I love music. I love everything about it. I love browsing those slightly pretentious record stores, flipping through stacks of vinyls and CDs while some classic rock song I don’t recognize plays softly in the background. I love band t-shirts, album cover prints, singers, and lyrics scrawled on forearms. I love seeing a 13-year-old girl in a Nirvana t-shirt from PacSun, knowing full well she probably couldn’t name a single song — and that it doesn’t really matter.Â
At its very core, music bonds us and brings us together.Â
Someone’s Spotify Wrapped can feel like a glimpse into their soul. A snapshot of a year, a testament to heartbreak, joy, healing. A top song can tell you whether someone spent the past twelve months falling in love or falling apart. Music is a shared experience. When we find ourselves at the same concert screaming the same lyrics into the same humid air, isn’t that the point? Aren’t we all there because, in some way, those words meant something to us?Â
Somewhere along the way, the concept of knowing a song or artist deeper and better arose. You now have to earn your love for music. You don’t get this song the way I do. Who has ever uttered such an absurd sentence?
I’ve noticed an epidemic of superiority complexes. Many miserable men have told me: “If you like Taylor Swift, you don’t like real music.” When did this concept of “real” and “not real” start? After all, who gets to define that? Is Taylor Swift’s success less impressive because it’s made for young women?
These men probably display their Radiohead and The Smiths vinyls as badges of honor. It’s funny how the second I say I listen to these very bands, I’m suddenly worthy of conversation. But it’s also funny how liking Taylor Swift apparently makes me one-dimensional, while liking a band of their choosing is a mark of depth.Â
The truth is, they don’t hate Taylor Swift. They hate the idea that something loved so passionately by young women could hold power. They hate that she dominates charts, graces NFL screens, echoes through every store, sells out stadiums, and owns her success without seeking their approval. They hate that she’s created something bigger than them, something that belongs to the people they’ve spent their whole lives underestimating, brushing off as “stereotypical” and “basic.” But the truth is, things become popular for a reason.
I have “Dear Reader” tattooed on my wrist. Half-inspired by the Taylor Swift song and half-inspired by my love of reading and writing. Should I be shamed for that too? I’ve noticed these same individuals who grimace at the sight of a Taylor Swift-inspired tattoo are the same who can’t help themselves from asking me to name five songs by the band on my t-shirt. It’s as if enjoying music is a test I’ll never quite pass.Â
Whether you’re visiting a record store for a copy of Lover or searching for the record of an underground, indie band with 70 monthly listeners on Spotify, the point remains the same: music is personal. So, as a society, we have to drop the arbitrary rules and the need to prove you’re a “real” fan who’s been here since the beginning. Let’s just let music be.