Are you a Patagonia Noah Kahan granola Zach Bryan acoustic guitar person? Or a vanilla latte mini Uggs Taylor Swift hair ribbon Gracie Abrams girl? Maybe a Doc Martens grandpa sweater 1975 Phoebe Bridgers listener?
My brain might be rotted from TikTok girlhood slideshows and Evan Gray Smith’s Instagram ratings. But opening my Spotify Wrapped while brushing my teeth at 8:27 a.m. Wednesday was more exciting than Christmas morning. Spotify Wrapped is a gift. After looking through a few brightly-colored geometric graphs, I can find out what kind of person I am. How people and AI algorithms perceive me. I can find comfort in a label, commit to an aesthetic and have five top songs that match my personality and hobbies.
Brat summer. Clean girl. Cottagecore. Gen Z loves labels, auras and tier lists. This obsession with self-categorizing is probably rooted in some primal instinct to find identity and community in an isolated digital world. Or something like that, I don’t really know. But I do know that Spotify Wrapped packages all our obsessions of the year into one concise, postable image that supposedly shows how good our taste is.
My 2024 Spotify Wrapped says I like Mk.gee, Clairo, Dijon, Eliza Mclamb and Samia. Does that make me a granola girl? A sad girl? A cool girl? A Y2K girl?
What my Spotify Wrapped doesn’t say is that my best friend Ana and I waited 90 minutes outside of Mike Gordon’s tour bus after the Mk.gee concert in October to meet him. (Because we’re convinced he’s going to become super famous and one day we’ll tell our kids we made eye contact with him in college.) Or that my sister Sofia and I got matching “As You Are” Samia lyrics tattooed on our arms in November. (Fine. Yes, I cry every time I listen to that song.) Or that I convinced my mom, sister, best friend from third grade and high school cross-country teammate to drive four hours to go to a $15 Eliza Mclamb concert with me in April. Instead of texting my brothers that I love them, I send them a Dijon song. And I talk about my favorite album of the week with my dad on FaceTime every Sunday night.
This year was messy and uncool and doesn’t fit neatly under a label. But it was more interesting than my Spotify Wrapped. I have my top five artists of the year, but I also have ink on my skin and inside jokes with Ana and Sofia and long FaceTime calls with my parents. Which may not match my “twee 90s soft rock thrifted” daylist, but I’ll take it.