.

Or maybe it’s because I am the so-called “influencer” that is part of the algorithms that are fed to my readers.

Or maybe it’s because, when I find deeper connection to my personal taste, I experience a gentle high that almost makes the “thing” I enjoy (a song, a handbag, a glass of wine) less important than the feeling it ignites within me.

Or maybe it’s because, when I see others—like my mother—live authentically to their personal taste, I feel refreshed and inspired.

Maybe there’s more beauty and integrity when we, as a collective, share our uniqueness with the world.

In that sense, maybe it is our responsibility— a selfless act—to share our taste with the world.

What do you think?