In Nick Hornby's High Fidelity, Rob comes to the conclusion that it's not what you like, but what you're like that's important.

This is hard for me to shake into my head. I spent my formative years on the prairies where those who shared my interests were few and far in between. No one wanted to come over and watch Fashion Television with me; they were busy driving ATVs and shooting pop cans with rifles.

I developed a bit of complex.

Thankfully my skateboarder friends saved me from being stuck with rednecks, and I learned to blend in, most of the time. (It turns out I'm quite good with a shotgun).

But I still needed to be around people who had subscriptions to the same magazines as me. A few apartments later, I now find myself surrounded by people I consider to have excellent taste.

Asking someone their favourite books or artists became an easy way to sort through heaps of people and discover which of them I wanted to spend more time with.

After all:

“It's no good pretending that any relationship has a future if your record collections disagree violently or if your favorite films wouldn't even speak to each other if they met at a party.”

Hornby is right. I've tried dating someone on the other end of the taste spectrum, and at a certain point it had to end. But I learned if someone doesn't like the same music, art or architecture you, it doesn't make them uncool. It may even make them interesting to be around, and they can teach you new things.

What you're like wins in what's important in friends and in dates. So next time I'm out and someone wants to talk about The Hills, I'll give them a listen. But if it lasts more than five minutes, I'll hail a cab and settle for going home alone.