I’m going to take a moment to be vulnerable here: my favorite artist of all time is Tyler, the Creator. I went to his Chromakopia tour, he’s consistently my number one artist on Spotify Wrapped, and yes, I will bump his music any time or place. For a while, when someone asked me who my favorite artist was, I would say Tyler, but almost automatically, I would feel the need to preface it with a disclaimer: I know it’s basic, but…Â
Somewhere along the way, as internet culture rapidly evolved, liking something even mildly popular started to feel like something you had to apologize for. Before admitting they enjoy something widely loved — whether it’s a television show, a band, or sometimes even a water bottle— people soften their statements with justification. The term “basic” began to appear everywhere, becoming a standard to judge anything popular rather than the simple adjective it once was. As if enjoying the same things as everyone else were some sort of social failure.
People began to hyperfocus on anything that felt remotely niche. The rise of the “Letterboxd movie taste” and the discovery of underground artists quickly became obsessions. Aesthetics like “coastal granddaughter core” started emerging, and anyone online who appeared remotely “basic” was chastised. Only uniqueness and hyperfixations seemed to be rewarded. People began to feel pressure to prove they were interesting through their tastes, turning preferences into a kind of personality branding.
In an individualistic culture where everyone wants to feel special, social media turns identity into performance, and being “different” becomes a form of social currency. The idea of being ordinary starts to feel like it makes someone forgettable. If everyone likes something, it begins to feel as though liking it says nothing about you. You curate playlists and build an aesthetic theme for your Instagram profile — all in an attempt to stand out, ultimately giving in to the societal pressure to be seen as “interesting.”
The ironic part of this endless loop is that while everyone is trying to be unique, the effect is often the opposite: they end up doing the same thing. The act of being unique becomes basic in and of itself. Everyone claims to like “underrated” music, everyone hyperfixates on extremely specific niches, and individuality online reaches its peak. The performance of individuality starts to look strangely uniform. In trying so hard not to be ordinary, everyone ends up following the same script.
Popular things are popular for a reason. People are excited for the next A$AP Rocky album or the next season of “Bridgerton” because they are creations meant for the masses. People are simply doing what audiences have always done: sharing experiences, finding communities, and connecting with others. That connection can be far more gratifying than letting a popular interest define your identity. Is there not something quietly comforting in enjoying the same things as everyone else — in knowing you are not alone in your interests?
Being ordinary isn’t the epitome of boring, and it certainly isn’t the opposite of interesting. Your personality isn’t defined by how obscure your music taste is. You don’t need niche interests to be considered unique. Maybe the most interesting people aren’t the ones constantly trying to prove they’re different, but the ones who are comfortable enough to like things without turning it into a dramatic statement. There’s nothing wrong with liking what everyone else likes. After all, ordinary things are what most of life is made of.
Tyler, the Creator is still my favorite artist of all time— no shame about it.