I was an insufferable music snob from the age of 15 to about 19 or so. Discovering the world of indie music was wonderful and exciting and all sorts of amazing - and I wouldn't trade it for the world - but it also somehow warped my then-teenage brain into believing that I had somehow achieved a sort of moral high ground. As though my impeccable taste in sweet tunes had also somehow ensured that I was that much more cultured, evolved and generally so much better than everyone else who still listened to mainstream radio stations. I wasn't like other kids my age, man. I was different. I had the entire discography of The Smiths on my shiny new mp3 player. I was something else. I was edgy. I was deep, you guys.
I insisted on bringing my mp3 player nearly everywhere I went so that my friends would be able to allow The Strokes and Belle & Sebastian to wash over their poor good music-deprived souls. I would refuse to admit that anything on the radio was good, and if I had to go there, I'd always add that snootiest of all disclaimers: "It's good, for a mainstream song". Anything current on MTV was treated with contempt. I was above the mainstream. I had transcended the reach of the Lady Gagas and the Rihannas of the world. I had evolved into a higher being.
Looking back on that phase now with a mixture of horror and amusement, I wonder how I even got through a whole week without some sort of spiritual breakdown. Dealing with grades and friends and homework and hormones and self-esteem issues would have been difficult enough without the added pressure of constantly upholding a veneer of musical cool for everyone else's benefit. Because doing that is exhausting. It was physically and mentally draining to constantly care so hard and so obsessively about what the music section of my Myspace bio looked like to other people, and making sure I was never caught admitting that I sort of really liked that one Fergie song.
There are several good lessons I could impart at this point, kids. That your taste in music does not define your worth as a person. That listening to obscure post-punk pre-Britpop jazz dubstep retro hip-hop psych-folk bands does not make you better or smarter than the girl singing along to a Katy Perry single. That liking Maroon 5 "ironically" isn't really worth your time, either. Cut that shit out. You wanna sing along to Adam Levine's whiny ass vocals, you do that.
But most importantly, I just need to stress how exhausting my brand - or really any type - of music snobbery was. Music is beautiful and incredible and a huge part of my life but it is also, paradoxically, not all that fucking important. Not important enough to craft and maintain an entire personality around the things you definitely Do Not Listen To, Not Ever OMG. Like whatever it is that you like, whatever floods into your earholes and makes your heart happy. And perhaps most importantly, do not ever shit on other people for liking whatever it is they enjoy listening to.
edit: I feel like I should add that sharing music isn't something I would actively discourage. One of my favourite things to do in the whole world is recommending new music to people, typically through physical mixtapes or 8tracks. Discovering a really great song and letting someone else listen to it and then capslocking at each other about how much you both love it is great. A+, don't ever stop sharing good jams. But it also took me a while - years in fact - to deal with the very simple reality that not everyone is going to dig everything I like. The world doesn't end. The other person isn't a jerk. You can still be friends. Get over yourself. Rinse and repeat until you finally get it into your head.
I know some folks are calling this the new form of post-hipsterism, where music snobs relinquish their hold on ironically liking mainstream things and pretend to be into radio-friendly material in an effort to show how totally cool and secure they are in their musical identity. And you know what, screw that. I am tired. I am the world's oldest 23-year old and I am really tired of labeling and being labeled, and being told what my iTunes playlist says about me. Put whatever the bleeding hell you like on your playlists, friends, and let others do the same.
It is with this hard-earned enlightenment that I can now tell you that I have listened to this One Direction song so many times today that I am fully expecting to receive an email from Youtube asking me if I'm okay and if I need anything. There. And let me tell you that 17-year old me would have probably started crying at the prospect of having to admit this to anyone. Don't do that to yourselves. DON'T FIGHT THE LOVE, GUYS.
