Good Taste Is a Form of Self-Trust
Most mornings I wake at 5:55. I do the thing we all know we’re not supposed to do. I reach for my phone, open Instagram, and scroll while my eyes adjust and the foggy haze lifts. I know the better version of this morning involves meditation, stretching, silence. But this is the bad habit I haven’t fully broken, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise.
Lately, what I’ve found there has been disheartening. A sea of sameness. Millions of accounts, very little point of view. With the tidal wave of Amazon fashion hauls and affiliate links to shop, the voices and the looks have become homogenized. Everyone is styled the same way, saying the same things, pointing at the same products with the same urgency. It’s content, technically. But it’s not perspective.
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So I spent part of this past weekend doing something deliberate. I started reshaping my algorithm. Unfollowing the noise. Searching for editors, creative directors, makers, people doing something interesting or saying something provocative or simply showing up different. It matters more than we think, what we let into our feed before we’ve even had coffee.
I built a list. Collaborators I want to reach. Designers, restaurateurs, community builders, culture shapers. The people whose work makes me lean in. The ones I want to share a glass of wine with because I know there are belly laughs in my future with them. The people whose spaces and stories I want to peek into, not because they’re performing for an audience, but because they’re building something that comes from somewhere real.
These are the people I need to connect with so I can bring their stories to you. That’s the work. That’s what Refine is for.
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Here’s what I’ve noticed about the people who are actually following their passion and their purpose: they have a perspective. They have taste. Not the kind of taste that requires a trust fund or the right zip code. Not the version of taste that gets wielded as a weapon at dinner parties. I’m talking about something quieter than that.
Good taste is self-trust. Confidence is self-trust.
It’s the willingness to choose something because it resonates with you, not because it’s trending. It’s noticing what you’re drawn to and honoring that instead of second-guessing it. It’s proof that you don’t need to fit in. That you’d rather stand out, even quietly.
You can see this kind of self-trust in the way people choose their collaborators, their spaces, and even their silences. The person who curates a dinner party with intention. The designer who leaves something out instead of adding more. The founder who says no to the partnership that doesn’t feel right, even when the numbers make sense. These are all acts of taste. They are acts of confience. And they’re all acts of trust.
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I think we’ve been taught that taste is about accumulation. The right clothes, the right restaurants, the being "in-the-know", the right references dropped at the right time. But the people I’m most drawn to aren’t collecting things. They’re paying attention. They’ve learned to notice what resonates, what lasts, and what truly deserves their energy. And they’ve given themselves permission to choose accordingly.
That’s the version of taste I want to celebrate. The version that doesn’t perform. The version that trusts itself enough to be specific, to be selective, and to be still when the world is loud.
If you’re building something with that kind of intention, I want to know about it. Those are the rooms I’m looking for; that’s the room I’m building.
Ali
