Why does Spotify Wrapped have Everyone in a Chokehold?

Image : Spotify

It’s that time of year again. Love it or loathe it, Spotify Wrapped has arrived, spawning onto your Instagram feeds, flooding stories, and firmly planting itself in the minds of young people everywhere.

For me, Spotify Wrapped always comes with a healthy dose of secondhand embarrassment - a yearly spectacle of a 20-something-year-old man proudly unveiling his unholy listening habits. The results never fail to inflict the same, visceral ick - 90,000 minutes of Taylor Swift, Travis Scott and J. Cole in one year. And yet, despite the self-awareness, people continue to share theirs with reckless abandon.

I don’t claim innocence either. My own Wrapped? Utterly shameful. But like everyone else, I can never resist the urge to post it on my story.

So, what’s the allure? Why does Spotify Wrapped command such power over us, pulling us in year after year, no matter how embarrassing, cringey or downright shameful our music tastes may be? What’s behind this obsession and why does it feel like it has literally everyone in its grip?

The Rise of Wrapped: A Perfect Storm

Spotify Wrapped isn’t new. First launched in December 2016, it emerged as a coincidental soundtrack to two seismic political events: Trump’s (first) election victory and the Brexit referendum. Since then, it has evolved into a social media phenomenon, perfectly emblazoned by bold, garish templates tailor-made for Instagram. 

Social media is Wrapped’s natural habitat - providing this selectively liberal space for self-affirmation. Our feeds are overflowing with posts, reshares, and even the latest Instagram ‘Notes’ (heaven help us), all striving to showcase the coolest, hottest, and most thriving versions of ourselves. Enter Wrapped, an easy-to-digest, personalised highlight reel that doubles as a digital brag.

French philosopher Catherine Malabou’s concept of plasticity feels eerily relevant here. Malabou describes plasticity as the ability to both "take form" (like clay) and "give form" (as in the plastic arts or plastic surgery). Spotify Wrapped acts as a snapshot of the plastic self: a curated identity moulded to appeal to an imagined audience. What started as a neat Christmas gimmick has now transformed into a tool for self-affirmation, shaping how we want to be perceived on social media.

Wrapped as a Cultural Mirror

This dynamic played out hilariously during a recent night out. A friend of my boyfriend, scraping around for an interesting conversation starter, asked about my Spotify Wrapped. More specifically, he asked if I considered my listening habits part of the ‘Pink Pilates Princess’ aesthetic. Taking in his COS knitted jumper, single hoop earring and general Connell Waldron vibe, I quipped: “No, Mr 1975”.  

Moments like this highlight how deeply we tie our identity to music. Albeit an obvious joke, his assumption struck a nerve, prompting me to reflect on how much our playlists reflect the identities we want to project, rather than the ones we naturally embrace.

We’ve all been on a first date where the dreaded question arises: What kind of music do you listen to? The panic it provokes isn’t about revealing guilty pleasures, but rather the fear of being judged. In an era ruled by cancel culture, confessing to a Rex Orange County phase, or a brief Slow Thai obsession can feel like a social minefield, if not a turn-off. Yet, who is charged with imposing these listening standards that make someone “hot” if they listen to The Fontaines but not if they listen to Ed Sheeran?

Spotify Wrapped asks a question that doesn’t really need to be asked. It offers a platform for not only the affirmation of the self, but also for discovering the ‘identities’ of others, identities conveniently moulded around arbitrary hierarchies of what’s ‘cool’ and what isn’t.

Wrapped, Nostalgia, and the Fear of Missing Out

Spotify Wrapped perfectly indulges our deep-rooted nostalgia for the past. Mine was unveiled to the soundtrack of Clairo’s infamous Bags, a song that magically transports me back to the summer of 2023. On the flip side, the Alvin and The Chipmunks discography drags me back to freezing winter nights in my flat, where huddled like a budget Charlie and the Chocolate Factory set, my flatmates and I sang karaoke to stave off hypothermia.

Nostalgia, however, is only part of Spotify’s grip. Enter FoMO - the Fear of Missing Out.  This relatively modern phenomenon is often overlooked by some of the big-wig psychologists but is nonetheless inherently interesting. In the heyday of social media, it refers to not only the actual act of missing an event, but also the compulsive behaviour required to maintain social connections. The emergence of Spotify Wrapped puts a spanner in the works for those already susceptible to crippling FoMO, intensifying its pressure and making it a social ritual that amplifies feelings of inadequacy for those who fear their musical identity might not measure up to the polished, curated identity of those around them. The battle between projected image and authenticity is thus exacerbated in a quest for validation and belonging. 

And let’s not ignore the irony: Wrapped literally packages your listening data - flaws, guilty pleasures, and that entire High School Musical phase, and regifts it to you as a ‘’festive treat’. It isn’t just a celebration of music; it’s a hyper-stylised, algorithm-driven mirror, reflecting your tastes and the unspoken expectation to turn them into a culture statement. For some, it’s a fun way to relive the year; for others, it’s an annual existential reckoning.

All in all, Spotify Wrapped truly is a cultural enigma, one which has already spawned countless imitators. Monzo, for instance, recast my compulsive spending habits at Gail’s Bakery into a ‘Definitely not going to Greggs’ persona. Please, just let a girl live. 

Yet, amidst this capitalist rat race for the funniest or trendiest knock-off, one truth remains - we’ll do it again. And again. And again. Because Wrapped, for all its flaws, holds up a mirror we just can’t seem to look away from.