Favorites Are a Lie

I don’t have a favorite song. Or book. Or show. And maybe you don’t either. The whole idea of picking one might be the real problem.

If another person asks me what song I would choose if I had to listen to one song forever again, I swear… I might distill my words into a scandalous retort that will not be uttered in these pages.

This trend is not novel, for ages society has always tried to break down people–as they do phenomena–into small understandable, digestible boxes. From professions to personalities to passions, we are told that we have to choose one. But this piece is not meant to be a critique of society; many a writer has done that and ended up vanishing into thin air–they served society on a plate but society is not autocannibalistic.

The individual is being bombarded from all fronts with the unending question of “which one?” It’s easy to slip and fall headfirst into this box that is set before you, but I have a thought: don’t.

“Audience proceeds to roll their eyes”

Hear me out.

Although multi-hyphenated identities have gained incredibly marvelous traction, they apply to more critical aspects of identity e.g. gender, race, religion, sexuality to name a few. Things like taste in music, books, films, or food slip through the cracks. They are hounded, hunted without rest. But you are a collective, and the little things are equally critical.

So the next time someone asks you what your favorite song is, ask them to rephrase the question or don’t answer the question at all. Your favorite book? List them. Favorite Substacker? Name other people aside from me. You get the gist.

The singular identity trap is a trap like any other. How deeply have you thought about that favorite thing of yours, a film, a song, a delicacy? Can you quantify it relative to the thing that comes second to it? When I asked myself that question the answer was no. I can’t. I love Westworld, Severance, Game of Thrones, and The Simpsons the same way.

There’s so much love and passion in you to join in your own boxing—your own pigeonholing. You don’t have to be complicit in the execution of your interests by society. Name them all.