Stars, Snubs, and Subtle Disses: Inside Obama’s 2025 Pop Culture Power List

Max Sterling, 12/19/2025Barack Obama’s 2025 favorite books, movies, and music list is part syllabus, part swagger—a globetrotting mixtape for the culturally curious. Equal parts tastemaker and “cool dad,” his picks are a reminder: art isn’t just entertainment; it’s a state of the union, spun on a turntable.

This December, as the holiday lights blink uncertainly in the background of another tumultuous year, Obama’s newest list fell onto social feeds like a lost Rolling Stone mixtape: half civics lesson, half playlist for that dinner party everyone keeps putting off. The accompanying message, shared with typical slyness—“Continuing a tradition I started in the White House. Hope you find something to enjoy—send your recommendations my way!”—was a subtle nod to evolving presidential pastimes. Just last spring, after all, a meme from another ex-president outpaced actual policy changes in terms of national attention. So it goes.

Maybe it’s tempting to lump Obama’s annual picks in with any garden-variety influencer list—watch, read, repeat—but there’s more at work. These selections serve as a kind of cultural mercury thermometer, measuring not just taste but the temperature of the national mood. Magazine covers and critic scores can only go so far; Obama’s compilation lands with the hybrid authority of a professor reading song lyrics at commencement, sprinkled with an insouciance that says, yes, it’s supposed to be a little bit fun.

Flip through the book choices, and a thread starts to appear. “Paper Girl” by Beth Macy isn’t just a casual page-turner, nor is Susan Choi’s “Flashlight” palatable background noise for subway commutes alone. Books like “We The People” by Jill Lepore, Smith’s “Dead and Alive,” Goldstone’s “There Is No Place For Us,” and—inevitably—Michelle Obama’s “The Look” (bias? It’s not exactly hidden) form something closer to a survey course on contemporary anxieties. A touch of Ivy League rigor tangled up with the accessibility of a streaming service queue. The subtext: pleasure reading doesn’t have to rule out political or existential weight. On second thought, perhaps there isn’t meant to be a strict division at all.

The movie roster goes in a slightly different direction, but carries the same energy. Ryan Coogler’s “Sinners,” with Michael B. Jordan pulling double duty as both twins opening a juke joint—think Hayley Mills by way of Mississippi blues—sits alongside Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest visually ambitious fever dream, and Chloé Zhao’s “Hamnet,” humming with the ghost of Shakespeare. Interesting, too, that Neon has locked down four of these eleven slots, almost as if a challenge: American blockbusters might still dominate, but global stories are where the currents of taste are shifting. Anyone craving comfort food cinema hasn’t looked closely at this list.

Somewhere between deliberate curation and happy accident, this year’s film list syncs up—perhaps a bit more than usual—with the Oscar race. Critics noticed. In 2024, only four Obama choices crossed over into the Best Picture category. This time? Nearly double, with a few “snub” picks getting their own surge of press. Did the Academy take a few cues from a Spotify playlist? Coincidence, or a sign of how porous the line between elites and audience has finally become?

But the playlist—this is where the former president’s inner crate-digger gets a little loose. Lady Gaga’s “Abracadabra” and Chappell Roan’s “The Giver” don’t seem like obvious neighbors, but who needs thematic cohesion when you’ve also got Burna Boy and Rosalía chiming in? Olivia Dean’s soft-hearted “Nice to Each Other” drapes itself around Gunna’s more charged “Just Say Dat.” As for the year’s big rap feud? Obama, in pure statesman fashion, includes tracks from both Lamar (“Luther”) and Drake (“Nokia”). Why choose sides when you can wave the olive branch instead?

Lucy Dacus, pointedly absent, serves as a quiet reminder that annual traditions aren’t immune to real-world beefs. A couple of years ago, she labeled him a “war criminal” for including her on a previous list. He’s since returned the favor with radio silence. Even the world’s hippest bookworm knows when to pretend an email got lost in the spam folder.

What emerges from the long scroll—more than thirty tracks sliding effortlessly from continent to genre, normcore to inspired—is both an act of curation and an open invitation. As one headline put it, Alex Warren’s “Ordinary” lands among the safer picks, while Obongjayar’s “Not in Surrender” gives the project some edge. There’s no formula here, and that may be the point. The annual playlist still arrives in the wild west days before end-of-year recaps calcify into consensus, with unofficial Spotify lists popping up, sometimes before the original thread even finishes going viral.

Step back, and the sum of these lists starts looking less like a “60 Under 60” influencer round-up and more like a sort of modern campfire—a spot where the stories and sounds shaping the year come to mingle. Presidential playlists, in this light, act as both community bulletin and provocation. Who gets in? Who’s left out? Is it aspiration, nostalgia, or just an aging ex-president proving he can still outrun the algorithm? Maybe a little of each.

Whatever the intent, the cultural survey paints a picture: global, ambitious, and just a little off-kilter—never fully normie, never entirely avant-garde. Sometimes, the selections feel achingly earnest; sometimes, too cool for their own good. But that’s part of the charm, isn’t it? A reminder that, as the world changes—sometimes faster than pop culture can keep up—an old-fashioned list can still provide a snapshot: not just of what’s trending, but of who we’re trying to be, together or apart.

As 2025 winds down, maybe that’s the real takeaway. Art, in all its tangled, occasionally bewildering form, still matters. The books we dog-ear, the movies we debate, the tracks we play on repeat—each offers a piece of the blueprint for empathy, a small argument in favor of hope. Or at the very least, a playlist to get us through one more winter.

There’s something almost Shakespearean about the way Barack Obama has settled into the role of America’s unofficial pop culture sommelier. Once a fixture in the Oval Office, the man now deals in year-end recommendations—a ritual so beloved by the nation’s armchair curators that, come December, people wait on edge just to see which indie flick or under-the-radar album gets his blessing. Not exactly what the Founding Fathers predicted, but here we are in late 2025.This December, as the holiday lights blink uncertainly in the background of another tumultuous year, Obama’s newest list fell onto social feeds like a lost Rolling Stone mixtape: half civics lesson, half playlist for that dinner party everyone keeps putting off. The accompanying message, shared with typical slyness—“Continuing a tradition I started in the White House. Hope you find something to enjoy—send your recommendations my way!”—was a subtle nod to evolving presidential pastimes. Just last spring, after all, a meme from another ex-president outpaced actual policy changes in terms of national attention. So it goes.Maybe it’s tempting to lump Obama’s annual picks in with any garden-variety influencer list—watch, read, repeat—but there’s more at work. These selections serve as a kind of cultural mercury thermometer, measuring not just taste but the temperature of the national mood. Magazine covers and critic scores can only go so far; Obama’s compilation lands with the hybrid authority of a professor reading song lyrics at commencement, sprinkled with an insouciance that says, yes, it’s supposed to be a little bit fun.Flip through the book choices, and a thread starts to appear. “Paper Girl” by Beth Macy isn’t just a casual page-turner, nor is Susan Choi’s “Flashlight” palatable background noise for subway commutes alone. Books like “We The People” by Jill Lepore, Smith’s “Dead and Alive,” Goldstone’s “There Is No Place For Us,” and—inevitably—Michelle Obama’s “The Look” (bias? It’s not exactly hidden) form something closer to a survey course on contemporary anxieties. A touch of Ivy League rigor tangled up with the accessibility of a streaming service queue. The subtext: pleasure reading doesn’t have to rule out political or existential weight. On second thought, perhaps there isn’t meant to be a strict division at all.The movie roster goes in a slightly different direction, but carries the same energy. Ryan Coogler’s “Sinners,” with Michael B. Jordan pulling double duty as both twins opening a juke joint—think Hayley Mills by way of Mississippi blues—sits alongside Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest visually ambitious fever dream, and Chloé Zhao’s “Hamnet,” humming with the ghost of Shakespeare. Interesting, too, that Neon has locked down four of these eleven slots, almost as if a challenge: American blockbusters might still dominate, but global stories are where the currents of taste are shifting. Anyone craving comfort food cinema hasn’t looked closely at this list.Somewhere between deliberate curation and happy accident, this year’s film list syncs up—perhaps a bit more than usual—with the Oscar race. Critics noticed. In 2024, only four Obama choices crossed over into the Best Picture category. This time? Nearly double, with a few “snub” picks getting their own surge of press. Did the Academy take a few cues from a Spotify playlist? Coincidence, or a sign of how porous the line between elites and audience has finally become?But the playlist—this is where the former president’s inner crate-digger gets a little loose. Lady Gaga’s “Abracadabra” and Chappell Roan’s “The Giver” don’t seem like obvious neighbors, but who needs thematic cohesion when you’ve also got Burna Boy and Rosalía chiming in? Olivia Dean’s soft-hearted “Nice to Each Other” drapes itself around Gunna’s more charged “Just Say Dat.” As for the year’s big rap feud? Obama, in pure statesman fashion, includes tracks from both Lamar (“Luther”) and Drake (“Nokia”). Why choose sides when you can wave the olive branch instead?Lucy Dacus, pointedly absent, serves as a quiet reminder that annual traditions aren’t immune to real-world beefs. A couple of years ago, she labeled him a “war criminal” for including her on a previous list. He’s since returned the favor with radio silence. Even the world’s hippest bookworm knows when to pretend an email got lost in the spam folder.What emerges from the long scroll—more than thirty tracks sliding effortlessly from continent to genre, normcore to inspired—is both an act of curation and an open invitation. As one headline put it, Alex Warren’s “Ordinary” lands among the safer picks, while Obongjayar’s “Not in Surrender” gives the project some edge. There’s no formula here, and that may be the point. The annual playlist still arrives in the wild west days before end-of-year recaps calcify into consensus, with unofficial Spotify lists popping up, sometimes before the original thread even finishes going viral.Step back, and the sum of these lists starts looking less like a “60 Under 60” influencer round-up and more like a sort of modern campfire—a spot where the stories and sounds shaping the year come to mingle. Presidential playlists, in this light, act as both community bulletin and provocation. Who gets in? Who’s left out? Is it aspiration, nostalgia, or just an aging ex-president proving he can still outrun the algorithm? Maybe a little of each.Whatever the intent, the cultural survey paints a picture: global, ambitious, and just a little off-kilter—never fully normie, never entirely avant-garde. Sometimes, the selections feel achingly earnest; sometimes, too cool for their own good. But that’s part of the charm, isn’t it? A reminder that, as the world changes—sometimes faster than pop culture can keep up—an old-fashioned list can still provide a snapshot: not just of what’s trending, but of who we’re trying to be, together or apart.As 2025 winds down, maybe that’s the real takeaway. Art, in all its tangled, occasionally bewildering form, still matters. The books we dog-ear, the movies we debate, the tracks we play on repeat—each offers a piece of the blueprint for empathy, a small argument in favor of hope. Or at the very least, a playlist to get us through one more winter.