As an embarrassingly unprolific Writer of Articles who would surely benefit from writing much more than I do, I know that I should embrace the tradition of the end of year list.
And as a consumer, I genuinely appreciate the annual deluge of celebratory lists that I, as someone who follows culture magazines on social media, am exposed to earlier, seemingly, with each passing year. 100 Best Albums. 15 Gayest TV Episodes. Barack Obama’s 75 Favourite Intersectional Feminist Podcasts. Who knew so many ‘intersectional feminist’ podcasts existed, much less that Obama is such an avid listener??
In the Information Age, curation is more essential than ever. So I really, truly am grateful for the work of the tastemakers who keep me up to speed.
But as a writer, end of year lists stress me out. They serve as a reminder that I’m behind. Perpetually so. I internally groan when the EOY listicles start appearing on my Twitter feed, anticipating the shame I will feel when I click through and learn about all the media that somehow escaped my notice in the past twelve months, regardless of how many god-forsaken newsletters I subscribe to. What kind of fraud culture writer am I?!
Add to that the fact that everyone is a ‘content creator’ these days, meaning that the ritual of year-end list making increasingly looks to be a social obligation among non-journalists, too. I don’t mean to be snobby here: there’s no reason why these lists should be the sole domain of people who make them because it’s their job. If anything, non-professionals’ lists can be especially insightful, untethered as they are to the demands of senior editors and fears of professional repercussions for (God forbid) having the Wrong Opinion™.
But if I’m being honest, it does compound my sense of inadequacy when people who fix computers for a living seem to have an easier time compiling end of year roundups than me. Why can’t I be good at this one thing? Perhaps that’s ‘imposter syndrome’ talking. A couple of years ago — before Covid reared its ugly head — I had a shared byline in a Guardian ‘month’s best music’ feature, something many writers would sell a kidney for, I’m sure.
There is, nonetheless, something particularly nerve-wracking about the task of looking back at all the books, music, shower gels, whatever I’ve consumed in a year and picking the cream of the crop. That’s a big responsibility.
There’s also the problem of recency bias. When reflecting on what you’ve consumed in a 12 month-period, it’s normal to give more weight to the stuff that came more recently. Everyone curating an end of year music list in December is going to think about Adele’s 30 and Taylor Swift’s Red (Taylor’s Version) before Tyler the Creator’s Call Me If You Get Lost. Time is the essence in journalism, so for stretched writers, what comes to mind first can be determinative.
I had a look at the top few entries on Pitchfork’s 50 Best Albums of 2020 and didn’t notice a bias towards releases from late in the year, but a decade ago, someone more data-minded than me did a systematic analysis of the end of year polls in rock magazines and found that Metal Hammer reviewers demonstrated a notable bias in favour of albums released later in the year. Hopefully editors are more aware of the existence of recency bias today, but I doubt it’s been eliminated totally.
Another qualm I have with end of year lists is that the push in journalism for timeliness means that writers face an impossible demand: to fully process the year’s musical/cinematic/etc offerings before the year has even ended. Sure, it’s standard for critics to be given access to releases before the general public, but a head start only goes so far, especially in the age of the surprise digital album.
And that matters when end of year lists are treated with a kind of definitive authority. In 2022, a director is less likely to boast about their film being rated among, say, the best films of October 2021 than about being featured on an end-of-year list, regardless of their ranking on it.
Artists, writers, podcasters, etc., deserve to have their works assessed fairly. Or who knows? Maybe we should all just take these lists less seriously.
Either way, if you’re haunted by FOMO about end of year lists, I want you to know that you’re not alone. It’s OK to appreciate things at your own pace.
