Let me introduce you to my Skyloong SK61.
It has Gateron Optical switches, a plastic case, and cheap components throughout. It is scratched beyond repair. The feet fell off long ago and were replaced with blobs of hot glue. The USB-C port is loose. The firmware doesn't work on Linux. By any objective measure, it is not a good keyboard.
I love it deeply.
I've done everything to it. The stabilizers are lubed with free Krytox samples. There's a bandaid mod in there. The foam dampening is sourced from various things I found around the house. It looks like a keyboard that was assembled by someone who had never seen a keyboard before but had read about them extensively.
Despite all of this—because of all of this—it was with me through every important career change, through getting married, through countless late nights and early mornings. I've customized the keymap to the point where my fingers know it better than they know anything else. It has become an extension of myself.
It travels everywhere without a case, rattling around in whatever bag I happen to be carrying, next to an equally battle-worn Logitech mouse I picked up secondhand. Both have been repaired multiple times. Neither will be replaced.
I'm afraid that if I get something new and objectively better, I'll never feel the same way about it. Some things are valuable not because of what they are, but because of what they've been through with you.
There's a beauty in worn things. In objects that show their history. My keyboard is ugly and it is perfect.