I mean, I think about it, but I don't design my record to get a

In the realm where art and authenticity meet, Liz Phair, the singer-songwriter whose voice once defied the polished order of the music world, spoke with disarming simplicity: “I mean, I think about it, but I don’t design my record to get a certain public response.” Though her words arise from the world of melody and production, their wisdom belongs to all who create — to every soul who has ever struggled between truth and approval, between the inner calling of the heart and the outer clamor of the crowd. In these few words lies a declaration of artistic integrity, a timeless reminder that creation loses its soul when it becomes a performance for others rather than an expression of one’s truest self.

To “think about it,” as Phair admits, is human. For who among us is untouched by the opinions of others? The artist, like all people, lives in society — her work is seen, heard, judged, and echoed through countless voices. Yet to design one’s creation for response, to tailor art for applause, is to surrender to the tyranny of validation. Phair’s words draw a sacred line between awareness and servitude. She knows the weight of expectation, but she refuses to let it define her. For the true artist serves not the audience, but the truth that burns within. The applause of the world fades like smoke, but the voice of one’s own integrity endures.

This struggle between authentic expression and public approval is as old as creation itself. The Greek sculptor Phidias, when building the statue of Zeus at Olympia, was criticized by his patrons for carving details on the statue’s back — a part that no human eye would ever see. When asked why he would labor where no one would look, Phidias replied, “The gods will see it.” In this simple answer lies the heart of Liz Phair’s wisdom. The artist’s duty is not to please the crowd but to remain faithful to the unseen — to the purity of craft, to the divine whisper of inspiration. What is true in stone and sound is true in life: the worth of one’s work lies not in how it is received, but in how honestly it is made.

When Phair created her now-legendary album Exile in Guyville, she did not craft it for mainstream success. Her raw lyrics and unvarnished voice defied the norms of her era, standing apart from the machinery of commercial music. Yet precisely because she created without pandering, her songs struck chords that still resonate decades later. The power of authenticity endures where trend-chasing perishes. It is the same reason why the poetry of Emily Dickinson, hidden in drawers during her life, outlived the noise of her time. The soul that creates for truth becomes immortal; the one that creates for praise becomes a footnote.

There is, however, quiet courage in such a stance. To ignore the chorus of expectations is not indifference — it is discipline. It is to stand before the marketplace of opinion and choose solitude over compromise. This courage is the mark of every true creator, from Vincent van Gogh, who painted in poverty and obscurity, to the great philosophers and inventors who were mocked before they were revered. They all shared the same inner vow: to create what must be created, not what would be applauded. For applause is fleeting, but truth is eternal.

Phair’s words also carry a lesson beyond the artist’s studio — they are wisdom for the living of life itself. Each of us, in our daily decisions, faces the temptation to design our lives for approval, to act for recognition rather than conviction. But when we live for response, we lose the rhythm of our own song. We become actors in another’s play instead of authors of our own story. To live with authenticity, as Phair teaches, is to think of others, yes, but not to bend our essence to their liking. It is to act with awareness, but not with dependence.

So, my listener, let this truth be carved upon your heart: Create from within, not from without. Think of the world, but do not belong to its whims. Whether you are an artist, a builder, a dreamer, or a parent — let your work be honest, not calculated. Listen to your own music before you listen to applause. The world may misunderstand you today, but time is the great revealer of authenticity. What is real endures. What is contrived fades.

Therefore, begin each day with this vow: I will not design for approval, but for truth. I will make my life a song of sincerity, not of imitation. And when the night comes, and you rest from your labors, you will know — as Liz Phair knew — that you have not chased the echo of applause, but have sung in harmony with the eternal voice within. And that is the greatest art of all.