by Kaleolani Laymon

My name is Kaleolani Laymon! I am 20 years old, a Sophomore in Emory’s College of Arts and Sciences, and from the beautiful San Diego, California. As a proud supporter of “trashy” 2000s music, I encourage you did dig out that old workout playlist from 2010, and reminisce on all the killer songs produced at that time. Enjoy! 

I believe in trashy 2000s music.

When I turned eight, I was introduced to the secret world of iTunes. I had big plans to dive deep into the depths of music but, as soon as I discovered the Top 100 Songs tab, I knew it was all I needed. I soaked up “Pocket full of sunshine,” “A thousand miles,” “Can’t be tamed”, “Club can’t handle me,” “Hot N Cold”, and “hips don’t lie,” and I fell in love with Jason Derulo, Ke$ha, Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, Usher, Pitbull, and Shakira.

When high school rolled and around everyone suddenly decided to use music as a determination of how cool you were, I was shown that my top 100 hits didn’t make the cut. People groaned when I reached for the Aux cord, and once, even tore it out of my hand. I remember I could feel my heart sink from the blatant dismissal. I felt overwhelmingly stupid for not growing up and moving on like everyone else. It crushed me that music that brought me such joy became a social liability. So, I buried it.  

But there was something about it that wouldn’t leave my body. In quiet classrooms, I’d hear myself drumming my fingers and tapping my feet to the nonexistent beats still blaring in my head. They were catchy. The sole message of all the songs screamed, “Get up on the floor and dance, who cares, leave everything else behind. Be. In. The moment.” The catchy lyrics were all made to be memorable, sing-able, accessible; everything was made to let you be present.

I first found solace, in my empty car. Every now and then I’d turn off the radio and play a song or two that I loved. Even alone in my car I would get embarrassed, but I slowly started to rekindle my love for the music. I remember hearing Miley Cyrus say, “I wanna fly, I wanna drive, I wanna go, I wanna be a part of something I don’t know, and if you try to hold me back I might explode,” and feeling a small part of me break open again.  I began to let my shoulders sway, my head bop, my arms groove. I let my whole face smile. It filled up every inch of me with joy.

Today, I turn the music up loud enough to drown my own thoughts. I can’t hear my voice crack or hear myself fumble over the words. I don’t criticize myself; I don’t think about anything else.

And I think that’s what it all comes to. I get to leave everything else behind and simply enjoy myself. I’ve felt the freedom so deeply; I’ve cried. The music is everything I’ve always needed it to be. I rarely get moments of such quiet peace. The music is blasting, and I’m singing so loudly, but on the inside, everything is finally quiet—finally suspended like a caught breath and the deepest exhale. 

I believe in trashy 2000s music. Because I believe in never burying parts of yourself from the world and treasuring the golden nuggets that were made for each person to enjoy.