Charli xcx has long been pop’s underground darling—a hyperpop (now proclaimed dead genre via tweet by xcx) anti-hero who blurred the line between indie cool and Top 40 sheen.

But with the release of Brat, she’s done something few artists have ever pulled off: she’s become the cultural blueprint without compromising an inch.

And now? Everyone wants a piece, you can’t scroll through your feed without tripping over the Charli-fied aesthetic. Look at the music videos the music industry has been pumping out lately—KATSEYE’s teaser for “Gnarly”? The white balance is practically “360”-coded; washed out, overexposed, an ode to the shameless, brat-girl chaos Charli’s been curating for years. Braless white tank tops are suddenly a fashion statement, and the gritty, club-kid aura is being packaged as the next big thing. But let’s be honest, much of it feels like cosplay. It’s not about embracing the chaos or living in the moment. It’s about aesthetic mimicry. The “moodboardification” of authenticity. 

Not everyone knows what they’re imitating. Camila Cabello’s single “I LUV IT” is a textbook example. The track, featuring Playboi Carti and produced by El Guincho and Jasper Harris, leans hard into hyperpop-infused internet-girl aesthetics, chaotic synths, brash lyrics, modified vocal filters—all trademarks Charli helped popularize nearly a decade ago with A.G. Cook and PC Music. But the song sparked backlash. Comparisons to Charli xcx flooded social media, with many accusing Camila of mimicking xcx's style without capturing its substance.

Then there’s Selena Gomez’s “Bluest Flame”. Yes, it features Charli’s vocals. Yes, it’s a great song, but it sticks out like a neon glitch that doesn’t fit sonically in the album. What’s it doing there rather than just to rank up as a TikTok sound? It’s as if the music industry woke up and realized Charli’s not just relevant, she’s important, and more than just to a sub-genre.

Slapping her sound and party girl look isn’t homage, it’s oversaturated marketing that cheapens the very ethos Brat is built on.

The whole point of Brat is about being raw, unfiltered, and authentically you. Charli built this record by stripping away the pretension and industry sheen. She’s talked about recording vocals drunk, about using autotune as a stylistic flex, about leaning into flaws instead of sanding them down.

In her words, "It is important to have this human mistake element happening in the tracks [...].” She didn’t set out to become a trend, she set out to be herself. And in doing so, created a record that resonates because it’s true. Critics agree, The Guardian called Brat "insecurity-obliterating anthems by pop’s most human superstar.” Pitchfork named it Best New Music, calling it "nuanced and vulnerable, and one of the best pop albums of the year." And fans dubbed this era Brat Summer—embracing a version of pop that’s sleazy, messy, and gloriously real.

So sure, let’s dance in warehouse basements. Let’s wear the tanks. Let’s scream-cry to bratty club bangers. But let’s not forget what made Brat powerful in the first place: authenticity. Being a brat isn’t about the look. It’s about not giving a damn what the look should be.

And for summer of 2025, let me hold your hand while we both say: goodbye Brat Summer.