I recently revisited Virgil Abloh's playlist for Vogue.

Virgil is gone. The playlist remains.

We now know he was privately battling a rare disease when he curated this. That context changes the signal. The tracks are no longer just a selection of music. They are a window into his mind during that final chapter.

They capture exactly what he was feeling. They lock that moment in place.

A playlist is a time machine.