Michelle Obama, Kendrick Lamar, and Tom Cruise: Inside Obama’s Culture Power List

Olivia Bennett, 12/19/2025 Forget algorithms—Barack Obama’s year-end picks are pop culture’s platinum guest list. With literary heavyweights, cinematic showstoppers, and a playlist worthy of Studio 54, he turns taste-making into an art form, proving once again: when it comes to culture, Obama doesn’t follow trends—he sets them.

And taste is very much the point. Obama, always attuned to the optics, isn’t simply sharing a list; he’s creating a moment that artists, publishers, and Spotify devotees await like the dropping of Times Square’s ball. Call it calculated, call it charming—he has an uncanny knack for turning personal culture into public decree, lending a bit of velvet-rope prestige to everything he touches. Even algorithms, for all their clinical power, can’t quite replicate that wink of authority.

This year, the literary centerpiece shimmered with a familiar name: Michelle Obama. Her opus “The Look,” as fresh as her closet and twice as bold, landed squarely on the list. One might guess at a tinge of political favoritism, but Obama, ever the maestro of public perception, didn’t duck the obvious. “And obviously I’m biased,” he joked—reminding everyone that nepotism, with the right twist, can still feel charming. If the couple’s reading lives once ran parallel, it now seems they’ve fused their bookshelves into a single, unstoppable narrative.

Of course, the First Lady isn’t strolling those shelves alone. Beth Macy’s “Paper Girl” and Susan Choi’s “Flashlight” pop up alongside bright new entries from Zadie Smith and Kiran Desai. There’s a sense that Obama’s gaze remains wide—caring less about genre boundaries and more about literary electricity. Titles like Brian Goldstone’s “There Is No Place For Us” and Jill Lepore’s rousing “We the People” sit between worlds; they see through the mythos, digging into democracy and displacement with the energy of a Broadway duel. There’s history here, sure, but the stories feel fiercely of-the-moment, shaped by the last twelve months of news cycles, book-tour drama, and who’s-who panel discussions from Brooklyn to Berkeley.

Then again, the annual unveiling isn’t just for the literati—Oscar-watchers have long known to check for cinematic gems hiding somewhere between memoirs and manifestos. The 2024 film picks sprawl across genre and geography, with Ryan Coogler’s “Sinners” (starring Michael B. Jordan, for those keeping track of Hollywood dynasties), nestled against Paul Thomas Anderson’s cerebral “One Battle After Another.” Chloe Zhao’s exquisite “Hamnet”—a feat of adaptation—rounds out a trio of films that seem destined for awards chatter. Not to mention, Alejandro G. Iñárritu’s collaboration with Tom Cruise, “Digger,” is already stirring up rumors like confetti in festival season, thanks to its Saul Bass-inspired artwork (yes, really) and a cast that spans from John Goodman to Riz Ahmed. If there were betting odds for next year’s Palme d’Or, Cannes would already be laying them feverishly.

But nothing puts an exclamation point on “year in review” quite like music. Obama’s playlist has become the stuff of legend—half diplomatic overture, half hype machine—where Kendrick Lamar and Drake both pull up chairs at the big table, feuding or no. Kendrick crackles with SZA on “Luther,” while Drake’s “Nokia” slides in as if the charts themselves can’t keep up with the times. No attempt to settle music’s long-standing rivalries—just a wry balancing act, as though reminding everyone that presidential taste, by definition, rises above squabbles.

Lady Gaga’s “Abracadabra” glitters like a Versace clutch at a museum gala—a little splashy, a little ironic, totally irresistible. Chappell Roan and Olivia Dean round out the playlist, blending pop’s kaleidoscope with the steady heartbeat of global sounds. Burna Boy, BLACKPINK, Rosalía, Laufey—they all get their spin. It’s a party that could make a diplomat blush and a festival booker weep. (And, for anyone keepings tabs, Bruce Springsteen sidles up next to Obongjayar; why not?)

One might wonder, with streaming platforms recommending playlists before a listener has even brewed their coffee, why does this analog act—one person sharing, others listening—still draw our fascination? Perhaps because, in the age of infinite scrolling, curation has become a rare art. Obama, in these lists, is neither kingmaker nor influencer, at least not in the pop-traditional sense. Instead, think of him as something closer to a statesman of soul—a man who, despite or because of his visibility, still enjoys the simple pleasure of giving a nod to the stuff that moves him. Or moves everyone else, once he’s mentioned it.

There’s a trick, though. The real substance isn’t in the big names or the clever crossovers, but in the quiet connective tissue—threads of longing, unrest, hope, nostalgia—stitched together with steady hands. It’s a patchwork that runs richer than TikTok trends or this week’s box office champion. Each selection, deliberate and disarming, reads less like homework and more like an invitation: join in, reflect, disagree, but above all, stay curious.

The entertainment machine churns on; already, talk has shifted toward “Digger” and the promise of a new cinematic era. The year ahead, 2025, is gathering stories of its own. And still, amid all this, there is comfort—perhaps even a dash of glamour—in knowing there remains a place for the grand, old-fashioned reveal: an end-of-year list not as a verdict, but as a mixtape; not as gospel, but as a starting point for conversation.

In a world where the next big thing always seems to arrive two minutes too late, maybe this—gathering up the year’s best, however messily or hopefully—is the closest thing we have left to making sense of it all. Maybe the real headline isn’t just what’s on the list, but that we’re still paying attention.

Every December, as peppermint mochas come and go and retailers swap out tinsel for “new year, new you” banners, another ritual quietly takes center stage—one that doesn’t involve reindeer pajamas or arguments about Die Hard’s seasonal credentials. The scene: Barack Obama, moving through pop culture’s crowded ballroom with the kind of understated authority that leaves even Hollywood’s veterans a little breathless. No red ribbon, no official fanfare. Just a former president—though sometimes it feels more like the world’s smoothest maître d’—serving up his annual “favorites” as if each recommendation could tip the scales of taste itself.And taste is very much the point. Obama, always attuned to the optics, isn’t simply sharing a list; he’s creating a moment that artists, publishers, and Spotify devotees await like the dropping of Times Square’s ball. Call it calculated, call it charming—he has an uncanny knack for turning personal culture into public decree, lending a bit of velvet-rope prestige to everything he touches. Even algorithms, for all their clinical power, can’t quite replicate that wink of authority.This year, the literary centerpiece shimmered with a familiar name: Michelle Obama. Her opus “The Look,” as fresh as her closet and twice as bold, landed squarely on the list. One might guess at a tinge of political favoritism, but Obama, ever the maestro of public perception, didn’t duck the obvious. “And obviously I’m biased,” he joked—reminding everyone that nepotism, with the right twist, can still feel charming. If the couple’s reading lives once ran parallel, it now seems they’ve fused their bookshelves into a single, unstoppable narrative.Of course, the First Lady isn’t strolling those shelves alone. Beth Macy’s “Paper Girl” and Susan Choi’s “Flashlight” pop up alongside bright new entries from Zadie Smith and Kiran Desai. There’s a sense that Obama’s gaze remains wide—caring less about genre boundaries and more about literary electricity. Titles like Brian Goldstone’s “There Is No Place For Us” and Jill Lepore’s rousing “We the People” sit between worlds; they see through the mythos, digging into democracy and displacement with the energy of a Broadway duel. There’s history here, sure, but the stories feel fiercely of-the-moment, shaped by the last twelve months of news cycles, book-tour drama, and who’s-who panel discussions from Brooklyn to Berkeley.Then again, the annual unveiling isn’t just for the literati—Oscar-watchers have long known to check for cinematic gems hiding somewhere between memoirs and manifestos. The 2024 film picks sprawl across genre and geography, with Ryan Coogler’s “Sinners” (starring Michael B. Jordan, for those keeping track of Hollywood dynasties), nestled against Paul Thomas Anderson’s cerebral “One Battle After Another.” Chloe Zhao’s exquisite “Hamnet”—a feat of adaptation—rounds out a trio of films that seem destined for awards chatter. Not to mention, Alejandro G. Iñárritu’s collaboration with Tom Cruise, “Digger,” is already stirring up rumors like confetti in festival season, thanks to its Saul Bass-inspired artwork (yes, really) and a cast that spans from John Goodman to Riz Ahmed. If there were betting odds for next year’s Palme d’Or, Cannes would already be laying them feverishly.But nothing puts an exclamation point on “year in review” quite like music. Obama’s playlist has become the stuff of legend—half diplomatic overture, half hype machine—where Kendrick Lamar and Drake both pull up chairs at the big table, feuding or no. Kendrick crackles with SZA on “Luther,” while Drake’s “Nokia” slides in as if the charts themselves can’t keep up with the times. No attempt to settle music’s long-standing rivalries—just a wry balancing act, as though reminding everyone that presidential taste, by definition, rises above squabbles.Lady Gaga’s “Abracadabra” glitters like a Versace clutch at a museum gala—a little splashy, a little ironic, totally irresistible. Chappell Roan and Olivia Dean round out the playlist, blending pop’s kaleidoscope with the steady heartbeat of global sounds. Burna Boy, BLACKPINK, Rosalía, Laufey—they all get their spin. It’s a party that could make a diplomat blush and a festival booker weep. (And, for anyone keepings tabs, Bruce Springsteen sidles up next to Obongjayar; why not?)One might wonder, with streaming platforms recommending playlists before a listener has even brewed their coffee, why does this analog act—one person sharing, others listening—still draw our fascination? Perhaps because, in the age of infinite scrolling, curation has become a rare art. Obama, in these lists, is neither kingmaker nor influencer, at least not in the pop-traditional sense. Instead, think of him as something closer to a statesman of soul—a man who, despite or because of his visibility, still enjoys the simple pleasure of giving a nod to the stuff that moves him. Or moves everyone else, once he’s mentioned it.There’s a trick, though. The real substance isn’t in the big names or the clever crossovers, but in the quiet connective tissue—threads of longing, unrest, hope, nostalgia—stitched together with steady hands. It’s a patchwork that runs richer than TikTok trends or this week’s box office champion. Each selection, deliberate and disarming, reads less like homework and more like an invitation: join in, reflect, disagree, but above all, stay curious.The entertainment machine churns on; already, talk has shifted toward “Digger” and the promise of a new cinematic era. The year ahead, 2025, is gathering stories of its own. And still, amid all this, there is comfort—perhaps even a dash of glamour—in knowing there remains a place for the grand, old-fashioned reveal: an end-of-year list not as a verdict, but as a mixtape; not as gospel, but as a starting point for conversation.In a world where the next big thing always seems to arrive two minutes too late, maybe this—gathering up the year’s best, however messily or hopefully—is the closest thing we have left to making sense of it all. Maybe the real headline isn’t just what’s on the list, but that we’re still paying attention.