Remember reading an article in The Atlantic a while back that tackled this exact thing. It argued that physical objects, especially collectibles, serve as tangible triggers for episodic memory. Your Swamp Thing story perfectly illustrates that, where the beat-up cover and smell of old paper unlock a whole narrative. Cataloging then becomes less about condition grades and more about curating your own autobiography, panel by panel. (I've definitely spent more time reminiscing over a cheap book than admiring a mint key issue.) That process of confrontation, as you called it, is where the real collection's value lies, not in any price guide.