The Car, the Candidate, and the Compass: Do Our Values Drive Every Choice?

The other day, I mentioned to someone, let’s call him the “blue-eyed guy”, that I liked Mercedes. He cringed. Not at the brand itself, but at the idea that saying I liked it somehow revealed something about me, about my values. He suggested that every preference, every choice, is a reflection of who we are. And suddenly, I was forced to ask myself: is that really true?

At first, it sounded absurd. A car is a car. A preference is just a preference. I liked the sleek design, the sound of the engine, maybe even the prestige. How could liking a car reveal my moral or philosophical compass? Surely some things exist outside the realm of values.

But then I caught myself thinking: why do I like the sleek design? Why do I like the sound of the engine? Perhaps I’m drawn to qualities that mirror traits I admire or aspire to like precision, elegance, reliability. Even if unconsciously, I’m projecting an image of the kind of person I want to be. Liking a car might not be a moral statement, but maybe it is a subtle statement about identity. And yet, the skeptic in me pushes back. Isn’t it overreach to assign meaning to something as mundane as a car? Perhaps I’m just responding to aesthetics, comfort, or sheer practicality. Sometimes, preference is situational like the car fits my budget, the interior is spacious, the color matches my taste. Not every liking has a moral or philosophical anchor. 

Life is full of decisions shaped by convenience, habit, and circumstance.

But even there, it’s hard to deny that choices are rarely value-free. When I pick a car, I unconsciously weigh safety, environmental impact, and status, all of which reflect principles I care about, whether I realize it or not. Preferring safety suggests I value protection; preferring eco-friendliness suggests I value responsibility; preferring status signals I value recognition. Every preference, it seems, carries an echo of something deeper. Then again, maybe I’m reading too much into it. Perhaps we act first and justify later. Perhaps I like Mercedes, and only afterward tell myself it reflects sophistication or aspiration. Behavioral psychologists call this post-hoc rationalization: humans are meaning-making creatures. In that case, liking a car doesn’t reveal values; it creates them.

The tension between these perspectives mirrors what we see in politics. People often claim they vote pragmatically, for policies that serve their self-interest. And yet, their choices often contradict those interests, reflecting loyalty, fairness, or other moral intuitions. Similarly, liking a brand or style may not be purely practical; it may signal belonging, aspiration, or identity. But social conditioning, advertising, and peer influence also complicate the notion that preference equals principle. Maybe that’s the essence of it: preferences live in a gray zone between circumstance and conviction, between desire and reflection. Not every liking is a moral manifesto, but very few exist entirely outside the contours of values. Even the most mundane choice like the coffee we drink, the car we admire, the political candidate we support are all shaded by taste, identity, and aspiration. Our values don’t dictate every move, but they shape the terrain in which choices feel “right” or appealing.

So yes, liking a Mercedes might reveal something about me, or maybe it doesn’t. Perhaps it’s both. The point isn’t to reduce every preference to a moral signpost, but to notice the subtle fingerprints values leave behind. The next time I declare a liking, I’ll pause. Is it aesthetics? Habit? Aspiration? All of the above? And maybe, in asking that question, I learn more about who I am, or who I think I am... than I ever would from any casual conversation.

In the end, the lesson isn’t about Mercedes, or cars, or even taste. It’s about awareness. Every choice sits somewhere between practicality and principle. Sometimes our preferences are shaped by circumstance, sometimes by values, and often by a mix of both. And recognizing that tension that we are at once pragmatic, aspirational, and meaning-seeking beings might be the only way to understand why we like what we like.