As I reflect on my evolving taste in music, I can’t help but chuckle at the younger version of myself—the one who would have cringed at the thought of belting out Top 40 hits while shuttling my kids to activities. Back in the day, I adorned myself in black velvet chokers and vampy nail polish, my hair styled in those adorable twin buns reminiscent of cat ears. I was a self-proclaimed music snob, convinced that my identity was intricately woven into the fabric of my playlist.
In high school, music was the ultimate social currency. Lunch tables were divided by bands—there was no way I would be caught sitting at the Hootie and the Blowfish table. I was firmly planted at the Jane’s Addiction table, where we sipped our sodas and looked down upon anyone who dared to enjoy the likes of Paula Abdul. How could they not appreciate the raw authenticity of Robert Smith? It was simply unimaginable!
Fast forward to my 20s, and I realized that my standards were just as high. I wouldn’t even entertain a date with a guy who didn’t share my musical taste. Imagine someone jamming to Jon Secada, expecting me to take him seriously! No thanks. My future partner had to appreciate the Beastie Boys, but only the “Paul’s Boutique” era, mind you.
Now, it’s amusing how those once-vital preferences have faded into the background. I’ve found myself blasting Rihanna and Maroon 5 without a trace of irony. My car radio is now firmly set to the Top 40 station that my teen self would have deemed a nightmare. I can barely recall the last time I tuned into a college radio station. Do they even exist anymore?
I even surprised myself by recently embracing Nirvana—a band I previously dismissed as too mainstream. Back in the ‘90s, I was all about Sonic Youth, thinking I was oh-so-cool. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve realized that music no longer defines me.
I tried holding onto my “cool mom” persona, but it inevitably crumbled as I traded in my skinny jeans for comfortable capri pants and Keds. I now find myself confessing my love for artists like Shakira—who would have thought? I attempted to keep up by watching Coachella, only to realize I barely recognized any of the performers. My little one, however, had other plans, calling for Disney Junior, and I dutifully obliged.
It’s a rite of passage into motherhood, I suppose. I recall my own mom dancing to Basia while I rolled my eyes in disbelief. Now, I’ve become that “uncool” parent, and I’m okay with it. My priorities have shifted, and I find joy in the freedom to enjoy any music that brings a smile to my face.
At this stage in my life, I’ve learned that my musical taste doesn’t define my worth. I’ve even discovered a few country songs that I genuinely enjoy. Take that, teenage me!
So, while I may now jam to Taylor Swift and indulge in some classic ‘70s yacht rock (hello, Christopher Cross!), I embrace my eclectic taste with pride. It’s liberating to step away from the confines of music snobbery and simply enjoy what resonates with me.
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In summary, my musical evolution reflects the changes that come with age and motherhood. I’ve traded coolness for comfort, and I’ve found joy in embracing a wider range of music. Who knew that letting go of those self-imposed limitations could be so freeing?
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