of the United Kingdom’s capitol city.
Every cultural critic worth their salt has written about algorithmic homogenization. The takes are predictable: platforms flatten creativity, creators chase metrics, audiences scroll through sameness. We nod knowingly and scroll on.
However, what those analyses overlook is the underlying economic machinery. As someone who maps cultural insights to retail actions for a living, I spend my days watching brands struggle with a fundamental paradox: the same algorithms that promise discovery are actively preventing it by rewarding homogeneity.
And after watching this spring's festival fashion recaps blur into indistinguishable content streams, I realized we're not just witnessing creative convergence, we're watching the collapse of competitive advantage in real-time.
The Coachella Conundrum
As a fashion-lover and retail strategist, the weekdays following music festivals have always been like Christmas for me. This year in particular, I especially looked forward to the spring festival fashion recaps because I desperately needed some inspiration for my upcoming trip to Primavera Sound in Barcelona. But, when the time came for me to scroll my feed and get some ideas, I was surprised by what I found.
In the past, Coachella fashion recaps, in particular, have served as the starting point for some of the most creative sartorial trends. And Coachella as an event has been the starting point for some of the industry’s most impactful fashion movements.
With early 2010s fashion making a powerful comeback, I expected endless homages to the former Queens of Coachella: Vanessa Hudgens, Rihanna, and Zoë Kravitz, for example. (Who could blame me? There was an actual meme series dedicated to this cultural royal court.) I coveted these tributes, but with a modern 2025 twist.
But as I opened my various social media channels to compile and collate my favorite looks, I came across a review by one of my favorite Instagram influencers (@fitfatandallthat). A mini think piece that I now cannot unsee and, frankly, cannot stop thinking about. In her frustration-tinged video, Julie centered on a stark reality: that everyone is dressing the same.
“I feel like everyone had a very similar vibe at Coachella this year…”
Not only did I immediately agree with this assertion, but it sparked a series of flashbacks to different non-stylist styling accounts and their fashion-focused content. These accounts were indistinguishable from each other in their quests to showcase outfits for the modern metropolitan working woman. The color ways, (“quiet luxury” neutrals such as butter yellow, merlot, slate, and espresso) tailoring, (corsets, corsets, and more corsets), and styles (business casual or boho chic, there is no in-between) were all so uniform and uninspiring that it simply reaffirmed one fact:
In today’s social media-driven culture, fashion is no longer a vehicle for self-expression and for unapologetically standing out. Now, it’s simply a means for blending in and monetizing through a carefully curated algorithm.
As I manically scrolled through my feed, I felt my eyes glazing over from the sea of sameness. A cohesive feed historically was a measure of success, indicating that one had a clear point of view and sense of taste—that my likes and comments fit together to create a reliable reflection of aspiration. Now, my once trusty source of inspiration, one that helped me venture down new yet aligned fashion pathways to discovery, is now a source of bland oversaturation.
But oversaturation, especially in creative fields, is nothing new. With the promise of cultural relevance and financial health, musicians, actors, and yes, even influencers, are writing and abiding by a playbook that prioritizes the algorithm over true creative expression and innovation. While this traps consumers in a sea of sameness, something that certainly doesn’t serve us in the long run, what is often overlooked is that creators are also drowning in the waves of their own creation.
Copycat Convergence
Hype content, driven by the algorithm flattening culture, is making it harder for consumers to experience newness. Ironically, Statista reports that 69% of Gen Z consumers discovered new brands or products from social media influencers (up from 45% in 2023). This leads us to believe that because consumers are increasingly being served content curated and amplified by “what’s trending,” brands are having to shape their content, pivot their campaigns, and even launch new products in order to be discovered.
And this new reality isn’t just influencing fashion. I spent multiple lunch breaks scouring the streets of New York for the viral “Dubai Chocolate.” Only later did I realize that the original isn’t even available anywhere but Dubai and that the founders have been frustrated by all the copycats. Rightfully so: when your entire business is centered around a key differentiator, whether it be a design, material usage, or signature ingredient, it’s discouraging when other brands make false claims in order to capture market share.
Like chocolatiers, social media influencers and creators are equally fanning the fires of homogeneity and suffering from the burn. The algorithm rewards creators for contributing to the sameness by pushing their content to the main feed. This incentivizes them to create more of the same content.
After all, when you get killer results, you become a draw for more brand deals. Even popular musicians such as Halsey have shared how they have been restricted from releasing the music they want to release until they have a viral moment on TikTok.
How can creators be expected to be actual influencers with divergent content, opinions, and recommendations when the new end goal is to simply go viral and hit the right KPIs?
When we limit creativity to what is already succeeding, we limit the capacity for newness and innovation. Brands are leveraging the mere exposure effect to perpetuate homogeneity, forcing us to believe that we like the same things more and more. The algorithm is great for getting consumers what they already know they want faster, but this is coming at the cost of stifling discovery and originality. In fact, I can’t help but wonder if this is why my Discover Weekly playlist on Spotify “misses the mark” so often. Brands have gotten great at building algorithms to push us to what we’ve already established we enjoy, but they are constantly failing to help us find any material that is fresh and diverges from our go-to’s.
Democracy’s Double Edges
Spotify algorithm aside, there has long been a dark side to “trending content”—one that has been embedded into the music industry for decades.
Initially coined in the 1950s in reference to baseball players with permission to only hit once, the term “one-hit wonder” has historically presented a very real fear for musicians. “I’m Too Sexy” creators Right Said Fred, Lipps, Inc of the immortal “Funkytown,” and House of Pain of “Jump Around” fame are just a few (likely unknown) examples of this musical kiss of death.
Bands like Semisonic—known (or not) for their unmistakable hit “Closing Time”—have undoubtedly experienced their taste of fame and become fixtures for a particular time in culture. While this is something every musician wishes for, the simultaneous challenge lies in breaking free from known hits. When a particular sound, song structure, or lyrical approach becomes the standard, musicians are more likely to fall victim to their own playbook for success.
With Big Algorithm behind practically everything we now consume, we are not just closer to mass uniformity; we are existing in a time where the threat of becoming a one-hit wonder has evolved into a full-on existential crisis.
One of the beauties of social media is that it allows consumers to have parasocial friendships with the tastemakers, musicians, and creators who inspire them. However, that level of accessibility can easily facilitate and empower followers’ armchair critic tendencies, discouraging creative risk-taking.
We cannot expect creators to be immune to such available critique and still be motivated to fearlessly experiment. Artists are damned if they evolve too far away from what won them mainstream success, and they’re damned if they don’t evolve at all. That fact has always been true, but artists have never had to hear about it as incessantly as they do now.
Further, while I appreciate the democratic capabilities at the core of how TikTok enables anyone (regardless of follower count) to get their literal 15 seconds of viral fame, they’re a double-edged sword.
Becoming relevant is the dream, but staying relevant is a nightmare.
To keep pace with the current pace of disruption, creators need to have a certain level of palatability. Arguably, it’s the only way they can get picked up by the algorithm and avoid irrelevance. Branding and marketing terminology at the center of conversations between creators and management serve as a constant reminder to creators that they are only as valuable as the number of seconds they can hold the average user's interest.
15 Seconds of Relevance
One artist outwardly grappling with how to balance longevity and impact (without oversaturation) is Charli XCX. Since her sixth studio album “brat” won three Grammys, went platinum, topped the Dance/Electronic charts, and became the mood of 2024, Charli has vocalized her concerns about maintaining momentum.
A recent Instagram caption from the artist reflects on this struggle: “i’m [sic] interested in the tension of staying too long..” The externalization of this train of thought transforms into marketing messaging. She now closes her 2025 shows with a series of slides asking the audience if it’s time to say goodbye to the era that overtook culture for almost a full year.
What’s most significant about the rhetorical question she poses is the fact that she isn’t only asking how long to ride this wave, but also who she is when it inevitably fades into the backdrop of culture.
Obviously, there is more financial gain the longer she can sustain the wave. When a clip goes viral or a song becomes the TikTok soundtrack, monetization opportunities abound. However, there’s also the chance she’ll overstay her welcome and appear as a sellout. This identity crisis is the direct result of a flattening algorithm and constant fight for 15 powerful seconds of relevance. The algorithmic cycle is causing identity confines for creators as much as it is for consumers.
Modern creators are becoming prisoners of their own content. This couldn’t have been more literally on display than when a few "Severance" cast members stationed themselves inside of glass-encased cubicles at Grand Central Terminal. It was a genius marketing effort. It was much along the lines of the character dressing Margot Robbie did for Barbie and what Timothee Chalamet did during the “A Complete Unknown” press tour.
But when creators are not actors whose jobs require a metamorphosis into the characters they play for a specific project, the promotional echo chamber that the algorithm demands has an infinite lifespan. And then, the identity becomes as one-dimensional as the algorithm itself.
Melissa Minkow realized her deep interest in the quirkiness of human existence back in high school when she watched “Amelie” for the first time. As the film introduced each character by their likes and dislikes, it unlocked a hidden passion for analyzing the intricacies of consumer behaviors. She went on to pursue an undergraduate degree from UW Madison and an MBA from Kellogg School of Management in marketing, and has spent the bulk of her career in executive advising, mapping cultural and shopper insights to actions for retailers, CPG, and hospitality brands. While curiosity and empathy drive her methodology, Melissa draws strategic and tactical guidance from unconventional spaces to challenge brands to think more creatively. When she’s not working, Melissa is likely traveling via home exchanges, visiting art museums, going on walks with loved ones, and recording her “Love in Dating Shows” podcast.
Every cultural critic worth their salt has written about algorithmic homogenization. The takes are predictable: platforms flatten creativity, creators chase metrics, audiences scroll through sameness. We nod knowingly and scroll on.
However, what those analyses overlook is the underlying economic machinery. As someone who maps cultural insights to retail actions for a living, I spend my days watching brands struggle with a fundamental paradox: the same algorithms that promise discovery are actively preventing it by rewarding homogeneity.
And after watching this spring's festival fashion recaps blur into indistinguishable content streams, I realized we're not just witnessing creative convergence, we're watching the collapse of competitive advantage in real-time.
The Coachella Conundrum
As a fashion-lover and retail strategist, the weekdays following music festivals have always been like Christmas for me. This year in particular, I especially looked forward to the spring festival fashion recaps because I desperately needed some inspiration for my upcoming trip to Primavera Sound in Barcelona. But, when the time came for me to scroll my feed and get some ideas, I was surprised by what I found.
In the past, Coachella fashion recaps, in particular, have served as the starting point for some of the most creative sartorial trends. And Coachella as an event has been the starting point for some of the industry’s most impactful fashion movements.
With early 2010s fashion making a powerful comeback, I expected endless homages to the former Queens of Coachella: Vanessa Hudgens, Rihanna, and Zoë Kravitz, for example. (Who could blame me? There was an actual meme series dedicated to this cultural royal court.) I coveted these tributes, but with a modern 2025 twist.
But as I opened my various social media channels to compile and collate my favorite looks, I came across a review by one of my favorite Instagram influencers (@fitfatandallthat). A mini think piece that I now cannot unsee and, frankly, cannot stop thinking about. In her frustration-tinged video, Julie centered on a stark reality: that everyone is dressing the same.
“I feel like everyone had a very similar vibe at Coachella this year…”
Not only did I immediately agree with this assertion, but it sparked a series of flashbacks to different non-stylist styling accounts and their fashion-focused content. These accounts were indistinguishable from each other in their quests to showcase outfits for the modern metropolitan working woman. The color ways, (“quiet luxury” neutrals such as butter yellow, merlot, slate, and espresso) tailoring, (corsets, corsets, and more corsets), and styles (business casual or boho chic, there is no in-between) were all so uniform and uninspiring that it simply reaffirmed one fact:
In today’s social media-driven culture, fashion is no longer a vehicle for self-expression and for unapologetically standing out. Now, it’s simply a means for blending in and monetizing through a carefully curated algorithm.
As I manically scrolled through my feed, I felt my eyes glazing over from the sea of sameness. A cohesive feed historically was a measure of success, indicating that one had a clear point of view and sense of taste—that my likes and comments fit together to create a reliable reflection of aspiration. Now, my once trusty source of inspiration, one that helped me venture down new yet aligned fashion pathways to discovery, is now a source of bland oversaturation.
But oversaturation, especially in creative fields, is nothing new. With the promise of cultural relevance and financial health, musicians, actors, and yes, even influencers, are writing and abiding by a playbook that prioritizes the algorithm over true creative expression and innovation. While this traps consumers in a sea of sameness, something that certainly doesn’t serve us in the long run, what is often overlooked is that creators are also drowning in the waves of their own creation.
Copycat Convergence
Hype content, driven by the algorithm flattening culture, is making it harder for consumers to experience newness. Ironically, Statista reports that 69% of Gen Z consumers discovered new brands or products from social media influencers (up from 45% in 2023). This leads us to believe that because consumers are increasingly being served content curated and amplified by “what’s trending,” brands are having to shape their content, pivot their campaigns, and even launch new products in order to be discovered.
And this new reality isn’t just influencing fashion. I spent multiple lunch breaks scouring the streets of New York for the viral “Dubai Chocolate.” Only later did I realize that the original isn’t even available anywhere but Dubai and that the founders have been frustrated by all the copycats. Rightfully so: when your entire business is centered around a key differentiator, whether it be a design, material usage, or signature ingredient, it’s discouraging when other brands make false claims in order to capture market share.
Like chocolatiers, social media influencers and creators are equally fanning the fires of homogeneity and suffering from the burn. The algorithm rewards creators for contributing to the sameness by pushing their content to the main feed. This incentivizes them to create more of the same content.
After all, when you get killer results, you become a draw for more brand deals. Even popular musicians such as Halsey have shared how they have been restricted from releasing the music they want to release until they have a viral moment on TikTok.
How can creators be expected to be actual influencers with divergent content, opinions, and recommendations when the new end goal is to simply go viral and hit the right KPIs?
When we limit creativity to what is already succeeding, we limit the capacity for newness and innovation. Brands are leveraging the mere exposure effect to perpetuate homogeneity, forcing us to believe that we like the same things more and more. The algorithm is great for getting consumers what they already know they want faster, but this is coming at the cost of stifling discovery and originality. In fact, I can’t help but wonder if this is why my Discover Weekly playlist on Spotify “misses the mark” so often. Brands have gotten great at building algorithms to push us to what we’ve already established we enjoy, but they are constantly failing to help us find any material that is fresh and diverges from our go-to’s.
Democracy’s Double Edges
Spotify algorithm aside, there has long been a dark side to “trending content”—one that has been embedded into the music industry for decades.
Initially coined in the 1950s in reference to baseball players with permission to only hit once, the term “one-hit wonder” has historically presented a very real fear for musicians. “I’m Too Sexy” creators Right Said Fred, Lipps, Inc of the immortal “Funkytown,” and House of Pain of “Jump Around” fame are just a few (likely unknown) examples of this musical kiss of death.
Bands like Semisonic—known (or not) for their unmistakable hit “Closing Time”—have undoubtedly experienced their taste of fame and become fixtures for a particular time in culture. While this is something every musician wishes for, the simultaneous challenge lies in breaking free from known hits. When a particular sound, song structure, or lyrical approach becomes the standard, musicians are more likely to fall victim to their own playbook for success.
With Big Algorithm behind practically everything we now consume, we are not just closer to mass uniformity; we are existing in a time where the threat of becoming a one-hit wonder has evolved into a full-on existential crisis.
One of the beauties of social media is that it allows consumers to have parasocial friendships with the tastemakers, musicians, and creators who inspire them. However, that level of accessibility can easily facilitate and empower followers’ armchair critic tendencies, discouraging creative risk-taking.
We cannot expect creators to be immune to such available critique and still be motivated to fearlessly experiment. Artists are damned if they evolve too far away from what won them mainstream success, and they’re damned if they don’t evolve at all. That fact has always been true, but artists have never had to hear about it as incessantly as they do now.
Further, while I appreciate the democratic capabilities at the core of how TikTok enables anyone (regardless of follower count) to get their literal 15 seconds of viral fame, they’re a double-edged sword.
Becoming relevant is the dream, but staying relevant is a nightmare.
To keep pace with the current pace of disruption, creators need to have a certain level of palatability. Arguably, it’s the only way they can get picked up by the algorithm and avoid irrelevance. Branding and marketing terminology at the center of conversations between creators and management serve as a constant reminder to creators that they are only as valuable as the number of seconds they can hold the average user's interest.
15 Seconds of Relevance
One artist outwardly grappling with how to balance longevity and impact (without oversaturation) is Charli XCX. Since her sixth studio album “brat” won three Grammys, went platinum, topped the Dance/Electronic charts, and became the mood of 2024, Charli has vocalized her concerns about maintaining momentum.
A recent Instagram caption from the artist reflects on this struggle: “i’m [sic] interested in the tension of staying too long..” The externalization of this train of thought transforms into marketing messaging. She now closes her 2025 shows with a series of slides asking the audience if it’s time to say goodbye to the era that overtook culture for almost a full year.
What’s most significant about the rhetorical question she poses is the fact that she isn’t only asking how long to ride this wave, but also who she is when it inevitably fades into the backdrop of culture.
Obviously, there is more financial gain the longer she can sustain the wave. When a clip goes viral or a song becomes the TikTok soundtrack, monetization opportunities abound. However, there’s also the chance she’ll overstay her welcome and appear as a sellout. This identity crisis is the direct result of a flattening algorithm and constant fight for 15 powerful seconds of relevance. The algorithmic cycle is causing identity confines for creators as much as it is for consumers.
Modern creators are becoming prisoners of their own content. This couldn’t have been more literally on display than when a few "Severance" cast members stationed themselves inside of glass-encased cubicles at Grand Central Terminal. It was a genius marketing effort. It was much along the lines of the character dressing Margot Robbie did for Barbie and what Timothee Chalamet did during the “A Complete Unknown” press tour.
But when creators are not actors whose jobs require a metamorphosis into the characters they play for a specific project, the promotional echo chamber that the algorithm demands has an infinite lifespan. And then, the identity becomes as one-dimensional as the algorithm itself.
Melissa Minkow realized her deep interest in the quirkiness of human existence back in high school when she watched “Amelie” for the first time. As the film introduced each character by their likes and dislikes, it unlocked a hidden passion for analyzing the intricacies of consumer behaviors. She went on to pursue an undergraduate degree from UW Madison and an MBA from Kellogg School of Management in marketing, and has spent the bulk of her career in executive advising, mapping cultural and shopper insights to actions for retailers, CPG, and hospitality brands. While curiosity and empathy drive her methodology, Melissa draws strategic and tactical guidance from unconventional spaces to challenge brands to think more creatively. When she’s not working, Melissa is likely traveling via home exchanges, visiting art museums, going on walks with loved ones, and recording her “Love in Dating Shows” podcast.
Every cultural critic worth their salt has written about algorithmic homogenization. The takes are predictable: platforms flatten creativity, creators chase metrics, audiences scroll through sameness. We nod knowingly and scroll on.
However, what those analyses overlook is the underlying economic machinery. As someone who maps cultural insights to retail actions for a living, I spend my days watching brands struggle with a fundamental paradox: the same algorithms that promise discovery are actively preventing it by rewarding homogeneity.
And after watching this spring's festival fashion recaps blur into indistinguishable content streams, I realized we're not just witnessing creative convergence, we're watching the collapse of competitive advantage in real-time.
The Coachella Conundrum
As a fashion-lover and retail strategist, the weekdays following music festivals have always been like Christmas for me. This year in particular, I especially looked forward to the spring festival fashion recaps because I desperately needed some inspiration for my upcoming trip to Primavera Sound in Barcelona. But, when the time came for me to scroll my feed and get some ideas, I was surprised by what I found.
In the past, Coachella fashion recaps, in particular, have served as the starting point for some of the most creative sartorial trends. And Coachella as an event has been the starting point for some of the industry’s most impactful fashion movements.
With early 2010s fashion making a powerful comeback, I expected endless homages to the former Queens of Coachella: Vanessa Hudgens, Rihanna, and Zoë Kravitz, for example. (Who could blame me? There was an actual meme series dedicated to this cultural royal court.) I coveted these tributes, but with a modern 2025 twist.
But as I opened my various social media channels to compile and collate my favorite looks, I came across a review by one of my favorite Instagram influencers (@fitfatandallthat). A mini think piece that I now cannot unsee and, frankly, cannot stop thinking about. In her frustration-tinged video, Julie centered on a stark reality: that everyone is dressing the same.
“I feel like everyone had a very similar vibe at Coachella this year…”
Not only did I immediately agree with this assertion, but it sparked a series of flashbacks to different non-stylist styling accounts and their fashion-focused content. These accounts were indistinguishable from each other in their quests to showcase outfits for the modern metropolitan working woman. The color ways, (“quiet luxury” neutrals such as butter yellow, merlot, slate, and espresso) tailoring, (corsets, corsets, and more corsets), and styles (business casual or boho chic, there is no in-between) were all so uniform and uninspiring that it simply reaffirmed one fact:
In today’s social media-driven culture, fashion is no longer a vehicle for self-expression and for unapologetically standing out. Now, it’s simply a means for blending in and monetizing through a carefully curated algorithm.
As I manically scrolled through my feed, I felt my eyes glazing over from the sea of sameness. A cohesive feed historically was a measure of success, indicating that one had a clear point of view and sense of taste—that my likes and comments fit together to create a reliable reflection of aspiration. Now, my once trusty source of inspiration, one that helped me venture down new yet aligned fashion pathways to discovery, is now a source of bland oversaturation.
But oversaturation, especially in creative fields, is nothing new. With the promise of cultural relevance and financial health, musicians, actors, and yes, even influencers, are writing and abiding by a playbook that prioritizes the algorithm over true creative expression and innovation. While this traps consumers in a sea of sameness, something that certainly doesn’t serve us in the long run, what is often overlooked is that creators are also drowning in the waves of their own creation.
Copycat Convergence
Hype content, driven by the algorithm flattening culture, is making it harder for consumers to experience newness. Ironically, Statista reports that 69% of Gen Z consumers discovered new brands or products from social media influencers (up from 45% in 2023). This leads us to believe that because consumers are increasingly being served content curated and amplified by “what’s trending,” brands are having to shape their content, pivot their campaigns, and even launch new products in order to be discovered.
And this new reality isn’t just influencing fashion. I spent multiple lunch breaks scouring the streets of New York for the viral “Dubai Chocolate.” Only later did I realize that the original isn’t even available anywhere but Dubai and that the founders have been frustrated by all the copycats. Rightfully so: when your entire business is centered around a key differentiator, whether it be a design, material usage, or signature ingredient, it’s discouraging when other brands make false claims in order to capture market share.
Like chocolatiers, social media influencers and creators are equally fanning the fires of homogeneity and suffering from the burn. The algorithm rewards creators for contributing to the sameness by pushing their content to the main feed. This incentivizes them to create more of the same content.
After all, when you get killer results, you become a draw for more brand deals. Even popular musicians such as Halsey have shared how they have been restricted from releasing the music they want to release until they have a viral moment on TikTok.
How can creators be expected to be actual influencers with divergent content, opinions, and recommendations when the new end goal is to simply go viral and hit the right KPIs?
When we limit creativity to what is already succeeding, we limit the capacity for newness and innovation. Brands are leveraging the mere exposure effect to perpetuate homogeneity, forcing us to believe that we like the same things more and more. The algorithm is great for getting consumers what they already know they want faster, but this is coming at the cost of stifling discovery and originality. In fact, I can’t help but wonder if this is why my Discover Weekly playlist on Spotify “misses the mark” so often. Brands have gotten great at building algorithms to push us to what we’ve already established we enjoy, but they are constantly failing to help us find any material that is fresh and diverges from our go-to’s.
Democracy’s Double Edges
Spotify algorithm aside, there has long been a dark side to “trending content”—one that has been embedded into the music industry for decades.
Initially coined in the 1950s in reference to baseball players with permission to only hit once, the term “one-hit wonder” has historically presented a very real fear for musicians. “I’m Too Sexy” creators Right Said Fred, Lipps, Inc of the immortal “Funkytown,” and House of Pain of “Jump Around” fame are just a few (likely unknown) examples of this musical kiss of death.
Bands like Semisonic—known (or not) for their unmistakable hit “Closing Time”—have undoubtedly experienced their taste of fame and become fixtures for a particular time in culture. While this is something every musician wishes for, the simultaneous challenge lies in breaking free from known hits. When a particular sound, song structure, or lyrical approach becomes the standard, musicians are more likely to fall victim to their own playbook for success.
With Big Algorithm behind practically everything we now consume, we are not just closer to mass uniformity; we are existing in a time where the threat of becoming a one-hit wonder has evolved into a full-on existential crisis.
One of the beauties of social media is that it allows consumers to have parasocial friendships with the tastemakers, musicians, and creators who inspire them. However, that level of accessibility can easily facilitate and empower followers’ armchair critic tendencies, discouraging creative risk-taking.
We cannot expect creators to be immune to such available critique and still be motivated to fearlessly experiment. Artists are damned if they evolve too far away from what won them mainstream success, and they’re damned if they don’t evolve at all. That fact has always been true, but artists have never had to hear about it as incessantly as they do now.
Further, while I appreciate the democratic capabilities at the core of how TikTok enables anyone (regardless of follower count) to get their literal 15 seconds of viral fame, they’re a double-edged sword.
Becoming relevant is the dream, but staying relevant is a nightmare.
To keep pace with the current pace of disruption, creators need to have a certain level of palatability. Arguably, it’s the only way they can get picked up by the algorithm and avoid irrelevance. Branding and marketing terminology at the center of conversations between creators and management serve as a constant reminder to creators that they are only as valuable as the number of seconds they can hold the average user's interest.
15 Seconds of Relevance
One artist outwardly grappling with how to balance longevity and impact (without oversaturation) is Charli XCX. Since her sixth studio album “brat” won three Grammys, went platinum, topped the Dance/Electronic charts, and became the mood of 2024, Charli has vocalized her concerns about maintaining momentum.
A recent Instagram caption from the artist reflects on this struggle: “i’m [sic] interested in the tension of staying too long..” The externalization of this train of thought transforms into marketing messaging. She now closes her 2025 shows with a series of slides asking the audience if it’s time to say goodbye to the era that overtook culture for almost a full year.
What’s most significant about the rhetorical question she poses is the fact that she isn’t only asking how long to ride this wave, but also who she is when it inevitably fades into the backdrop of culture.
Obviously, there is more financial gain the longer she can sustain the wave. When a clip goes viral or a song becomes the TikTok soundtrack, monetization opportunities abound. However, there’s also the chance she’ll overstay her welcome and appear as a sellout. This identity crisis is the direct result of a flattening algorithm and constant fight for 15 powerful seconds of relevance. The algorithmic cycle is causing identity confines for creators as much as it is for consumers.
Modern creators are becoming prisoners of their own content. This couldn’t have been more literally on display than when a few "Severance" cast members stationed themselves inside of glass-encased cubicles at Grand Central Terminal. It was a genius marketing effort. It was much along the lines of the character dressing Margot Robbie did for Barbie and what Timothee Chalamet did during the “A Complete Unknown” press tour.
But when creators are not actors whose jobs require a metamorphosis into the characters they play for a specific project, the promotional echo chamber that the algorithm demands has an infinite lifespan. And then, the identity becomes as one-dimensional as the algorithm itself.
Melissa Minkow realized her deep interest in the quirkiness of human existence back in high school when she watched “Amelie” for the first time. As the film introduced each character by their likes and dislikes, it unlocked a hidden passion for analyzing the intricacies of consumer behaviors. She went on to pursue an undergraduate degree from UW Madison and an MBA from Kellogg School of Management in marketing, and has spent the bulk of her career in executive advising, mapping cultural and shopper insights to actions for retailers, CPG, and hospitality brands. While curiosity and empathy drive her methodology, Melissa draws strategic and tactical guidance from unconventional spaces to challenge brands to think more creatively. When she’s not working, Melissa is likely traveling via home exchanges, visiting art museums, going on walks with loved ones, and recording her “Love in Dating Shows” podcast.
Every cultural critic worth their salt has written about algorithmic homogenization. The takes are predictable: platforms flatten creativity, creators chase metrics, audiences scroll through sameness. We nod knowingly and scroll on.
However, what those analyses overlook is the underlying economic machinery. As someone who maps cultural insights to retail actions for a living, I spend my days watching brands struggle with a fundamental paradox: the same algorithms that promise discovery are actively preventing it by rewarding homogeneity.
And after watching this spring's festival fashion recaps blur into indistinguishable content streams, I realized we're not just witnessing creative convergence, we're watching the collapse of competitive advantage in real-time.
The Coachella Conundrum
As a fashion-lover and retail strategist, the weekdays following music festivals have always been like Christmas for me. This year in particular, I especially looked forward to the spring festival fashion recaps because I desperately needed some inspiration for my upcoming trip to Primavera Sound in Barcelona. But, when the time came for me to scroll my feed and get some ideas, I was surprised by what I found.
In the past, Coachella fashion recaps, in particular, have served as the starting point for some of the most creative sartorial trends. And Coachella as an event has been the starting point for some of the industry’s most impactful fashion movements.
With early 2010s fashion making a powerful comeback, I expected endless homages to the former Queens of Coachella: Vanessa Hudgens, Rihanna, and Zoë Kravitz, for example. (Who could blame me? There was an actual meme series dedicated to this cultural royal court.) I coveted these tributes, but with a modern 2025 twist.
But as I opened my various social media channels to compile and collate my favorite looks, I came across a review by one of my favorite Instagram influencers (@fitfatandallthat). A mini think piece that I now cannot unsee and, frankly, cannot stop thinking about. In her frustration-tinged video, Julie centered on a stark reality: that everyone is dressing the same.
“I feel like everyone had a very similar vibe at Coachella this year…”
Not only did I immediately agree with this assertion, but it sparked a series of flashbacks to different non-stylist styling accounts and their fashion-focused content. These accounts were indistinguishable from each other in their quests to showcase outfits for the modern metropolitan working woman. The color ways, (“quiet luxury” neutrals such as butter yellow, merlot, slate, and espresso) tailoring, (corsets, corsets, and more corsets), and styles (business casual or boho chic, there is no in-between) were all so uniform and uninspiring that it simply reaffirmed one fact:
In today’s social media-driven culture, fashion is no longer a vehicle for self-expression and for unapologetically standing out. Now, it’s simply a means for blending in and monetizing through a carefully curated algorithm.
As I manically scrolled through my feed, I felt my eyes glazing over from the sea of sameness. A cohesive feed historically was a measure of success, indicating that one had a clear point of view and sense of taste—that my likes and comments fit together to create a reliable reflection of aspiration. Now, my once trusty source of inspiration, one that helped me venture down new yet aligned fashion pathways to discovery, is now a source of bland oversaturation.
But oversaturation, especially in creative fields, is nothing new. With the promise of cultural relevance and financial health, musicians, actors, and yes, even influencers, are writing and abiding by a playbook that prioritizes the algorithm over true creative expression and innovation. While this traps consumers in a sea of sameness, something that certainly doesn’t serve us in the long run, what is often overlooked is that creators are also drowning in the waves of their own creation.
Copycat Convergence
Hype content, driven by the algorithm flattening culture, is making it harder for consumers to experience newness. Ironically, Statista reports that 69% of Gen Z consumers discovered new brands or products from social media influencers (up from 45% in 2023). This leads us to believe that because consumers are increasingly being served content curated and amplified by “what’s trending,” brands are having to shape their content, pivot their campaigns, and even launch new products in order to be discovered.
And this new reality isn’t just influencing fashion. I spent multiple lunch breaks scouring the streets of New York for the viral “Dubai Chocolate.” Only later did I realize that the original isn’t even available anywhere but Dubai and that the founders have been frustrated by all the copycats. Rightfully so: when your entire business is centered around a key differentiator, whether it be a design, material usage, or signature ingredient, it’s discouraging when other brands make false claims in order to capture market share.
Like chocolatiers, social media influencers and creators are equally fanning the fires of homogeneity and suffering from the burn. The algorithm rewards creators for contributing to the sameness by pushing their content to the main feed. This incentivizes them to create more of the same content.
After all, when you get killer results, you become a draw for more brand deals. Even popular musicians such as Halsey have shared how they have been restricted from releasing the music they want to release until they have a viral moment on TikTok.
How can creators be expected to be actual influencers with divergent content, opinions, and recommendations when the new end goal is to simply go viral and hit the right KPIs?
When we limit creativity to what is already succeeding, we limit the capacity for newness and innovation. Brands are leveraging the mere exposure effect to perpetuate homogeneity, forcing us to believe that we like the same things more and more. The algorithm is great for getting consumers what they already know they want faster, but this is coming at the cost of stifling discovery and originality. In fact, I can’t help but wonder if this is why my Discover Weekly playlist on Spotify “misses the mark” so often. Brands have gotten great at building algorithms to push us to what we’ve already established we enjoy, but they are constantly failing to help us find any material that is fresh and diverges from our go-to’s.
Democracy’s Double Edges
Spotify algorithm aside, there has long been a dark side to “trending content”—one that has been embedded into the music industry for decades.
Initially coined in the 1950s in reference to baseball players with permission to only hit once, the term “one-hit wonder” has historically presented a very real fear for musicians. “I’m Too Sexy” creators Right Said Fred, Lipps, Inc of the immortal “Funkytown,” and House of Pain of “Jump Around” fame are just a few (likely unknown) examples of this musical kiss of death.
Bands like Semisonic—known (or not) for their unmistakable hit “Closing Time”—have undoubtedly experienced their taste of fame and become fixtures for a particular time in culture. While this is something every musician wishes for, the simultaneous challenge lies in breaking free from known hits. When a particular sound, song structure, or lyrical approach becomes the standard, musicians are more likely to fall victim to their own playbook for success.
With Big Algorithm behind practically everything we now consume, we are not just closer to mass uniformity; we are existing in a time where the threat of becoming a one-hit wonder has evolved into a full-on existential crisis.
One of the beauties of social media is that it allows consumers to have parasocial friendships with the tastemakers, musicians, and creators who inspire them. However, that level of accessibility can easily facilitate and empower followers’ armchair critic tendencies, discouraging creative risk-taking.
We cannot expect creators to be immune to such available critique and still be motivated to fearlessly experiment. Artists are damned if they evolve too far away from what won them mainstream success, and they’re damned if they don’t evolve at all. That fact has always been true, but artists have never had to hear about it as incessantly as they do now.
Further, while I appreciate the democratic capabilities at the core of how TikTok enables anyone (regardless of follower count) to get their literal 15 seconds of viral fame, they’re a double-edged sword.
Becoming relevant is the dream, but staying relevant is a nightmare.
To keep pace with the current pace of disruption, creators need to have a certain level of palatability. Arguably, it’s the only way they can get picked up by the algorithm and avoid irrelevance. Branding and marketing terminology at the center of conversations between creators and management serve as a constant reminder to creators that they are only as valuable as the number of seconds they can hold the average user's interest.
15 Seconds of Relevance
One artist outwardly grappling with how to balance longevity and impact (without oversaturation) is Charli XCX. Since her sixth studio album “brat” won three Grammys, went platinum, topped the Dance/Electronic charts, and became the mood of 2024, Charli has vocalized her concerns about maintaining momentum.
A recent Instagram caption from the artist reflects on this struggle: “i’m [sic] interested in the tension of staying too long..” The externalization of this train of thought transforms into marketing messaging. She now closes her 2025 shows with a series of slides asking the audience if it’s time to say goodbye to the era that overtook culture for almost a full year.
What’s most significant about the rhetorical question she poses is the fact that she isn’t only asking how long to ride this wave, but also who she is when it inevitably fades into the backdrop of culture.
Obviously, there is more financial gain the longer she can sustain the wave. When a clip goes viral or a song becomes the TikTok soundtrack, monetization opportunities abound. However, there’s also the chance she’ll overstay her welcome and appear as a sellout. This identity crisis is the direct result of a flattening algorithm and constant fight for 15 powerful seconds of relevance. The algorithmic cycle is causing identity confines for creators as much as it is for consumers.
Modern creators are becoming prisoners of their own content. This couldn’t have been more literally on display than when a few "Severance" cast members stationed themselves inside of glass-encased cubicles at Grand Central Terminal. It was a genius marketing effort. It was much along the lines of the character dressing Margot Robbie did for Barbie and what Timothee Chalamet did during the “A Complete Unknown” press tour.
But when creators are not actors whose jobs require a metamorphosis into the characters they play for a specific project, the promotional echo chamber that the algorithm demands has an infinite lifespan. And then, the identity becomes as one-dimensional as the algorithm itself.
Melissa Minkow realized her deep interest in the quirkiness of human existence back in high school when she watched “Amelie” for the first time. As the film introduced each character by their likes and dislikes, it unlocked a hidden passion for analyzing the intricacies of consumer behaviors. She went on to pursue an undergraduate degree from UW Madison and an MBA from Kellogg School of Management in marketing, and has spent the bulk of her career in executive advising, mapping cultural and shopper insights to actions for retailers, CPG, and hospitality brands. While curiosity and empathy drive her methodology, Melissa draws strategic and tactical guidance from unconventional spaces to challenge brands to think more creatively. When she’s not working, Melissa is likely traveling via home exchanges, visiting art museums, going on walks with loved ones, and recording her “Love in Dating Shows” podcast.
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