ARCHITECTURE OF TASTE

An old word makeover

Taste. It’s a word that we used to rarely use, and yet now, it seems to be everywhere. Suddenly, it’s an “IT” word, the word of the moment, that sums up the human quality that will distinguish us, even save us, from AI.

Taste’s reemergence as a popular word makes me happy, but not because it’s a trend. I’ve long admired the notion of taste despite its sometimes old-fashioned connotations.

The word fascinates me because it singularly captures the meaning (and my obsession) with how humans filter and see the world. While words go in and out of vogue, and the perception of them can change, I’m just glad that taste has been dusted off and is back; It sums up such an interesting expression of the human experience.

Governors govern. Governors are also operating systems that regulate performance in all sorts of things. Combined, taste is our very own human governor. It’s our private curation system that regulates several of our states, perception being a primary one.

Taste is what runs in the background quietly informing how we perceive things, shaping what we elevate, dismiss and ultimately define as taste. This instinct directs our choices in almost everything—what we read, wear, build, and believe. It’s both a mirror into ourselves and a compass. Our tastes reflect who we are, but as we evolve, taste directs who we become too.

Meet big D. The catalyst of taste, discernment. It’s the mechanism, the left/right, yes/no calculation that processes information and builds our identity that feeds our thoughts, choices and actions. Once decided this becomes part of us, part of our authenticity. It’s one of the most remarkable aspects about humans: our selection system, our taste, cannot be replicated. It’s wholly unique to each of us. We are singular selves. Just ones. This idiosyncratic and deeply personal quality of human taste is one of the last, great differentiators that makes us irreplicable.

Learn Thy Taste and Thy Science

The most important thing to know about taste is that it’s available to all of us. It’s within reach if we want it. It starts with getting to know yourself — for good reason.

Neuroscientists have found that when we use our taste, or make aesthetic judgments, whether we’re admiring a painting, evaluating a face, or even responding to a piece of music, the brain activates the orbitofrontal cortex, a region tied to reward and valuation. Beauty isn’t just “in the eye of the beholder”; it’s computed in the circuitry of our brains. Even more striking, recent MRI studies show that aesthetic preference recruits the default-mode network — the very system associated with self and identity. In other words, when we say “this is my taste,” we’re not being metaphorical. Taste is a neural signature of selfhood. That takes knowing yourself to a whole new level.

Philosophers understood this centuries ago. David Hume described taste as the ability to discern subtle differences, to cultivate refined judgment. Pierre Bourdieu later argued that taste serves as a kind of cultural capital, signaling not just preference, but belonging. Modern science confirms what early thinkers intuited: taste is never neutral. It’s identity in motion, constantly reinforced by what we accept or reject.

As you develop your taste, you’ll notice change. It may feel inconsistent at first shifting, expanding, even contradicting itself at times, until you begin to recognize a steadier sense of yourself. And even then, if you’re really doing the work of growing, your taste will keep evolving.

Taste is central to honoring ourselves and building confidence. It’s more than a regulator of preferences — it’s a neurological and emotional filter that gives coherence to our lives. The better we understand our preferences, the more aligned we are with our true selves. Fascinating stuff, right?

Before taste becomes an outward expression in art or music, style, or home — even in our relationships — it must first be cultivated.

The source of taste is you; it’s me; and it’s home, too. What becomes us, becomes our environments as well. Taste doesn’t emerge in a vacuum. Roger Barker’s behavior-setting theory showed that the environments we grow up in shape predictable patterns of behavior. We live according to the rooms, layouts, and cues around us. By extension, they also sculpt what feels natural or right to us. The spareness of a 70’s modernist living room, or the music and books your parents loved, are early imprints that form the baseline of a sensory compass we call taste. Later in life, we edit, refine, or even rebel against those imprints, but the coding begins early.

That’s why taste evolves. As we’re exposed to more — through travel, education, work, or simply moving from one home to the next — our internal governor becomes more nuanced. What once felt alien can become beloved; what once felt aspirational can feel overblown, or eventually begin to fit. Your taste remembers what felt grounding or enlivening and seeks more of it in adulthood — shaping your preferences in design, rituals, even the homes you choose.

Personal environment preference is real. Studies show that when our surroundings are consistent with our identity and taste — when they feel congruent — the psychological outcomes, like stronger restoration and greater productivity, improve. Taste is what defines your preference in that equation.

BEFORE AND AFTER

I’ve seen this firsthand. A client who loved design insisted that her first home include old master drawings and antiques — a formal, classical mix she thought she wanted. The end result was beautiful, but soon after moving in, she admitted she didn’t feel comfortable in it. Nor did her husband. She admired the beauty of the pieces, but she didn’t feel at home. The second time around, we loosened the formality, mixing periods, vintage, and new, in a way that still gave her sophistication but also ease. This time, the home felt like hers.

You must align your environment to your identity. Otherwise, no amount of beauty can make it feel like home.

There’s a lot of confusion about taste and style. Here’s what they each really mean: Taste, yes, is that internal curation system informed by your upbringing and exposure to life; it’s the source. It informs the decisions you make about aesthetic judgements.

Style is the composite. The combination of all those inputs and outputs, and how you convey them to the world. It’s you in your most expressive form.

Taste is our operating system, and style is the conveyor belt that rolls out the version we want the world to see. Which means our taste in clothing, accessories, even grooming isn’t cosmetic, it’s communicative.

This is why taste matters to style — and why both matter more than trends. Trends are external; taste is internal. Style is where the two meet. A wardrobe chosen with taste has coherence. It says, “This is who I am,” without effort or explanation. And when aligned with style, it changes not only how others see you, but how you see yourself.

I always remind clients: style isn’t about having more things; it’s about having the right things — the pieces that reflect your taste so that you, your home, and your world are the most authentic reflections of you.

We often think relationships form around values or circumstances, but research shows that shared taste is one of the strongest predictors of friendship and attraction. Teenagers who like the same music are more likely to become friends. Couples who connect over art, food, or humor tend to sustain that bond over time. Even scent plays a role — studies suggest we’re drawn to partners whose natural chemistry feels “right” to us.

I’ve seen this in my own life and in clients’ homes: the books on the shelves, the art on the walls, the music playing at dinner — these aren’t just personal choices, they’re signals about who we are, and for those who share similar aesthetic values, they open the door to connection.

The paradox is that taste can both bond us and challenge us. We’re comforted when someone shares our taste — it feels like recognition. But sometimes we grow most from people whose taste is different, who stretch us in ways we wouldn’t choose on our own. Either way, taste is at the center of how we find and keep our people.

I’ve covered everything but the obvious. Taste begins in the most literal way — on the tongue. Our bodies recognize five core tastes: sweet, salty, sour, bitter, and umami. Each carries a message. Sweet signals energy, salty means minerals, umami points to protein. Sour can warn of spoilage, and bitter often flags toxins. That immediate recoil you feel when something tastes “off” is your body’s first line of defense.

Sometimes this protective instinct shows up in surprising ways. Pregnant women often develop sudden aversions, a biological safeguard for the fetus. People with allergies or sensitivities sometimes report that food begins to taste unpleasant before they connect the dots physically. Taste is more than preference — it’s a built-in wellness mechanism.

But it doesn’t stop at the tongue. The food we choose shapes energy, inflammation, mood, even longevity. And the same principle applies to our larger sensory diet — the light, color, sound, and texture we surround ourselves with every day. Studies show that a short walk in green space lowers cortisol, while harsh evening light delays melatonin and disrupts sleep. What we ingest through our senses impacts the nervous system as much as what we eat.

That’s why taste is so central to wellness. It decides what gets in. It filters our inputs — whether it’s food, art, music, or the glow of a lamp — and those inputs, in turn, shape how our bodies function. When our tastes align with what nourishes us, we don’t just feel better, we live better.

We’re living in a moment when machines can replicate almost anything — images, words, even music. But what they still can’t replicate is discernment and that’s your taste. AI can generate a million options, but it can’t decide which one belongs to you.

That’s where taste becomes the ultimate human superpower. Studiesshow when it comes to familiar images or music, people share broad agreement. But at the edges of novelty, the new and the unexpected, our preferences become highly individual. This is where AI can’t compete and human taste wins.

Even more telling, research shows we find things more appealing when they feel personally relevant. That’s the missing link: context. Taste carries memory, identity, and experience — the layers that make a choice more than just a choice.

I’ve long believed taste would matter more, not less, as technologies emerge. In fact, I once named a platform after this very premise: TĀST, an acronym for Touch Assisted Shopping (or Sharing) Technology. The idea was simple: to put taste at the center of how we select and share, based on the idea that it would become the differentiator.

AND TASTE

Taste shapes so much about us…how we know ourselves, how we show our style, design our homes, who we connect with, and even how healthy we feel. And in an era when almost everything can be copied, taste remains inimitable.

To learn your taste: develop it and trust the instinct that guides you toward it. That’s living in true alignment. To refine it is to evolve. And to evolve is to grow. That’s real taste — the confidence of knowing what you like and love, and building your world around it.