Playlists are my love language

Part #1

Playlists are my love language.
What started as CDs laced with doodles on the sides, and the cover, has evolved into Spotify playlists that are hours long with plans to light up your limbic system and take you on a journey.

If I make one for you or share one of ‘em with you, consider yourself part of my circle.

I grew up in a radio station generation but welcomed MTV, a cultural force that impacted everything- popular music and style. Video and audio eventually became so entangled that music didn’t just have to sound good; it had to look good too.

And if I made you a playlist back then, this pop icon would up your sway and swagger.


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Dance-pop, boundary-breaking self-expression, and probably my first introduction to non-binary ways of thinking about things— beyond race, beyond gender. Her artistry was controversial and powerful. It made me feel powerful.

Madonna came out just after MTV was born and dominated the medium. She was the pop megastar the platform was looking for—a messy chic mix with layers of lace, cut-off sleeves, necklaces, bracelets and other iconography, which prompted her salacious videos into high rotation. And while the video bubble did eventually burst post-2000, it was fun while it lasted and activated these three Madonna obsessions:

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A hymn to freedom, a rebellious track that made me feel like I was in charge of my fantasies and that I was a powerful female who better not go for “second best.”  The lyrics were an anthem and armed me with a point of view I could take on as my own. I wanted to strut down streets belting out the words.

Critics were shocked when Madonna grabbed her crotch in this video—they called it crude. I wasn’t allowed to say the “F word” in public officially because I was too young, but I remember declaring to my bestie, “Who gives a f*ck?” Michael Jackson had been grabbing at his manhood since Billie Jean. It’s Madonna, people.


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A prime piece of pop littered with electronic drums and chugging synths. I caught on to this gem years after its release, but I felt like I wanted to dance in clubs to this, even though I was barely a preteen. It made me want to jump on a greyhound and boppity-bop around New York City to live like a punk drifter and wear mesh everything 24/7.


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A strike-a-pose movement that highlighted underground queer culture and evolved out of the Harlem ballroom scene of the ’60s ( I watched a great doc about it-Paris Is Burning). There have been many narratives about how Madonna may have exploited this movement, and opposing truths can exist simultaneously. It’s a complicated case, but to stay light, I think the elements of escapism and visibility were positive.

Vogue wowed the dance floor at my wedding. I had been secretly grinding my teeth at the DJ all night. He opted against playing the curated playlists we had poured our hearts and hours of our time into creating. Our goal was to acknowledge the eras that connected everyone in the room in some way—serving up hip-hop tracks for my waiter comrades, dishing out 80s pop melodies for the cousins, and whisking our parents away to the disco fever of the 70s. Although Vogue was not on my original list, when it started- the dance floor filled up, and I bore witness to smiles across faces and my Dad and Uncle Vogue-ing with a fluidity I didn’t expect and with exaggerated movements they could have learned from a modern dance class. Dips, spins, and catwalking could be seen all across the dance floor. It made me happy. I flashed a smile at the DJ.

Stay tuned for Part #2, where I probe the perfect playlist and why we gush over Robert Smith’s smoky soul.