So I am a pair of Audio-Technica ATH-M50x. A bit bulky, drawing a lot of skeptical attention to itself: “why on Earth would anyone go around like that?” And God, not even a Beats logo; “what’s wrong with him?” The thing is that I prefer to listen to music the way a forty-three-year-old man with dark circles under his eyes designed it to sound during long hours inside a soundproof room, huddled over a mixing desk like a lifeboat, pushing faders back and forth like oars on a sonic sea. It’s why I wear studio-grade headphones amidst a sea of people desperately hoping Dr. Dre will tell them how music is supposed to sound, all for the low-low price of three times that of my audio truth serum. It gives me more money to buy albums, ammo for my ear rifles. It gives me more of an inclination to use them for what they are meant to do: lift you off your feet and into the audio. Your ears do not care about the branding you’ve plastered over them. But when an unlicensed doctor recommends a bass boost, it might not be the best idea to wear his prescription as earrings: dirty aural syringes masquerading as billboards masquerading as a lifestyle brand masquerading as music. Toss the needle and smother your addiction with a brick; you are what you listen through.
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