The Joy of Guessing

 

There’s a particular kind of thrill that comes with vintage—one that has nothing to do with trend, or profit, or even provenance.

It’s the thrill of not knowing.

Not fully, anyway.

You hold an object in your hands—a hand-painted plate, a faded book, a piece of beadwork with the fringe slightly askew—and you wonder. Who made it? Where has it been? What stories does it carry, silent and stubborn, refusing to be fully told?

You make guesses. You notice the details. You trust the weight of the thing, the craftsmanship, the way it feels right even if you can’t name why. You don’t always get the answers. But the guessing? That’s part of the magic.

These days, we’re surrounded by tools that promise instant certainty. A scanned photo, a keyword search, a database of marks. Useful, yes. But sometimes the magic lies in the unknowing. In the moment before the facts arrive. In the wonder.

Some pieces never reveal their secrets. That’s OK. They don’t need to. They’re still beautiful, still worthy. Still waiting to be chosen again.

In a world obsessed with clarity and speed, I prefer the joy of guessing. An educated guess, that is.
And maybe you do, too.