The Anthropology of Feeling Priceless

It’s funny, but also not. It’s satire dressed as self-reflection, which, honestly, is half of modern anthropology.

By now, most of us know the story:  earlier this month, thieves actually managed to pull off a heist at the Louvre. Disguised as maintenance workers, they strolled in under fluorescent lights and walked out with a velvet case of royal jewels reportedly worth hundreds of millions. Paris shut down the museum. The director resigned. Police used the word “priceless” so often it almost started to lose meaning. But that’s the thing about the word “priceless.” It’s both a valuation and a confession: it means something is beyond worth, but also that no one can truly measure it.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how cultures decide what’s worth protecting. We encase diamonds in glass, ship mummies across continents, build climate-controlled rooms for oil paintings, and spend millions preserving artifacts once traded for salt, shells, or cows… But when it comes to people, especially ourselves, we often behave as if we’re infinitely replaceable. Somehow, self-worth got left out of the economy. In Anthropology, “value” is never just about price. It’s about meaning, reciprocity, and the invisible systems that tell us who (or what) deserves care. Marcel Mauss wrote that gifts create social bonds through reciprocity; that giving, receiving, and returning are what make us human. When someone treats you like a “priceless gem,” what they’re really doing is affirming your place in that moral economy of care. They see you as something to be safeguarded, not consumed.

So what does it mean when the person we forget to include in that exchange is ourselves? When was the last time you offered yourself something without expecting productivity in return?

Meanwhile, late capitalism has mastered the opposite. We trade attention for validation, labor for belonging. We turn ourselves into products: curated, marketable, efficient. Somewhere along the line, the anthropology of the self turned into brand management. We started mistaking performance for presence. That Louvre heist becomes an almost perfect metaphor. We watched people in reflective vests waltz into one of the most guarded places on earth and take what was supposed to be untouchable. Maybe the real theft isn’t the jewels: it’s how easily we let systems walk away with our sense of worth, all while we keep working security for everyone else’s treasures.

So here’s my small rebellion: to study value by embodying it. To practice self-regard as fieldwork. 

What happens if we treat ourselves the way a curator treats a fragile textile: studied for complexity, handled gently, displayed with intention, shielded from harsh light? What if, instead of constantly proving your worth, you studied the systems that make you forget it? Maybe self-regard isn’t indulgence at all…maybe it’s ethnographic fieldwork on the most intimate culture there is: the self. Because in every society, what’s valued most isn’t always what glitters. Sometimes it’s what’s been handled so lovingly it’s worn thin. Sometimes it’s the thing that survived a thousand years of being overlooked.

So perhaps the real anthropology of this moment isn’t about thieves or museums, but about how easily we forget our own worth until something “priceless” disappears. Maybe the field site isn’t the Louvre - maybe it’s Somewhere between the Louvre and late-night self-doubt, there’s an anthropology of self being treasured, and if we’re paying attention, we can still excavate it.  And just maybe, that means lighting a small metaphorical lamp beside ourselves, like curators do, and whispering: This one’s rare. Handle with care.

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