From time to time, when sharing an interest with a peer, I find myself, and others, receiving the same reaction: “oh, everybody goes there” or “it’s become quite basic.” The response rarely addresses the actual quality or enjoyment of the thing itself, but rather its visibility. Which led to a quiet realisation: there is something almost embarrassing now about liking something that everyone else likes. This feeling is not openly discussed. No one says it directly. Yet it lingers in small reactions, in the hesitation before admitting enjoyment, often followed by justification: “I know it’s basic, but…” Enjoyment is softened, explained, almost apologised for.

Liking something widely loved has begun to carry a certain weight. This weight has not always been the case. Popularity once signalled something simple: that many people found value, or enjoyment, in the same thing. No justification was needed to like a song, a film, or a brand that others loved. When we were kids, it did not say anything particularly revealing about the person enjoying it, beyond the fact that they liked it.

Now, it feels different.

With the rise of overconsumption, social media, and influencer culture, taste has become a way to distinguish, not simply to experience. The idea of having “good taste” has gradually detached itself from genuine preference and become tied to selectivity or cultural capital. To like what everyone else likes is no longer neutral. It risks being seen as predictable, unoriginal, or lacking depth.

The result is a growing obsession with being “niche.” People begin to seek out what is less known and less visible, drawn to what feels untouched. Whether they genuinely enjoy this object becomes less central to the decision. The focus shifts to what the thing represents: a sense of individuality, distance from the crowd. “Niche” is no longer about personal discovery, but about positioning. A quiet signal that says:I am not like everyone else. The restaurant no one knows, the brand not yet overexposed, the artist still under the radar. These choices begin to matter for what they suggest, not just what they are.

At the same time, the mainstream becomes something to distance from. Things that gain widespread attention now quickly lose their appeal. And not because they change, but because of what they now represent. Once something becomes popular, it becomes easier to dismiss. It is no longer interesting or worthy of the same attention. Within this, there is a quiet form of judgement. Liking popular things can suggest that one is simply following the crowd rather than forming their own preferences. Even when this is not said out loud, it is often implied. The word “basic” lingers as a subtle critique, reducing someone’s taste to the worst it could be: generic.

What is striking is how this shapes behaviour. People begin to distance themselves from things they once openly enjoyed; songs, places, or brands lose their appeal because they become widely recognised. In many cases, it is visibility that alters perception, and the more something is shared, the less it feels personal. In this dilemma, “niche” seems like a solution. It offers a way to avoid that association, a way to maintain a sense of individuality in an environment where everything is constantly shared, compared, and repeated.

However, there is a contradiction within this. The more people seek out what is niche, the more those same things gain attention. What was once hidden becomes visible. What feels personal becomes shared. In trying to avoid the mainstream, many end up following a different kind of pattern. One that becomes just as recognisable.

This pattern creates a deeper shift. Taste becomes less about what is genuinely enjoyed, and more about what is safe to enjoy. Preferences are shaped not only by interest, but by perception. The question is no longer just “Do I like this?” but also “What does liking this say about me?” That second question changes everything. It introduces a constant level of self-awareness. Choices are filtered, adjusted, sometimes even avoided. Not because they lack value, but because they carry the wrong kind of visibility.

At some point, it becomes worth asking what is lost in this process. When enjoyment requires explanation or distance, does it lose its depth? It becomes something that is managed rather than simply felt. In trying to be seen in a certain way, people can end up narrowing their own experiences.

But, something does not become less meaningful simply because more people enjoy it. Popularity does not erase value. In many cases, it reflects it.

Perhaps the more difficult form of individuality now is not in rejecting what is popular, but in allowing yourself to enjoy it without hesitation. To like something openly, without softening it or distancing yourself from it, may require more confidence than it seems. Because there is a difference between taste shaped by genuine connection and taste shaped by how it will be perceived. And in a culture that places so much value on standing out, choosing not to perform that difference might be the most distinct choice of all.