Built in 1915 for the Panama-Pacific International Exposition, this Beaux-Arts masterpiece in the Marina District is the kind of thing your city government could never build today — not without a decade of environmental reviews, $400 million in cost overruns, and a public comment period that devolves into a shouting match about font choices on the signage.

And yet there it stands. Rotunda intact. Colonnades still soaring. Ducks still vibing in the lagoon. No admission fee. No app required. No reservations.

What strikes you about the Palace of Fine Arts isn't just the architecture — it's what it does to people. One local photographer recently shared a candid shot of a couple sharing an embrace near the columns, captured completely by chance. "I caught the hug and thought it was beautiful," they wrote, adding wistfully, "I hope to hold someone like this one day." If that doesn't hit you somewhere, check your pulse.

Another San Francisco resident noted they finally caught the Palace on a rare sunny day after countless foggy drive-bys, marveling at how the lighting transformed the entire scene. And that's the thing about this place — it rewards you differently every time. Karl the Fog gives it a moody, romantic weight. Full sun turns it into something out of a Roman postcard.

Here's the fiscal conservative case for loving the Palace of Fine Arts: it's proof that when government builds something truly excellent, it pays dividends for over a century. No recurring subscription fee. No bloated management bureaucracy. Just a structure so good that people keep showing up, generation after generation, to photograph it, fall in love beside it, and remember why San Francisco is worth the astronomical cost of living.

We spend a lot of time in this publication pointing out what's broken. The Palace of Fine Arts isn't broken. Go see it. Bring a camera. Maybe hug someone you love while you're at it.