Most new homes are sold before they're finished. The base price is written against a standard specification, and then you sit down at a design centre and choose from a list of upgrades, each with its own price. Tile instead of vinyl. Quartz instead of laminate. A better carpet, a nicer faucet, undermount sinks instead of drop-in.
The selection isn't arbitrary. An upgrade list can only contain choices that can still be made late. By the time you sit down to choose, the house has been designed, permitted and often framed. So the list is limited to things that go in near the end, swap out without touching anything structural, and price as a single line.
That constraint decides the whole list. It's why an upgrade sheet is almost entirely surfaces and fittings, the last things installed and, not coincidentally, the same things you could pay someone to change in five years for roughly what the builder charges for them today. This isn't a criticism of how builders work. It's what selling a home before it exists requires, and every production builder operates this way.
What it means is that the decisions that matter most in a house are never on the list at all. Where a shaft runs. How deep the exterior walls are framed. Whether there's wiring inside a cabinet. Whether two pieces of stone came off the same block, in order. None of those can be offered at a design centre, because each one had to be settled long before there was a design centre to sit in.
So the more useful question, when you are standing in two homes trying to tell them apart, is not how long the upgrade list was. It is which decisions were made early enough that they could never have appeared on one.
A builder will gladly sell you stone on the island. Nobody sells you stone in six rooms, millwork in ten, glass wrapping every edge in the place, or a shaft through the middle of the house, because those are not upgrades to a home. They are a different home.