Second-Hand Opinions, First-Hand Loss

Just today, I was scrolling through Instagram—bored, as usual—and one of those random influencer reels popped up. You know the type: same-looking as all the others, a dress that’s falling out from everywhere, some cheap trending song playing, the whole “pick me, I’m hot” vibe screaming at you. Usually, I’d double-tap—because the transitions are nice, the aesthetics are appealing, and sure, the whole “look at me” energy is entertaining.

But today? I clicked not interested. And it hit me. Just because someone in my class, or a girl online, is obsessed with this influencer doesn’t mean I have to be too. I realized I’d been influenced before, enjoying things I never really had an opinion on. I enjoy dark humor, for instance—stuff most people call “offensive.” And yet, there I was, mindlessly liking content because the world told me it was hot, desirable, worth my attention.

Funny thing about opinions: most of the time, they aren’t even ours. They’re borrowed, recycled, passed around like hand-me-down clothes that don’t quite fit but hey, “everyone else is wearing them,” so we do too.

Take books. Someone says “Oh, that one’s boring” and immediately, we all act like we’ve suffered through the entire 400 pages ourselves. Never mind that we’ve never even read the first line. We parrot it, carry it forward, and dismiss it—like professional critics with zero effort.

Movies? Same story. The moment a film gets called a flop, we treat it like it’s contagious. We won’t touch it with a barge pole. Yet, give it a few years and suddenly that same “flop” is a cult classic and everyone swears they “always knew it was ahead of its time.” Sure you did, buddy.

Songs? Oh, don’t get me started. The minute someone brands a track as “cringe,” it’s dead to us. But somehow, when no one’s around, you catch yourself humming it in the shower. That’s the thing—sometimes the songs people laugh at are the very ones that stick, quietly, when you’re alone.

And then there’s the opposite: the hyped-up, glittering stuff. The books stacked like monuments in bookstores. The blockbuster movies breaking records before they even release. The songs that go viral because one influencer used them in a reel. Do we genuinely enjoy them? Maybe. But half the time, we’re just… following orders. Reading, watching, listening—not because we want to, but because god forbid we’re left out of the conversation. It’s not an opinion. It’s social survival.

What fascinates me, though, is how reviews spread faster than the thing itself. You don’t even need to read the book or watch the movie. One friend says “ugh, mid” and boom—the judgment is set. A few murmurs, a couple of bad stars, and suddenly the verdict is unanimous. It’s practically gossip in disguise. Someone else experiences it, and we let their version rewrite ours before it even exists.

But here’s the truth: none of this—books, movies, songs—can be understood secondhand. You have to feel it yourself. Sit with it. Wrestle with it. Maybe love it, maybe hate it, but at least then it’s yours. Otherwise, you’re just a megaphone for someone else’s noise.

And if you think this is about books, movies, and songs—

Read again.
Think again. 

As ever,

Ambika