The Authority of Taste

How It Can Become an Argument That Rules Out Any Discussion of Quality and Mediocrity

One of the most common expressions in discussions of literature and art is the familiar assertion that “there is no arguing about taste.” On the surface, this statement appears to express a commendable form of tolerance, as it grants everyone the right to like whatever they wish and dislike whatever they choose. Yet it can become an argument that rules out any meaningful discussion of quality and mediocrity, placing fleeting impressions and well-considered judgments on an equal footing.

There is no disagreement that everyone has the right to say, “I liked this work” or “I did not like it.” Appreciation is a personal experience that cannot be imposed by force. However, freedom of taste does not mean that all judgments are equal in value. There is a substantial difference between saying, “I did not like this work,” and saying, “This is a poor work.” The first statement describes the speaker’s personal experience, whereas the second makes a judgment about the work itself. At this point, it becomes entirely legitimate to ask what grounds the judgment rests upon, how well its author understands the art form in question, and how much experience they possess in comparison and discernment.

Taste is not something with which we are born fully developed. A reader who has encountered only one type of book will have limited tools for making judgments. Similarly, a listener who has become familiar with only one style of music will respond according to what they have grown accustomed to hearing. As experience broadens, distinctions become clearer and the ability to discriminate between different levels of quality improves.

Indeed, much of what we call “personal taste” may simply be the product of familiarity. Whatever we encounter repeatedly becomes familiar, and familiarity makes it feel closer to us, even when it is not necessarily of greater value. Thus, habit may disguise itself as independent taste, when in reality it is the product of one’s environment, upbringing, and repeated exposure.

In many fields, we readily acknowledge that experience makes a difference. The judgment of a beginner in calligraphy is not equivalent to that of a master calligrapher, just as the judgment of someone tasting a dish for the first time differs from that of someone familiar with its ingredients and methods of preparation. Yet we hesitate when we turn to art and culture, as though all opinions in these fields were equal simply because they are personal.

Everyone has the right to prefer a simple work to a more complex one, to return to a light read repeatedly, or to abandon a major literary work after only a few pages. But preference does not settle the question of value. We may enjoy a work that is artistically limited, just as we may acknowledge the value of an outstanding work without necessarily loving it.

This is why the expression “there is no arguing about taste” is more problematic than it initially appears. If every personal response constitutes a final and unquestionable judgment, what need is there for criticism? What purpose do literary and artistic education serve? Why do we study the history of the arts or learn how the novel, cinema, and music have evolved? The very existence of these fields presupposes that taste can be refined and developed, and that people can learn to see, hear, and understand more than they previously could.

This does not mean that good taste must be uniform, or that everyone should be expected to like the same things. The point is that individuals should possess broader tools for making choices and understand the difference between what they personally prefer and what they recognize as valuable.

Taste does not develop in a vacuum. In every era, institutions and influential voices have helped assign greater prestige to certain works than to others. Schools, universities, newspapers, critics, publishing houses, and cultural magazines have all played a role, later joined by awards, rankings, and television programmes. These institutions were neither infallible nor invariably fair, but they performed a filtering function, offering readers a broader frame of reference than their immediate individual responses.

Today, however, the influence of many of these intermediaries has weakened, while new mechanisms have emerged that operate faster and exert greater influence. The market does not merely satisfy existing tastes; it also helps shape them. Repetition, advertising, and widespread exposure suggest that whatever everyone sees must be worth seeing, and whatever everyone buys must be worth buying. Then came digital platforms and algorithms, which often show us content resembling what we have enjoyed in the past. In doing so, they narrow the scope of discovery while giving us the illusion of an expanding range of choices.

With the rise of social media, cultural judgments have become increasingly tied to rapid reactions: likes, shares, ratings, and view counts. These figures measure reach and visibility more than they measure intrinsic value. Nevertheless, they have gradually infiltrated our consciousness as indicators of quality. As a result, the most visible work automatically begins to appear the best, even when its prominence may be attributable to personal connections, friendships, or the promotional efforts of its creator.

Here lies one of the most troubling transformations in contemporary taste: the confusion of fame with value. A work may become widely known because it is easy to consume, because it is controversial, because it reaches an audience at precisely the right moment, or because it benefits from a powerful marketing machine. None of these factors, on its own, is sufficient to establish the quality of the work.

In the past, critics, editors, cultural magazines, and educational institutions played varying degrees of an intermediary role between artistic works and their audiences. Today, however, a work can reach an enormous audience before any serious discussion of its merits even begins. In many cases, critical judgment arrives only after fame has already shaped public opinion, making that opinion difficult to challenge.

For this reason, taste is not quite the purely individual matter we like to imagine it to be. We do make choices, certainly, but we make them within an environment that constantly suggests what we should read, watch, and listen to, repeatedly exposing us to certain works until they become part of our consciousness.

The question, therefore, is no longer simply: What do we like? It is also: How did this preference develop, and who helped shape it?

If taste can be shaped, who is guiding it today? Is it the critic and the cultural institution, or the market, the platform, the influencer, and the algorithm?

Originally published in the Saudi newspaper Asharq Al-Awsat.