The Beauty of Low Brow.

Some people chase refinement like it’s the finish line of life — the right wine, the right cut of denim, the BMW in the driveway as a rolling badge of achievement. And sure, all that can be nice. But the older I get, the more I think the real soul food comes from the low brow stuff. The stuff you don’t have to overthink.

It’s easy to laugh at it. That’s kind of the point. Punk music, for example, was never meant to be conservatory-level technical wizardry. You don’t need to sweep-pick arpeggios to bash out three chords at 180 BPM while yelling about rent prices and political corruption. It’s fun, it’s ugly, and if you’re doing it right, it’s almost a little stupid. But that “stupid” is what makes it brilliant — you’re not auditioning for the Philharmonic, you’re making noise that means something to you and maybe to the sweaty crowd right in front of you.

Low brow things keep you grounded in that same way. A roadside diner with sticky menus. A paperback book with a lurid painted cover. A Saturday morning cartoon that’s objectively terrible but makes you grin. They remind you that not everything worth loving has to be dressed in sophistication.

There’s a humility in liking something you can’t possibly brag about at a networking event. No one cares that you once ate the best gas station burrito of your life. There’s no Instagram flex in wearing the same beat-up jacket you’ve had for a decade. In a world where people polish their image like a hood ornament and measure self-worth in leather interiors, being genuinely happy with a $5 thrift store find is practically a superpower.

So yeah — keep the opera tickets if you want, and sure, enjoy the BMW. But don’t forget to put on the scratched Ramones record once in a while. Order the diner coffee. Wear the T-shirt you bought at a truck stop. Because high culture might make you feel elevated, but low brow will keep you human.