At $89, my Sony WH-CH720N headphones are like a charming B-movie that knows what it is—solid, dependable, and blessedly low on expectations. I’m content, maybe even grateful. But shelling out $450 for the Sony WH-1000XM6? That’s not just buying headphones—that’s enrolling them in the Ivy League of Audio. For that kind of money, I expect sonic transcendence, noise-cancellation that erases my student debt, and bass so rich it pays taxes.
This is the curse of Pricefectionism—a condition where the higher the sticker, the more unreasonable your expectations become. At four hundred and fifty bucks, I don’t want headphones. I want a personal sound butler whispering hi-res lullabies directly into my cerebral cortex.
Cinemorphosis 
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