Bad lyrics. We all know ‘em. 

The kind that are so addictively awful, you might end up loving them unironically. And if you’re ever wondering whether you’ve had an original thought, just Google it followed by the word “Reddit.” You’ll find a whole community commiserating over questionable lyrics, proving that lovingly hating on them is a universal experience. 

I went down this rabbit hole recently while searching for Fergie’s line in Big Girls Don’t Cry: “And I’m gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket.” Valid sentiment in the context of the song? Absolutely. But something about the phrasing has always cracked me up. I have fond memories of my coworkers and me screaming that one line at each other during brutal restaurant shifts in NYC, using it as a battle cry to survive the chaos of brunch.

As a musician, I’m constantly exposed to lyrics that make me giggle. I say this with the utmost love and respect, fully aware that my own lyrics are fair game for judgment. We are always our harshest critics, but don’t worry—so are album reviewers. I remember standing at SXSW, feeling proud of my band’s accomplishments, only to read a review (while on the toilet, no less) that completely tore apart my work. I tried to find that review again for this blog, but the gist of it was: simple, trite lyrics with too much rhyming. Ouch. But also? True.

Anyone who puts themselves out there to be judged, scrutinized, and picked apart is a hero. Even if their lyrics are simple, trite, and overly reliant on rhyme, they are still braver than anyone laughing on the sidelines because they created something and shared it with the world. That’s terrifying and, frankly, fucking brave. And as therapists, we are trained to ask, “What prompts this discomfort in bad lyrics? Is it just the simplicity of them, or is there something deeper that triggers our own insecurities or pain?” Perhaps they remind us of times when we felt out of place or when we tried too hard. Sometimes, our reaction to bad lyrics says more about our own insecurities than about the lyrics themselves.

So why does criticism—especially of our own creative work—sting so much? Research suggests that perfectionism plays a huge role. 

Perfectionism, particularly maladaptive perfectionism, is the belief that any mistake or imperfection is unacceptable and a sign of failure. This mindset fuels extreme self-criticism, fear of negative evaluation, and even avoidance of creative risks.

If you’ve ever had journaling homework in therapy, you know how difficult it can be to follow through. Sometimes, even writing privately about our feelings feels daunting. Now imagine exposing your thoughts, emotions, and creative expression to public scrutiny. Performing, writing, or creating in any capacity means allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of an audience, and that takes courage.

Maladaptive perfectionism can make us overanalyze our work to the point that we never share it at all. It’s why some musicians keep rewriting the same song endlessly or why some people abandon creative hobbies they once loved. That’s why I love laughing at “bad” lyrics—not to ridicule, but to remind myself that it’s okay to create imperfectly. Even the simplest, cheesiest lines can resonate with people in ways we don’t expect.

Today, I was driving home when Closing Time came on the radio. The lyric “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end” always makes me laugh because I can just picture someone in the studio thinking, Holy shit, I just cracked the meaning of life. But you know what? They kinda did. As corny as that lyric might be, it’s true—we do have to close some chapters to start new ones. 

I went down another Reddit rabbit hole and found so many people who love Closing Time and that lyric in particular. I also learned that the song is actually about childbirth and that the songwriter, Dan Wilson, went on to write hits for Adele and numerous other artists. (Insert joke about Wilson laughing his way to the bank here.)

So, what does that tell us? That even the lyrics we mock have depth, meaning, and the ability to connect with others. A bad lyric might make you chortle, but it might also make you feel something—nostalgia, comfort, or even just the joy of singing along to something ridiculous.

This subject came up in perfect time this week as Lady Gaga was promoting her new album on The Howard Stern Show. When asked if she felt pressure to outdo her past work or increase her sales numbers, she had a powerful response:

“I stopped doing that and I started just feeling and allowing myself to be free. And you know what? It’s okay to make mistakes. What does it even mean for music to be perfect? I’m trying to have an experience with music that is honest and authentic.” She later adds, “If you abandon yourself, what’s the point?”

That sentiment hit hard—not just in a creative capacity, but in life. If we abandon our own needs just to cater to someone else’s expectations, what is the purpose of any of it? It’s way too easy to get stuck in a perfectionist loop, especially if we attach our self-worth to how we look to others. Holding ourselves to impossibly high standards puts our self-worth on a fragile balance, tipping easily into self-criticism and negative self-talk.

Cool, Carly. Now I’m aware that people do, in fact, judge me. Cool, cool, cool. This was really helpful, thanks.

Okay, I get it—this blog is definitely poking the artistic wound a bit. Creating is difficult for a million reasons, and perfectionism is just one piece of the puzzle. But pretending that the human tendency to judge doesn’t exist isn’t the answer, either. Yes, delusion can be useful in pushing past the doubters, but it still doesn’t address the root of the problem.

So what do we do?

There are Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) techniques we can use to help reframe our relationship with perfectionism. CBT asks us to challenge our negative thoughts and view them without judgment, seeing if there’s another way to reframe them. For instance, when you catch yourself being overly critical, replace that thought with something more neutral, like “Sure this isn’t perfect, but it’s still valuable.”

The ability to create without simultaneously judging yourself is an art in itself; it requires practice and patience. It helps to expose yourself to imperfection by creating without second-guessing or overthinking. Case in point: last night, I set up my band’s keyboard rig after months of it sitting untouched (thanks, grad school). After turning everything on, we started jamming. Normally, I struggle with improvising because I love a fully fleshed-out song idea. But for the first time, I said out loud, “I am playing without judgment and just letting whatever comes out, come out.”

I know my drummer couldn’t hear me because he had his in-ears in, but that statement wasn’t for him. It was for me to remind myself to just do my thing.

We have the chance to view our mistakes, or unfinished ideas, as learning experiences. They might not turn out the way we originally envisioned, but they can teach us something valuable that resurfaces later in an unexpected way. 

Giving ourselves permission to create without the pressure of perfection is a muscle we need to train.

So yeah, some lyrics are undeniably bad. But even the simplest, cheesiest lines can resonate with someone. And that, in itself, makes them valuable. Whether you’re writing music, painting, journaling, or sharing some small creative part of yourself, don’t let the fear of imperfection hold you back. It is such a normal feeling, but we can try to meet it with self-compassion. Sometimes the most “trite” ideas are the ones that stick with us the longest. 

And if you ever find yourself laughing at a lyric, just remember: someone out there probably loves it. 

And maybe, deep down, you do too.