Photographers fetishise golden light because it is forgiving. The long warm shadows give everything a narrative it did not necessarily earn. Overcast light is harder and more honest.
On overcast days the world becomes a softbox. Shadows disappear. The subject has nowhere to hide, and neither does the photographer.
What you are left with is presence — or its absence. There is no atmosphere to compensate for one or amplify the other.
I have come to prefer it. Not always. But often enough that I no longer dread grey afternoons the way I once did.