The Dangerous Luxury of Taste
Day 111 – March 14, 2026
I think taste is one of the most underrated forms of intelligence.
Not just aesthetic taste, though obviously yes, I do believe a bad font says something spiritually concerning about a person. I mean taste in the larger sense. Taste in people. Taste in atmosphere. Taste in what belongs near your life and what absolutely does not.
That kind of taste.
And the more I’ve lived, the more I’ve realized it’s not shallow at all. It’s discernment with lipstick on.
It’s knowing when something is beautiful and when it is merely expensive. When something is soft and when it is spineless. When someone is charming and when they are simply practiced. When an energy is intriguing and when it’s just familiar enough to be mistaken for chemistry by people who have not yet done enough emotional excavation.
Taste protects you. That’s what I’ve been circling today.
Because for a long time, I think I treated taste like decoration. Something extra. Something fun. Something girly in the way the world dismisses girly things when it doesn’t understand how much intelligence is hiding inside them. But now? Now I think taste might be one of the ways a woman saves her own life.
Not dramatically. Quietly.
Taste is the reason you leave early. Taste is the reason you don’t answer that message. Taste is the reason you stop mistaking chaos for excitement. Taste is the reason you recognize when someone’s presence makes your inner world feel cheaper instead of clearer.
That matters. Especially now.
Because after everything I’ve been through, I am much less interested in things that merely glitter and much more interested in things that hold. People who hold. Rooms that hold. Moments that hold. Love that holds. A life that holds.
That is taste too.
And maybe that’s part of what Wild Poise actually is at its core. Not just style. Not just wit. Not just edge. Taste. The emotional, aesthetic, instinctive intelligence to know what is worth your softness and what is not worth your glance.
That kind of knowing changes a woman.
She stops auditioning herself. She stops negotiating with what feels wrong. She stops treating access like a group project.
Roger, for his part, has terrible taste in snacks and impeccable taste in people, which is to say he remains obsessed with me and suspicious of the mailman. Respect.
There is something almost luxurious about becoming more selective. Not because you think you’re above anything. Because you finally understand the value of your own life. Your own peace. Your own atmosphere. Your own nervous system. Your own beauty. Your own time.
That is not arrogance. That is cultivation.
And I think I’m finally letting myself have that. Not just survive. Not just endure. Curate. Refine. Choose. Notice what feels cheap. Notice what feels true. Notice what leaves me dimmer and what leaves me more myself.
That feels like a dangerous luxury.
The kind I deserve.
Chaos in one hand. Grace in the other.
And a woman with better taste in what touches her life
