Spotify Wrapped just told me something about myself I can’t forget

Unlike the rest of you, who left Phoebe Bridgers on repeat every night while you slept so you’d be in her 1 per cent most listened for the year, I only subscribed to Spotify Premium so I could listen to old Doctor Who audio plays in the car

Forget Halloween and Thanksgiving. Christmas can get in the bin. Today is the only holiday that really matters (if you’re a narcissist) – that’s right, it’s Spotify Wrapped day.

It’s that wonderful time of the year when you get to humblebrag to all of your mutuals on Twitter about how esoteric and interesting your music tastes are. “Oh, what’s this?” you ask, faking incredulity. “It looks like I listened to Fetch the Bolt Cutters 300 times in a row. How eclectic and quietly brilliant of me.”

Oh wow, you like boygenius? Your top artist this year was Courtney Barnett? I’ve never even heard of the Mountain Goats! You’re so mysterious, and probably really good at sex.

If I sound bitter this year, it’s because I am. Unlike the rest of you, who left Phoebe Bridgers on repeat every night while you slept so you’d be in her 1 per cent most listened for the year, I only subscribed to Spotify Premium so I could listen to old Doctor Who audio plays in the car. My Wrapped is so tragic, they might not even let me have an account anymore.

My top artist for the year is Big Finish Audio, with Weird Al Yankovich as a distant second. Sure, I could have spent more time listening to self-consciously “cool” artists. I found a really cool singer-songwriter through Instagram called Boy Jr. I could have added them to my playlist. But no, I just listen to their new stuff on my Instagram stories and then go right back working my way through Paul McGann’s extremely underrated Eighth Doctor era.

To be honest, I’ve never been a huge music person. I find it really difficult to concentrate on anything when there’s background noise, and I write for a living, so I spent most of my time in a hermetically sealed room which my anguished screams cannot penetrate. I don’t get much time to read anymore either, because I’m so busy and tired (I’m so, so tired), so when I’m travelling I prefer to listen to things like podcasts and audiobooks. I guess I could listen to music on the rare occasions that I work out, but it’s difficult to get pumped to the kind of sad boy music that I’m partial to, so I mostly do push ups in grim, silent solemnity.

When I look at other people’s Twitter feeds and Instagram stories at this time of year I feel like a little urchin boy looking through the window of a rich family at Christmas, envying their warm fire and plump turkey, imagining what it would be like to be the kind of person who “gets” Frank Ocean. Oh what a thing it would be, to post a Spotify Wrapped that instantly makes strangers think, “I bet this person wears a scarf when it isn’t even cold”.

Perhaps next year I’ll really put the effort in. Now that this year’s Wrapped has dropped, I’m going to start playing Kendrick Lamar songs on a loop, so that next November the world can see exactly how quirky and idiosyncratic my tastes are (along with 50 million other people). Oh what a thing it will be, to post a screenshot of my top five songs, with a caption that pokes fun at the one song that’s sort of mainstream to create the illusion that I’m at least somewhat grounded.

Oh, who am I kidding? I just found a new Dungeons and Dragons podcast that’s on its 600^th episode and counting. Next year’s Wrapped is already shaping up to be just as tragic as this year’s.