Measuring Meaning
Earlier this year, the Bay Area hosted a short Bad Bunny concert and an accompanying Super Bowl — America’s annual refresher on Roman numerals.
From everything I saw, the event was a big success. We know this because we have the data to back it up.
The week after the game, San Francisco Mayor, Daniel Lurie posted a compilation of impressive Super Bowl stats. Not passing yards, sacs and number of people hired to be a tree, but hotel stays, tax revenue, transit use, public safety outcomes. These numbers are hugely important, and they tell a story. They help justify public investment, reassure skeptics, and make the case that hosting something this big matters.
But what they don’t tell us is how many times a visitor discovered something they didn’t expect.
How many people stopped at the edge of the Bay, awestruck by the view.
How many wandered into a bakery and learned just how good a pastry could taste.
How many ducked into Chinatown and learned something new about Bruce Lee from a mural on a street corner.
How many reluctantly followed friends only to discover- yes, it turns out, they do love karaoke.
The data tells us how many people came. It tells us how much they spent. It does not tell us what they discovered — about the city, or about themselves.
And it certainly doesn’t help us understand the impact of something more intimate. Like a group of neighbors gathered around a table on a weeknight, making something together.
Both of those moments matter. But not in the same way. And not on the same terms.
At this year’s California Downtown Association conference, Molly Alexander gave a thoughtful presentation on R.O.E. — Return on Emotion — and made a compelling case for measuring impact through joy, trust, and belonging.
It’s a framework that feels especially useful for the kinds of experiences cities too often undervalue.
Market Street Arts, a program of San Francisco’s Mid-Market Foundation, is focused on building a more sustainable arts and culture ecosystem by activating public space and supporting artists, businesses, and residents along the Market Street corridor. As part of that work, Well Crafted brings people together in bars, cafés, and neighborhood gathering spaces for simple craft nights. The turnout is often strong, sometimes filling spaces to capacity. And sure, the host venue probably sells more drinks than it otherwise would on a quiet weeknight.
But that’s not really the point.
The point is that someone exercising creativity and making something with their hands in community. That’s Joy
The point is that a neighborhood starts to feel less anonymous. That’s trust
The point is that you come back the next month and recognize someone — and maybe welcome someone new. That’s belonging.
Not all impact is meant to scale.
Some experiences are designed to draw thousands of people and generate millions of dollars. Others are meant to make a place feel more human, even if only a couple of dozen people show up.
Both matter. But our tools for talking about impact still tend to flatten them into the same language of attendance, spending, and reach.
If we only value what is easiest to count, we risk overlooking the very things that make people want to stay, return, and belong.
The challenge isn’t to abandon data. It’s to get better at telling the fuller story of what makes a place matter.