A couple of years ago, I had the opportunity to visit Florence, Italy—a city steeped in history and beauty—in the fall. I was there for a meeting, but one evening, I decided to venture out alone, climbing up to Piazzale Michelangelo to watch the sunset. I had imagined something quiet and contemplative: sitting still, observing, letting the city unfold below me.

That was not what I encountered.

The hill offered a breathtaking panoramic view of Florence: the Duomo rising above red rooftops and low-rise buildings, the Arno River winding through the city, Ponte Vecchio catching the fading light, and the surrounding Tuscan hills stretching into the distance. It was also packed with like-minded tourists, all hoping to catch the sunset. Vendors lined the path, well aware that this spot drew crowds. Instead of solitude, I found myself negotiating space, edging closer to the railing, politely competing for a better view.

It was worth the effort. As the sky shifted from blue to gold, then red and purple, the city below seemed to glow. When the sun began to set, I instinctively pulled out my phone and took a few photos.

I wasn’t alone. Hundreds of people around me did the same. Almost in unison, phones and cameras rose into the air, all trying to capture the same fleeting moment, not just the sunset, but ourselves standing there together, compressed in space, witnessing it. It was a bit of an overwhelming scene when thinking that this probably repeats day after day, with countless sunsets on millions of phones.

Logically, we know that images of sunsets, especially a Florence sunset, are everywhere. They exist in far better resolution online, in guidebooks, and on........

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