It’s a typical response to a Hinge prompt: “we’ll get along if: you have good music taste.” ‘Taste,’ what a word – subjective by definition yet, apparently, qualified by this bloke on a dating app. It’s made me reply to more than one person I’d have otherwise ignored, if only to ask “how r u judging that lol.” Nine times out of ten, we have a favourite artist or two in common, but the idea of there being an objective “good music taste” still gets on my nerves. I hold the same attitude towards film bros, book snobs, and really anyone who insists that their particular palates are, in some way, superior. Even if ‘taste’ weren’t such a vague criteria, on what planet would a man on Hinge be its sole authority? When I listed my top three tracks at the behest of a guy with an 80s mullet and a serious passion for “Led Zep,” he responded with: “I wanna love on you, woman” – come on, man.

““Taste,” what a word – subjective by definition yet, apparently, qualified by this bloke on a dating app”

Yet my distaste for this kind of thinking led me to question the ways my own desire for superiority seeps out. Though I’d never nitpick another’s taste – unless it’s a mate’s, in which case, fair game – I’m constantly critiquing my own. I can’t pick a song for my Instagram story without a laborious selection process that includes identifying the exact 15-second snippet I want to include. As our lives grow increasingly digitised, it can be difficult to see where we end and others’ perceptions begin. Though our conversations always spawned from my curious cynicism, I’d talk to Hinge men about music in a strange, almost unconscious bid for their validation. While I didn’t lie to the “Led Zep” guy, it was immediately apparent that telling him about my HAIM summer would be frowned upon. Instead, my response was carefully calculated, and I hand-picked songs I thought he’d approve of. I wasn’t interested in dating him, but I did want him to think I was cool. How gauche.

“As our lives grow increasingly digitised, it can be difficult to see where we end and others’ perceptions begin”

There can be something slightly shameful about being honest about our listening habits. If you couldn’t tell (see: https://www.varsity.co.uk/music/29992), I’ve been on a bit of a nostalgia binge lately, and have more than once found myself listening to Meghan Trainor. When she appeared among my top artists for July, however, I promptly removed her from my playlists and went back to shuffle-playing London’s Calling. I am, apparently, spineless – and I don’t think I’m alone. Each November, Twitter is awash with people celebrating the brief pause in Spotify Wrapped’s tracking. Finally, sentiment goes, I can listen to what I want in peace! I’m familiar with this feeling; I used to put my account into private listening mode before playing any Broadway cast albums for fear of being outed as a theatre kid. A bit dramatic, sure, but having your Spotify Wrapped expose your ‘bad taste’ is genuinely scary – ask anyone who’s wound up with Glee Cast as their top artist.

“Being perceived as having ‘bad taste’ can come with a character judgement”

Nothing typefies this vulnerability more than a Spotify blend. If you haven’t found yourself backed into a corner and forced to make one of these, count yourself lucky. The concept is pleasant enough: an auto-generated playlist that combines yours and others’ top tracks. They’re a notorious fixture in early-days talking stages, and it’s a humiliation ritual to which I have been often subjected; Spotify, it seems, has a keen sense for the songs and artists you’d be most embarrassed for others to learn you listen to. When trying to evoke the cool, effortless demeanor of a girl with ‘good music taste,’ it’s a real blow for Justin Bieber’s ‘Cold Water’ to rear its ugly head.

I’m led to question why any of this matters. Are we really so lost that it’s become embarrassing to have genuine, if unconventional, interests? Even when I confess to being partial to a bit of Meghan Trainor, it’s with performative irony. In the digital age, when our listening habits have come to define us, being perceived as having ‘bad taste’ can come with a character judgement. It’s more than just an interest, it’s fundamental to who we are as people – take the loathsome ‘man who listens to Clairo’ archetype.

In fairness to the Hinge men, I’ve added a few of their song recommendations to my regular rotations, and our ‘tastes,’ whether good or bad, are often aligned. But I’m frankly sick and tired of people attempting to parade their superiority. It reeks of inauthenticity and is, in my humble opinion, loser behaviour. It would be majorly hypocritical of me to end this article with a plea that you stop caring what other people think. What I will ask is that, the next time you find yourself compelled to change songs for your BeReal, or go on private listening mode, or (god forbid) lie about your Spotify Wrapped, think to yourself: is it really so shameful to like things? Go listen to your favourite songs without an agenda, and please consider updating your Hinge prompts.