Honestly, in the music business, it's all about being cool or

The artist Mitski, whose music has become a mirror for the modern soul, once said with disarming honesty: “Honestly, in the music business, it's all about being cool or being the newest thing or being the 'It' person, and I've tried really hard to be what is expected of me or what would be advantageous to my career, and I just reached the point where I said, 'No, I'm an emotional loser. I can't pretend to not care.'” Beneath her words lies a truth that reaches beyond music, beyond fame, into the very heart of what it means to be human. Her confession is a rejection of pretense, a cry of rebellion against a world that rewards detachment and punishes sincerity. Mitski’s statement, though humble, is a spiritual act — the reclaiming of one’s authenticity in an age of performance.

In the manner of the ancients, let us interpret her words as a parable for the soul. For what she names — this pressure to be “cool”, to be the “It” person — is not new. It is the ancient temptation of pride, the desire to be adored rather than to be true. Every age has its masks, and every heart its struggle against them. Yet Mitski, like a weary pilgrim, tears hers away. In saying, “I can’t pretend to not care,” she stands against the tyranny of apathy. For in our world, to feel deeply is often seen as weakness; to care too much is to risk pain. But she knows — as the wise have always known — that feeling is not frailty. It is the lifeblood of creation.

The origin of this quote lies in Mitski’s experience as a musician navigating the harsh stage of modern fame. The music industry, with its endless cycle of trends and expectations, demands that artists reinvent themselves or risk disappearance. To survive, one must seem effortless, detached, perpetually new. Yet Mitski, whose art flows from raw emotion, found such artifice unbearable. In interviews and performances, she has spoken of the toll that this demand for coolness took on her spirit — how pretending to care less made her art feel hollow. Her declaration, then, is not defeat but deliverance: a conscious choice to value truth over image, and emotion over approval.

Consider the story of Vincent van Gogh, another artist who lived and died by the courage of his feelings. He too was told he was too intense, too emotional, too unrefined to be accepted by the world of art. He could not be the “It” painter of his time. And yet, by refusing to betray his inner world, he gave to humanity something immortal — a window into the aching heart of existence. Like Mitski, Van Gogh understood that the cost of authenticity is often loneliness, yet the reward is eternity. His sunflowers, his starry skies, and her trembling songs are born of the same source — the refusal to pretend, the decision to care even when it hurts.

There is a sacred wisdom in Mitski’s self-description as an “emotional loser.” In the tongue of modern irony, it sounds self-deprecating, but beneath it lies strength. To lose in the economy of coolness is to win in the realm of humanity. For what is a “loser” but one who has refused to play a false game? She reminds us that not all victories are visible — that there is power in vulnerability, dignity in openness, and courage in imperfection. To stand before the world and admit, “I care,” is to reclaim one’s soul from the marketplace of masks.

O children of the digital age, hear this teaching: you are not machines made for approval, but hearts made for meaning. The world will tempt you to hide your depth, to trade sincerity for safety. But remember — coolness fades; authenticity endures. The poet who writes with trembling hands will outlast the influencer who never falters. The artist who weeps for their work will move generations yet unborn. Be not afraid of being “too much,” for the world’s greatest beauty has always come from those who felt too deeply and dared to show it.

And so, the lesson of Mitski’s words is clear: do not silence your soul to fit the shape of expectation. Be the uncool one, the sincere one, the one who still feels wonder, who still hurts, who still hopes. Create not for applause, but for truth. Love not to be admired, but to give. Feel, even when the world tells you not to. For in the end, when all the lights dim and the stage is empty, it is not the “It” person who remains, but the honest one — the emotional soul who dared to be real. Mitski’s voice, like an ancient oracle in the noise of our age, reminds us that caring — truly caring — is the bravest art of all.