In early June 2024, Charli XCX released her sixth studio album brat and to say it has been a cultural phenomenon feels like an understatement. Everything is brat: this past summer, the current state of fashion, the Collins English Dictionary’s word of the year, a United States presidential candidate – even this article is brat. But brat is so much more than just marketing. When asked what her brat essentials were, Charli stated that “a pack of cigs, a Bic lighter and a strappy white top. With no bra” is really all that one needs. This came as a stark contrast to the consumerist hellscape that was summer 2023, or so often dubbed “Barbie summer.” The lengths that Mattel went to promote the film – collaborating with brands like Airbnb, Zara and Crocs to name a few – felt inauthentic at best and suffocating at worst. In lieu of this pink wave, “brat summer” felt like a breath of fresh air.

Any attempts to capitalize on her lime green aesthetic feel so soulless in comparison to an album that feels so authentic and vulnerable. As a poster child for the intersection of dance and hyper-pop, the album is a celebration of the messy, introspective and hedonistic attitude that so often defines young adulthood. Here, Charli oscillates between insecurity and narcissism, ecstasy and self-disgust as she jumps and sweats to the tempo of a classic 2000s club beat. To put more simply: brat is fun. It’s cigarette butts scattered on the floor, ripped tights, smudged eyeliner, and lingering at the club long after the lights have turned on. “You’re obsessing, just confess it, put your hands up/ It’s obvious I’m your number one,” Charli sings on “Von Dutch”, capturing the essence of a sloppy popstar-diva.

While Barbie’s pink innocence and the gritty allure of brat may seem unrelated, they’re both tied to a nostalgic sentiment. Barbie may evoke childhood memories of imagination and play, but brat embodies the aesthetics and attitudes of the mid-to late 2000s. Visually, the look draws from vintage fashion, graphic baby tees and a deliberately messy hairstyle and makeup. Rather than relying on sheer nostalgia alone, it clearly presents a rejection of the hyper-curated aesthetics that have been running social media as of late. In an interview with British GQ, Charli states that she “wanted to create this world of that 2000s flip phone, cameras flashing, live fast, die young.” It’s no surprise that this hedonistic attitude is so popular, especially as the state of the world seems to grow more dismal with each passing month. In times of political and economic uncertainty, people just want to let loose and dance their problems away. Subsequently, this tends to cause a resurgence in “recession pop.” During the Great Depression, blues and swing music dominated. Punk and Disco rose in popularity in the late 1970s in response to the Civil Right Movement. After the 2008 financial crisis, fast-paced, high-energy dance pop music once again dominated the charts, with hits like “Tik Tok” by Ke$ha, Katy Perry’s “TGIF”, and all of LMFAO's discography. Now, as the United States teases an impending recession, there are tremors of an “Indie sleaze” revival.

The beauty of Indie sleaze is that it’s a difficult subculture to pin down. It dominated between 2007 and 2014 with iconic symbols such as Kate Moss at the 2008 Glastonbury festival, Skins UK, Alex Turner’s love letter to Alexa Chung, leopard print, metallics, smudged charcoal eyeliner – all of which fall under the Indie sleaze umbrella. It was the distinct yet indefinable aesthetic that resonated with so many young adults at the time, and most importantly, it felt authentic. Few defined themselves as “indie” or “hipster” – it would have been considered cringe by today’s standards. The term “Indie sleaze” itself is barely three years old –first coined on TikTok during the aesthetic epidemic of 2021. In the same way that Y2K style took over for the past few years, the pendulum would eventually swing towards its more alternative sister. However, before brat, the only iterations of Indie sleaze to hit the mainstream were digital cameras and Instagram photo dumps. Back in the day, long before TikTok shop links and hyper-curated posts, few people would have a digital camera at a party to take photos throughout the night. The next morning, they would upload that entire memory card into a public Facebook album for everyone to see. The charm of Indie sleaze came from the fact that it wasn’t very curated; there wasn’t a handbook or specific products that came with the subculture. People couldn’t buy their way in, it just had to be embodied.

The resemblance is uncanny. In the same way that Indie sleaze celebrates a carefree lifestyle, brat never takes itself too seriously. Unfortunately, in this day and age that hedonistic attitude is harder to come by. Due to the after-shocks of COVID-19 and the growing cost of living, nearly a third of nightclubs have shut down, and Gen Z is increasingly ditching drinking in favor of more cost-effective hobbies. The current energy and cost of living crisis put pressure on both clubs and clubbers alike– the former are trying to turn a profit anyway they can and the latter are desperate to enjoy a night out without breaking the bank. Though chronically online, many are ready to return to the simple analog tech – such as film cameras and vinyl records – and may even turn to cheap beer instead of $21 martinis.

Charli XCX arrived as a white knight for those seeking authenticity in a world of hyper-consumerism. The impact of “brat summer” and allure of Indie sleaze have intertwined, forming an attitude of spontaneity and desire for imperfection in both life and art. The genuine carefree lifestyle brat embodies has resonated with a generation who just wants to dance and connect with others without the weight of expectation.

Written by Catherine White, Photography: Quentin Deming, Social Media: Sarah Jenkins, Styling: Colin Lu

brat and it's the same but also indie sleaze