For as long as I can remember, I have always preferred sad music. As a child, I used to force my mom to listen to me belting along to karaoke tracks of “My Heart Will Go On” and “I Will Always Love You.” I had no reason to relate to either of these songs’ moody lyrics, yet I felt a strange, inexplicable connection to these dramatic piano ballads. 

I eventually moved on from my Céline Dion phase, but as a moody tween, my penchant for sad music continued. My Chemical Romance and Panic! At the Disco were staples in my daily rotation, although my fondness for female power ballads remained. I blasted Demi Lovato and Hayley Williams in my room, convinced that no one understood me quite like these artists. 

I gradually developed a more refined music taste, but two key similarities lived on in my listening habits: my preference for female musicians and my love of sad music. Today, most of my liked songs on Spotify could be described as “sad-girl music,” regardless of their respective genre. From Taylor Swift and Lorde’s synth-pop breakup anthems to Fiona Apple and Alanis Morissette’s grungy ’90s rock to Phoebe Bridgers and Adrianne Lenker’s soft indie-folk, I am a connoisseur of sad-girl music in all of its beautifully varied forms. 

Perhaps this is why I sometimes get annoyed with the catch-all label of “sad-girl music,” even as a self-proclaimed enjoyer of the genre. At times, I feel like the term doesn’t do justice to the artistic nuances of the works it sets out to describe. Reducing “Happier Than Ever” to moody Tumblr music does a huge disservice to the record. 

The label further illustrates the impossible standards female musicians are constantly held to. Female artists who release upbeat pop songs are told their music lacks substance, but the second they venture into more melancholy territory, they get lumped into the “sad-girl” category without another thought.

Culturally, it feels like we are loath to let women create any type of music without slapping some sort of disclaimer on it — a giant flashing neon sign that screams, “This is less artistically valuable because I’m not a man.” It’s as if female artists need a reminder that their capabilities are infinitely less than those of their male counterparts. 

Granted, I know most of us can acknowledge the talent of many so-called “sad-girl” artists. After all, “folklore,” “Melodrama” and “Norman Fucking Rockwell!” are widely considered to be each artist’s magnum opus, all the while dealing with topics of grief, heartbreak and self-hatred. The genre isn’t, at its core, necessarily demeaning. 

In fact, despite everything I just wrote, I would dare to venture that the epidemic of “sad-girl music” over the past decade has done more to nurture emotional vulnerability than any other recent cultural phenomenon. 

Sad music serves as a beautiful reminder of what artists are capable of at their darkest moments. These albums remind listeners that you can go through heartbreak and come out the other end — and maybe return even stronger. “Sad-girl music” takes this one step further by making vulnerability empowering, rather than a symbol of fragility, for a demographic whose emotionality has long been considered a hallmark of weakness. 

From a fan perspective, sad music is also a concrete way to catalogue your ups and downs in music. Different songs have held different emotional meanings for me at various times in my life. Listening to “Paul” by Big Thief no longer renders the same gut punch as it did in December 2023, nor does “the 1” by Taylor Swift make me spiral about the never-ending possibilities of “what if.” 

Many of my favorite songs remind me of times in which my resilience has been tested. 

I love rediscovering a track that used to hold immense emotional weight for me, only to find that now it holds none — or a different type of weight. What used to be a burden is now a solemn reminder of my inner strength. “What’s past is past,” as Swift would say.

Sad music has been there for me through good times and bad — moments when its accompaniment is both expected and unexpected in my life. I find my “sad-girl music” oddly comforting; it’s a testament to making hope out of heartbreak.

“Jam Journal” is a rotating column featuring a new Daily Trojan editor in each installment commenting on the music most important to them. Fiona Feingold is an arts & entertainment editor at the Daily Trojan.