The Sexy Mixtape Is Dead and High Fidelity Can't Bring It Back
In the second episode of Hulu’s new High Fidelity adaptation, Rob (Zoe Kravitz) painstakingly explains the intricacies of concocting the perfect playlist for a crush. The first, second, and last tracks are most crucial for different reasons: the opener makes the first impression, the second track must then deliver intrigue as the wind beneath the first track’s wings, and the closer is bound to be the most memorable. Also, it’s verboten to repeat an artist more than once unless it’s a theme, and one must never shuffle a playlist, ever. The aux cord overlords hath decreed it.
Receiving an unsolicited mixtape is like being given horny homework—a series of sonic riddles that are meant to unlock the giver’s true affections upon one’s full appreciation. I’ve never asked for anyone to make me mixtape, but once someone went ahead and did it, it always felt rude to ignore it. I hate homework, but I love riddles and I am a sucker for thoughtful gestures, so that’s made me easy playlist prey a handful of times. Little did I know that these playlists bestowed upon me with the gravitas of a Bachelor rose ceremony were not so much a labor of love as they were of a kind of musical micromanagement—more as a menu of all the things they like that I, too, am encouraged to enjoy.
Making a mixtape has long been heralded as an all-time Grand Gesture, romanticized by movies like the original John Cusack High Fidelity. And back in the pre-Spotify days, making one required not just thoughtful selection, but actual work, too. Copying music to cassette tape had to be done in real-time, and mix CDs involved creating some sort of album art as accompaniment. They came with some perfunctory personal title, like “For Sable,” scrawled in Sharpie, which made it feel all the more special.
But texting a link to a drag-and-drop Spotify playlist (even one that follows all of Rob’s rules) is a gesture that reads more like self-promotional spam. A link is too ignorable, too abstract to hold any real meaning.
Of course, it makes sense that you want to share your passions with someone you’re dating. But the good news is that there’s a better way.
The happy medium lies in the context—if music is way important to you, that will be evident simply by its overarching presence in your life. You could buy tickets for both of you to see a band you adore. You could reserve that 80-track playlist to be a cinematic backtrack as you hold your boo’s precious face in your hands, look into their eyes, and say… “Hey. I like you.” Too spicy a move for some perhaps, but trust me when I say that nothing in the Fleetwood Mac discography will have the same impact flowing through Airpods as it will when underscoring some face-cradling words of affection. Nothing.
Through every person I’ve dated, seriously or flingingly, I’ve discovered at least one new-to-me band or artist I’ve come to love, but the key is that it happens through semi-organic discovery. Here’s what I mean: Last year someone I’d been dating came over and as soon as he walked in the door, said, “Whoa, when I left my place, I was playing this song and now it’s playing here.” Coincidental overlap of shared tastes is the courtship sweet spot—elusive, sure, but so much more rewarding than the playlist-foisting route. Sublimation be thy name.
Even now, I still think of that person when I hear that song. Music has a habit of crystallizing emotional experiences into its melodies, the same way scents do. Certain songs become sensorial lassos, able to wrangle you back into a moment of recall at its recognition. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons music makes such potent romantic currency—it has a poetic ability to endorse the best sentiments of our truest feelings without the complicated emotions beneath them. Also, music is fun. Have you ever tried it? It rules.
In fact, I loved the adaptation of High Fidelity—a big reason being that the soundtrack slaps. It revived my own playlist passions while poking fun at the self-serious nature of music snobbery, which makes it even more laughable to hear the show’s resident music snobs bemoaning their luckless love lives as they value people for their cultural tastes above all else. “It’s about what you like, not what you’re like that’s important,” Rob says, acknowledging her own shallow priority. It’s like you’re in a secret club together, which can feel like a much deeper connection than it actually is. Meanwhile, putting on a vibey playlist during whatever your courtship rituals may entail is a more ambient (and less alienating) way to soundtrack your thirst.
Besides, I cannot imagine a worse L to take than being left on read after texting somebody a link to a Spotify playlist you made for them.
Dating
Introducing the First Date Power Move.
Originally Appeared on GQ
