The Age of Chalance

11.06.25 | By Bri Nixon

Why caring is cool again and what brands should do about it.

Cultural caché used to look like indifference. The less you tried, the cooler you were. Whether in fashion, dating, or brand-building, nonchalance was the ultimate flex.

Not anymore.

In a culture fatigued by irony and minimalism, a new aesthetic (and work ethic) is taking hold. And this means people want to follow brands that are equally obsessed.

We’re entering the age of chalance.

This is a good thing. Pretty sure.

From irony to earnestness to post-irony.

For most of the 2010s, a surface-level irony was visible in parts of internet culture—think normcore or Tumblr humour. But much of the decade was also marked by Millennial optimism, slogan tees, enamel pins that read “Nevertheless, she persisted”. This peaked around 2012–2016, where political engagement and brand purpose collided. The worst of this was Kendall Jenner’s Pepsi ad. Brands tried to be woke. And landed on cringey sincerity packaged for capitalism.

Then Tr*mp’s 2016 win radicalised both sides of the political spectrum, emotionally and aesthetically. The absurdity (and, for some, hopelessness) of the political situation drove people into the cold, sharp arms of irony. Meme aesthetics reigned supreme. We started dunking on girlboss feminism. And sought out “alternative” thinkers. Enter: Joe Rogan.

That brings us to the early 2020s. COVID happened, yada yada. Green and pink washing was rife. Plenty of brands got caught out. We were left disappointed. After years of shovelling internet slop, we'd become sick of eating the post-ironic gruel. We wanted something nourishing and warm and bright. Something that makes a statement, not just commentary.

Now, simply turn your attention to the rise of parasocial relationships, confession-driven content, and hyper-niche communities to understand the deeper shift to sincerity.

For most of the 2010s, a surface-level irony was visible in parts of internet culture—think normcore or Tumblr humour. But much of the decade was also marked by Millennial optimism, slogan tees, enamel pins that read “Nevertheless, she persisted”. This peaked around 2012–2016, where political engagement and brand purpose collided. The worst of this was Kendall Jenner’s Pepsi ad. Brands tried to be woke. And landed on cringey sincerity packaged for capitalism.

Then Tr*mp’s 2016 win radicalised both sides of the political spectrum, emotionally and aesthetically. The absurdity (and, for some, hopelessness) of the political situation drove people into the cold, sharp arms of irony. Meme aesthetics reigned supreme. We started dunking on girlboss feminism. And sought out “alternative” thinkers. Enter: Joe Rogan.

That brings us to the early 2020s. COVID happened, yada yada. Green and pink washing was rife. Plenty of brands got caught out. We were left disappointed. After years of shovelling internet slop, we'd become sick of eating the post-ironic gruel. We wanted something nourishing and warm and bright. Something that makes a statement, not just commentary.

Now, simply turn your attention to the rise of parasocial relationships, confession-driven content, and hyper-niche communities to understand the deeper shift to sincerity.

Trying hard is having a moment.

When Timothée Chalamet accepted a career award earlier this year, he didn’t thank fate or pretend it all came easy. Instead, he said something refreshingly rare, “I’m really in pursuit of greatness. I know people don’t usually talk like that, but I want to be one of the greats. I’m inspired by the greats.”

It was also a cultural signal. In a world that rewards cynicism, Chalamet reminded us that effort—real, passionate effort—is still powerful.

Addison Rae, once crowned the poster girl for TikTok virality, offers a more complex version of the same shift. Her early ascent was so fast, so algorithmically blessed, that it was easy to assume it was accidental.

Now she has shifted into pop stardom, music, fashion, and the culture at large, and she credits her commitment to trying. In an interview with Elle Magazine, she said, “I wasn’t going to let being cringe and posting a million videos stop me. And now that I look back at it, I don’t feel embarrassed about anything I ever posted. I can appreciate that girl and say that was a girl who was going to make it happen, no matter what that meant doing.” Addison Rae and her team clearly care a lot. And rather than being shunned for it (well, a little bit, which is to be expected on the internet), she has been embraced and celebrated.

Rae, like Chalamet, is part of a new vanguard of visible strivers. They are neither ironic nor entirely unselfconscious; they are savvy enough to know that trying can still attract mockery. But they try anyway.

When Timothée Chalamet accepted a career award earlier this year, he didn’t thank fate or pretend it all came easy. Instead, he said something refreshingly rare, “I’m really in pursuit of greatness. I know people don’t usually talk like that, but I want to be one of the greats. I’m inspired by the greats.”

It was also a cultural signal. In a world that rewards cynicism, Chalamet reminded us that effort—real, passionate effort—is still powerful.

Addison Rae, once crowned the poster girl for TikTok virality, offers a more complex version of the same shift. Her early ascent was so fast, so algorithmically blessed, that it was easy to assume it was accidental.

Now she has shifted into pop stardom, music, fashion, and the culture at large, and she credits her commitment to trying. In an interview with Elle Magazine, she said, “I wasn’t going to let being cringe and posting a million videos stop me. And now that I look back at it, I don’t feel embarrassed about anything I ever posted. I can appreciate that girl and say that was a girl who was going to make it happen, no matter what that meant doing.” Addison Rae and her team clearly care a lot. And rather than being shunned for it (well, a little bit, which is to be expected on the internet), she has been embraced and celebrated.

Rae, like Chalamet, is part of a new vanguard of visible strivers. They are neither ironic nor entirely unselfconscious; they are savvy enough to know that trying can still attract mockery. But they try anyway.

Having taste is stylish.

For years, “cringe” was a creative insult. Now, it’s being reclaimed as a badge of honour. A sign that you care so much, you’re willing to look a little uncool.

It’s not about good taste. It’s about having taste at all.

And the same applies to brands. People want to shop brands that claim they are the most obsessed, the most excited, the most knowledgeable. In a world of infinite content and microtrends, taste has fragmented. There’s no longer one dominant idea of 'good taste'. Instead, we’re seeing a kind of fractal culture where subcultures thrive.

Whether it’s how you dress (the biggest insult being called the microtrend final boss), how you decorate your home interiors (no big lights), or what your job is (everyone is a creative director these days), people want to offer something unique and therefore brag-worthy.

For years, “cringe” was a creative insult. Now, it’s being reclaimed as a badge of honour. A sign that you care so much, you’re willing to look a little uncool.

It’s not about good taste. It’s about having taste at all.

And the same applies to brands. People want to shop brands that claim they are the most obsessed, the most excited, the most knowledgeable. In a world of infinite content and microtrends, taste has fragmented. There’s no longer one dominant idea of 'good taste'. Instead, we’re seeing a kind of fractal culture where subcultures thrive.

Whether it’s how you dress (the biggest insult being called the microtrend final boss), how you decorate your home interiors (no big lights), or what your job is (everyone is a creative director these days), people want to offer something unique and therefore brag-worthy.

Obsession is a strategy.

A recent It’s Nice That piece put it perfectly: “Following fixations makes our creative work better.”

Obsession creates meaning. It creates momentum. And obsession is contagious. When someone is visibly, audibly passionate about a subject, it sparks curiosity in others. Passion draws attention. Attention draws more attention. What makes people care? Often, it’s someone else who cared first.

For brands, this is a strategic shift. It’s no longer enough to be aesthetic or palatable. People want brands to care about something—deeply, weirdly, even uncomfortably. And demonstrate this through their brand voice, visuals, the world they build.

Obsession is the antidote to apathy. And apathy is out of fashion.

A recent It’s Nice That piece put it perfectly: “Following fixations makes our creative work better.”

Obsession creates meaning. It creates momentum. And obsession is contagious. When someone is visibly, audibly passionate about a subject, it sparks curiosity in others. Passion draws attention. Attention draws more attention. What makes people care? Often, it’s someone else who cared first.

For brands, this is a strategic shift. It’s no longer enough to be aesthetic or palatable. People want brands to care about something—deeply, weirdly, even uncomfortably. And demonstrate this through their brand voice, visuals, the world they build.

Obsession is the antidote to apathy. And apathy is out of fashion.

What this means for brand builders.

If the last era was about restraint, the next will be about devotion. Not perfection. Not polish. But passion.

So if you're building a brand, don’t aim for relevance—aim for reverence.

Let your freak flag fly and the loyal freaks will follow.