As Brat Summer came and went, in a decadent, ephemeral blur, it left behind a legacy: one of the power of seasonal nomenclature, the modern desires for definition, adherence, and remodelling, the ever so human urge to create, conform, remodel and reinstate. Brat Summer was a testimony to the ways we shape and discover identity as both a collective generational foundation and individual quintessence. brat was inherently dualistic in its introspection and its glamorous irony. The record sort of changed music because it made an art out of marketing and cultivated an atmosphere where the curation of the album’s persona was not restricted to a team of professionals; Charli xcx, inadvertently or otherwise, outsourced brat. Its atypical graphic design—an obtrusive, ugly colour, contrasted with its title in bold serif, unpolished, unabashed, reliant on its contents rather than a refined, retouched surface—came off as almost rebellious coupled with the authenticity of Charli’s lyrics, because it rejected, visually and sonically, the artificial sounds and aesthetics of ghostwritten music pumped for profit in favour of articulating what fame really entails.

Most importantly, though, the format was accessible. The very ethos of it was accessible. That is how it became such a colossal thing. Anything could be Brat. Anyone could be Brat. Anyone could party with their friends and think about their future and anyone could type out a thought and paste it onto a slime green background and add to the subculture that was becoming. Brat Summer taught us to just live a little, to be real with ourselves, to not pay so much attention to the shallow end of the lake. It was a connective interface allowing us to understand and grow within our world. And we’ve lost this a little bit throughout 2025—we haven’t had anything so holistically unifying. It’s now Autumn, and I think what Autumn needs is its own movement. So I present: Britpop Fall.

Anyway, here’s Wonderwall? No, Britpop is so much more. Dominating the zeitgeist of the mid to late 1990s, Britpop was a movement ushering in a new wave of ideas, sounds and attitudes that deconstructed the present status quo of the time in order to find meaning in a world that seemed to change faster than people could keep up with. Britpop redefined what it meant to be young in England, and it created a platform for the disenfranchised working class youth to revel in a sense of community and empowerment. Bands like The Verve, Pulp, and Oasis were formed with people who came from almost nothing and made something of themselves to an insurmountable degree simply by remaining authentic to the realities of their lived experiences. The political climate of England in the 1990s was marked by discourse regarding taxation, human rights, recessions, protests, and socioeconomic strife that catalyzed the onset of more radical movements that continued into the 2000s, meaning that people were aware that the shared context of ordinary life as they knew it was evolving. Periods of uncertainty act almost as vortexes for significant cultural shifts, because when the foundation begins to crumble, there is space for a new one to be laid, and artists in particular can utilize this as a vantage point.

Music is such a powerful avenue for revolution not only due to its versatility but because songwriting typically requires the writer to condense a very big idea into its most visceral components and then work those words into something that can be felt and reiterated; as beings that use language to process and communicate, poetry offers the most authentic insight into the human experience. Furthermore, the way music is shared and integrated into everyday life allows it to be a powerful tool for unity. So, the general population needed a new emblem for the next phase of their lives, and class conflicts indicated a desire to find solace in the everyman: in came an array of musicians who wrote about what it meant to be English at the end of the twentieth century, thus birthing Cool Britannia which evoked sense of pride within the working class. It was a testament to the fact that success, coolness, and enrichment were not something that could be restricted to a single group or kind of people, that all people were important as individuals. I’ll provide some info on the big three of Britpop (Oasis, Blur, and Pulp), because there’s a band for everybody. 

At the centre of Oasis were brothers Liam and Noel Gallagher who came from a tumultuous upbringing in the slums of Manchester, donning tracksuits and sunglasses alongside their Beatlesque haircuts. They redefined cool with their boisterous attitudes, disdain towards the press, and accessible melodies paired with roaring power chords. Oasis were the poster children of Manchester, a place wrought with poverty but booming with culture and community—Liam and Noel sought to channel this energy artistically. Oasis were successful because they were relatable; Noel Gallagher has an aptitude for creating music that transcends the barriers of social striata. He knows how to write for everyone. Oasis were proud of who they were, and where they came from, and they taught people that they could be, too, whether they were listening to Supersonic from a hostel or a mansion—thematically their lyrics typically consisted of songs regarding love, drugs, and the need for personal revolution.

From London came Blur: four art school students keen on analyzing the heart of modern English society. Damon Albarn’s lyricism was poignant in its holistic approach to introspection, exploring the self and society within the greater contexts of one another and the way that the two intermingle to create the bigger narrative of the world. In essence, Blur explored how people cannot be who they are without culture, and culture cannot be what it is without the people in it, as well as the human experience of existing within said culture. Songs like Country House and Charmless Man dissect the narrative of the upperclassmen, referencing the prevalence of the media, nepotism, a lack of fulfillment in spite of superficial success, and George Orwell. Parklife was an anthem celebrating ordinary English life. Song 2 was a satirization of the grunge movement, and Look Inside America reflects on international cultural barriers. Their fashion incorporated elements of the Skinhead movement and maintained a balance between an athleisure vibe and a nerdier, more eclectic one. 

Sheffield had Pulp, fronted by Jarvis Cocker, whose storytelling prose about the uglier parts of growing up,  packaged the trifles of youth in an experimental, thespian fashion that juxtaposed sexuality with sophistication. They were a group of regular hedonists boasting a clever self-awareness and desire for uniqueness. Their most popular song Common People was written about a wealthy young woman’s fantasy about poverty; it is explained that because rich people possess an inherent safety net of financial security, it is impossible for  them to assimilate with the careless night life of the working class who “dance and drink and screw because there’s nothing else to do”—their epicurean lifestyle is a sort of surrender to circumstance. However the exploration of the perceived ill-doings of the common people throughout Pulp’s discography paints a very vivid, beautiful picture of the value these people and their life experiences hold. Cocker’s stage presence was distinctive due to his ostentatious demeanour that frequently leaned into theatrics; the way he played into sexuality was subversive. Pulp recounted acquiring their wardrobes from charity shops, filling bags with the tightest clothes they could find and creating looks that were both strange and elegant.

So, following all of that jargon, here is why we need Britpop Fall. I think what today lacks is a succinct cultural identity, and a general sense of unity amongst people of all walks of life. The 2020s are defined only by the volatile cycle of microtrends and microlabels that have cultivated a sort of conflicting relationship between diversity and homogeneity; we have fragmented so much that the boundaries between one identity and another have been rendered indistinct. Which is cool! We always need subcultures. However, the oversaturation of information and artificial experiences have created a culture where we have become so individualistic that we have lost personal individuality altogether. Because nothing has a chance to stick, even our architecture has become dull and flat. This may be due in part to the rise of anti-intellectualism which has amalgamated into a lack of media literacy; we are quick to absorb and adopt things without adequately researching the nuance and implications of certain ideas, themes and styles, and in doing so have become disconnected from ourselves.

There is an emphasis on chasing the next fad rather than taking the time to be present and align our tastes, actions and words with what we truly resonate with. Brat Summer was the last thing to really stick and produce a safe space for self-exploration. We can’t get rid of social media, fast fashion, or change the speed of our modern world, but we can intentionally create meaning within our own lives—and in my opinion adopting the Britpop ethos is a wonderful way to do so. The fashion can be obtained at virtually any thrift store, meaning it is affordable and sustainable, and the distinct stylistic subsets render it super customizable. Plus, it’s fall. Who doesn’t want to feel cool in a big warm sweater?

Philosophically, most Britpop music is simply a tribute to being alive; loving people, learning to love ourselves, the mischief of youth, and finding beauty in going to work every day. We have become so discontent with our realities that we are due for a reminder to be where our feet are. On top of that I think we need eloquent lyricism to come back into the mainstream because art without soul siphons from that of the consumer. A lot of the music invites the listener to question their preconceived notions of reality through sociopolitical satire. And as a young person in a world with an uncertain future, I find both sides of the spectrum quite cathartic. Blur’s Parklife fills me with a sort of whimsy and reminds me that I am not so different than everyone else, and to seek simple pleasures—but it also makes me think a little harder about the meaning of all this. Pulp’s Babies evokes nostalgia for that vulnerable state of teenage angst. Oasis’ Live Forever makes me feel a lot less alone, and a lot more hopeful. Maybe I just don’t want this stuff to be lost to the test of time, but maybe I just think rewinding the clock would be a kind thing for the world to do. Regardless, listen to Modern Life is Rubbish, throw on a parka, tell all your friends, and get back to me.