Casiotone for the forever alone

Depressing songs for every unloved personality type

Some call it a Hallmark holiday. Others, still, will call it an invention of the romance industrial complex. Whatever the case, Valentine’s Day is a testy subject for the perpetually alone: It’s a time when your shortcomings — emotional, physical, psychosocial, whatever — are exaggerated. It’s when your typical lonely depression turns into self-righteous anger. It’s a time when you convince yourself that you don’t need romance, or sex, or human connection. Who needs it, anyhow?

To answer that question: You. And while it’s fair to blame your stalled romantic life on stagnant dating scenes, unrealistic standards or even biology, here’s a cold hard fact: Your solitude is no one’s fault but your own. You, and your immutable personality, your inability to compromise on your petty values and your unwillingness to change, are the problem. Sorry, guy.

Here’s the good part, though: Every personality type has its flaws. We’ve come to accept that. You should, too. And to ease the process, we’ve developed a soothing anti-Valentine’s playlist catering to every personality type. (Note: We used the personality types from the Enneagram system, a rubric determining social archetypes.) So, join us in listening to these songs, because if we’re going to be alone forever, we might as well be alone forever together.


Your flaw: You’re an insufferable nitpicker who sets completely unreasonable standards. Your romantic failure? You’re rigid, and your partners — cough, exes — felt so judged, they couldn’t comfortably be naked in your presence. You hate them for it, but believe us: They hate you more.

Your song: The Smiths’s “Girlfriend in a Coma,” a track that half feigns tender love, half brims with cheekily murderous intent.


Your flaw: You’re the heartbeat of your social group. Which is good, but behind closed doors, you want others to need you — and resultingly, you’re a clingy, attention-starved egomaniac who suffocates anyone who dares get close. Remember the cryers at high-school house parties? Yeah, those were helpers.

Your song: The viral YouTube reboot of Justin Bieber’s “Boyfriend,” the chorus of which declared that “I’d never let you leave / Without a small recording device taped under your sleeve.”


Your flaw: You’re basically a publicist. You’re excellent at acting your way to the top, but on the flip side, you’re cold, deceitful and conniving. Anyone who gets to know you well enough — like, say, your mom — knows you have no soul.

Your song: Daniel Romano’s “I’m Not Crying Over You,” in which the country writer admits that he doesn’t cry in earnest; he acts.


Your flaw: You’re sensitive. We get it. You feel love, hatred, anguish, loss and victory more deeply than the rest of us. You’ve likely channeled these sensitivities into a creative pursuit — writing, music, painting — and while you may consider yourself an artist, the rest of us see you as an unemployed adult baby.

Your song: “Your Hand in Mine,” by Explosions in the Sky. It’s over-sentimental, overdramatic and, as song narratives go, serves no specific function. Like you.


Your flaw: You’re a highly intelligent philosopher king (or queen), but you’re so incredibly introverted, fragile and self-loathing that no one would know it. You see yourself as a sexy librarian or a dreamy professor, but the rest of us are afraid that you’re getting a little too intimate with your many, many cats.

Your song: The Weakerthans’s “Left and Leaving,” a song in which duct tape is lonely, sidewalks watch people, years drown, and its protagonist, the ever-mousy John K. Samson, is left behind by a lover. Sound familiar?


Your flaw: You consider your distrust of people and ideas healthy. Much of the time, it is. But when it comes to love, you’re paranoid (and controlling) of any potential partner — and their past — and watch them with obsessive vigilance. You’ll accuse them of infidelity so intensely that one of two things will happen: You’ll force your partner to either cheat on you or get a restraining order. Likely both.

Your song: Easy. Hall and Oates’s “Private Eye.” Or Yacht Club’s “A Little Messed Up.” Or… Jesus, you’re creepy.


Your flaw: You’re an idealistic dreamer, and a quiet revolutionary who achieves enlightenment by constantly drinking from the well of human experience. You envision yourself as a new age, progressive ideologue; others see you as a pederast cult leader who lives on a houseboat in Thailand. You’re feared for both your sketchy past and your myriad diseases.

Your song: Enya, Peter Gabriel or anything Sting might play during a 19-hour sex marathon.


Your flaw: You’re domineering, power hungry and in control, and have an insatiable appetite for money, experience and sex. While this makes you a professional success, most of us think you’re straight outta American Psycho. Your former “fuck receptacles” — hey, you invented the term, not us — told us that, in private, you love to dress in full Nazi regalia. We believed them.

Your song: Rammstein’s “Du Hast,” to be played while snorting a line off your mirrored coffee table.


Your flaw: You fear conflict, but most find you reasonable, pragmatic, non-partisan, accepting and non-confrontational. Read over those adjectives again. You’re the human embodiment of vanilla. You’re an old white male, even if you’re female. Your wardrobe choices can best be described as “smart and sensible.” So, the real question: Would you even want to sleep with yourself?

Your song: Anything by Oates and Garfunkel, were they a real band and not a comedy act.


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