It's an intersting issue, if not well presented....
FWIW, I come at riding from exactly the opposite perspective. My own "nonconformism" is riding ultra-distance rides on a racing bike with racing geometry and a racing saddle. I like speed and effeciency. My ride is comfortable because I'll finish the longer rides a day or more ahead of everyone else. Less butt time on that non-leather saddle. I totally accept that I live on the margin of comfort and durability and that my ride will much more likely end in a phone call for a mechanical reason than the guy on the Riv or the Airborne touring bike.
I love and respect my bike, but I pound the living hell out of it. My bike is a tool, and it's meant to be used. It's not art. I ride it hard, and I don't cry when I break it, ding it up, or lay it down descending a steep, gravel, icy road (been there, done that, breaking a finger in the process). I respect and love my bike by pushing it, and me on it, to it's absolute limit. That's what it was designed for. I respect it by keeping it in absolutely top mechanical shape. Some day I'll break it and then I'll get a new one, and remember the old one fondly. But the bike is just a tool. Worship the art or the artist, I say, and not the paint brush.
A short, related vignette from skiing.... Mrs. Octopus and I were backcountry skiing in New Hampshire a few years ago. I was on a brand new pair of extremely expensive skis. We were skiing the run out of this ravine after an absolutely epic day of spring skiing. Big smiles all around. The trail was getting more and more narrow. Mud and rocks appeared. Mud, rocks and grass became more common than the snow, which was no longer continuous. Mrs. Octopus and I came charging around a bend, snow flying off our skis in equal parts with mud and sticks, and we were deftly hopping over and around the lurking rocks. This fellow with a stern face, standing off to the side with his skis strapped to his pack -- he was down-hiking -- observed us and called out to me disgustedly, "Nice rock skis." I replied, "All skis are rock skis!" and bounded off with Mrs. Octopus through the mud, hooting and hollering like a damn fool. Wow, was that a fun day.
Gear is replaceable. Don't worry about it overly much, whether you like a racing steed or a touring bike. The memories last a lifetime (or at least until senility sets in). Just get the hell out there and enjoy the ride!