It is one of many unspoken assumptions made by our self-conscious, appearance-obsessed generation that the bigger the earphones, the broader the musical knowledge contained between them. Sizing up the bloke at the bus stop with the holy grail of aural amplification, we covetously speculate that he must have such an alternative/underground/1974 B-side limited edition collection of musical magnificence that standard earphones would just not do. Melodrama aside, an unsettling question remains: just how far do we rely on cultural artifice to cultivate our outward persona?

Pierre Bayard's latest offering to the already overflowing ‘novelty literature’ landfill suggests something slightly uncomfortable. How To Talk About Books You Haven't Read, which was released to positive reviews from The Times and The Guardian, does exactly what it promises. The text offers itself as the cheat’s resource for the insecure multitude who hope to speak with some level of convincing authority about the intellectually important novels that they have no intention of opening.

Apart from blowing the cover of every English Literature student in the country, Bayard’s proposal poses a giant question about the legitimacy of the cultural components that we use to define our personalities. While Bayard has publicly exposed the scholarly charlatan, he has left the whole question of the music fraud ripe for investigation.

If the "non-reading" of books is as widespread as Bayard claims, then surely the very similar act of "non-listening" is being applied to a wealth of assumed-to-be "important" music. So it is reasonable to suggest that in amongst this cluster of passionate non-readers there must exist a significant number who bluff an extensive musical knowledge as their own version of the cultural beard.

Somehow, it has become the norm for us to bulk up our outward persona by any means possible, even if it means skimming the surface of a novel or feigning an interest in a German DJ whose music gives you a headache and whose name you simply can’t pronounce. We will soon have to hide the embarrassing fact that all we really know is very little about very many things. Yes, we have heard of that obscure 1990’s post-punk underground band but God help us if anyone asks us to name a single song.

Following in the footsteps of the novel, music has become a measure for one’s cultural validity. It is glaringly apparent in the most routine areas of public social exhibition. Facebook’s “favourite music" section has become an excuse to dazzle friends with a pretentious list of our absolute "favourite" artists. More and more, instead of just listening to the music we like, we prefer to wear it and to name-droppingly talk about it. Music, with all of its hip associations, has become another way for us to publicise how we wish the world to perceive us.

Back at the bus stop, the bloke with the enormous “I know more about music than you do” earphones strapped to his head is secretly hoping that the next song on his playlist will be Avril Lavigne's 'Sk8er Boi'. Let's stop the precariously one-dimensional chat and surface skimming. If you haven’t read Tolstoy and you secretly think that Radiohead are over-rated just say it. You'd be surprised how many people might agree with you.