Kyle MacNeill has spent the last decade exploring the unexcavated corners of pop culture for 

, and for youth platforms including THE FACE, Dazed, VICE and i-D. He’s also the copywriter for Kibbo Kift Agency, a boutique PR and performance agency solely working with sustainable and socially conscious clients and has managed social media for brands including FENDI, Viron, and More or Less. He’s insatiably curious about niche communities, the material history of objects, unusual technologies, and strange phenomena. He's based in Manchester's Northern Quarter, where he writes local recommendations for Time Out, plays a lot of pub games, and makes a devastating mess in the kitchen.

The past decade has seen political polarisation – accelerated by social media’s filter bubbles and echo chambers – deepen and mutate. An ominous era of a polycrisis has shattered any remaining societal consensus. Meanwhile, powerful anti-establishment voices have stepped into the void.

Polarised Populations

People are craving comfort. Amid what can feel like a state of constant crisis – a layering of traumatic societal events – it can sometimes seem like we’ve lost a sense of scale and cohesion. In the face of this, the desire to retreat into nostalgia is more seductive than ever. 

Nostalgia Reimagined 

In August 1992, The Smiths’ frontman Morrissey was booed and bottled at Finsbury Park for performing while draped in the Union Jack. But just months later, in April 1993, Suede's Brett Anderson appeared on the cover of 

 in front of the flag, reframing it as something positive. That same year, journalist Stuart Maconie coined the term 'Britpop', and a new movement was born, anchored in brash, bolshy pop-rock with an anti-grunge sentiment and quintessentially British aesthetics. Comprising bands including Pulp, Elastica, Blur, Suede, Oasis, and Supergrass, it came to a head in 1995 with the Blur and Oasis rivalry. Tethered to the Cool Britannia movement and New Labour’s rise to power, Britpop placed the UK at the epicentre of global popular culture, becoming popular in Australia, Japan, and continental Europe (but never truly breaking America). Its flag-bearers were united by a collective Britishness and a newfound optimism.

But, just a few years later, Britpop was on the way out, replaced by new, more earnest guitar bands like Radiohead and Coldplay. By the early 2000s, the lad culture that defined the Britpop era was fading, and its bibles (magazines like 

 were haemorrhaging readers. Following the social consensus of Britpop, the concept of Britishness became increasingly disjointed. In the early 2000s, the British National Party was finding new supporters, reclaiming the Union Jack as a symbol of far-right nationalism. Elsewhere, the UK Independence Party was gaining popularity, calling for Britain to leave the EU. In 2016, a referendum on the matter saw 52% vote in favour, and Union Jacks filled Parliament Square to celebrate ‘Brexit Day’. But, for the most part, young people were not part of this movement: 73% of voters aged 18 to 24 opted to remain. 

Statista

But, post-pandemic, a new wave of young artists has emerged, once again remixing the Union Jack and turning to the energy and iconography of mid-90s Britain for inspiration. Unlike Britpop artists of the 90s – almost entirely White, male, and straight – many are Black, female, and/or queer. “Artists such as Nia Archives, Master Peace, and Rachel Chinouriri have all been drawing on Britpop, whether that’s the visual aesthetic or musically,” says Felicity Martin, a culture editor and writer for 

Interview with Felicity Martin conducted by the author

 While sonically, this new wave of Britpop may be a distant cousin to its 90s predecessor, these artists are hauling Cool Britannia back to the surface to rule the airwaves once more. But is this just another rotation of the endless nostalgia cycle, or can these artists help reframe what Britpop was – and is?

In the 90s, British pride was riding high. In 1995, 86% of Britons were proud of their country's history, and 62% would rather be citizens there than anywhere else. Britain was marketed as a buoyant, creative nation – a place where being patriotic and progressive wasn't incompatible. Since then, pride has waned. A September 2024 survey found that just 62% are now proud of the country's history, while less than half (49%) say they'd rather be a British citizen than anywhere else. 

The Guardian

 Strikingly, though, the percentage of Britons proud of the country's arts and literature increased from 69% in 1995 to 79% in 2023 – highlighting that, even as other aspects of national pride have faltered, cultural achievements remain a cornerstone of collective identity. 

National Centre for Social Research

“No one’s really making Britpop at the moment, but I have a feeling 2024 is gonna be the year. I’ve not heard [a Britpop sound] in dance music, so I wanted to try it out,” Nia Archives, a jungle vocalist and producer, told 

. “I don't think there's anything wrong with being patriotic. I'm a British girl.” 

The Face

 Even artists abroad are referencing Britpop for its rich culture. MGMT, for example, referenced Britpop as an inspiration for their 2024 album 

 and US DJ The Dare has spoken of ‘Britishmaxxing’. 

 Once again, the Union Jack is in pole position in all of this. Patriotic outlets like GB News continue to use the flag, and the far-right riots of this summer saw the St. George’s Cross once again associated with racist movements. “Obviously, the Union Jack and St. George's Cross are very evocative images – largely because they have become so synonymous with the far-right, especially the St. George's Cross,” says Serena Smith, deputy editor for Dazed Digital. “It's shorthand for 'I am right-wing'.” 

Interview with Serena Smith conducted by the author

But, through the Britpop revival, the Union Jack is being flown again by left-leaning creatives and even the more controversial St. George’s Cross has been used by Rachel Chinouriri on her album cover. “I think there's an element of seeing that flag that definitely holds a connotation, especially when there's Black people involved with it,” she told the BBC. 

 This has also been seen in the fashion world. But, with some of this likely ironic, it’s increasingly difficult to determine what’s sincere. 

Dazed

 “There’s been a Union Jack revival in underground fashion, with queer and POC people adopting it, but this is perhaps laced with a certain irony,” says Martin. 

In the 90s, the Britpop scene was overwhelmingly White and male, with a laddish reputation now considered brash and inappropriate by many. “Sometimes you have to separate the art from the person,” said Dua Lipa in an interview with 

. “It’s more like the music element, the aspect of it that I'm really connected to. The way that [some Brit-pop artists] acted, the things that they've done, they're obnoxious for sure. That's their whole thing.” 

Rolling Stone

 The Oasis reunion, announced this year, is likely to recast these ghosts of the past and remind us of Britpop’s chequered history. Writer Simon Price has already reflected on this, calling Oasis “the most damaging pop-cultural force in recent British history” due to past homophobic and conservative views. 

It’s why the new wave of Britpop icons, who are representative of a more diverse Britain, are focused on championing inclusivity. Since the 90s, the proportional ethnic minority population in the UK has increased from 7% to 18%. But acceptance hasn’t necessarily increased, and racism is still rife; in the year ending March 2023, there were 101,906 race hate crimes, while the far-right riots of summer 2024 saw bigoted views 

Home Office UK 

 Rachel Chinouriri has addressed her paradoxical pride towards Britain. “No matter the trauma I’ve had from being raised in the UK, being Black British has made me the person who I am.” 

 She’s also directly connected her Black identity to her love of Britpop, 

: “Brit pop: the black women edition x” [sic] after her performance at Glastonbury in June 2024. “It’s good to see a more diverse roster of talent dominating the charts than simply ‘lads with guitars’,” adds Martin. 

This diversification of Britpop has seen these artists remix the Union Jack and St. George’s Cross. Nia Archives, for example, worked with artist Corbin Shaw to create a Glastonbury flag fusing the Jamaican and English flags, representing her dual heritage. Rapper Stormzy’s 2019 Glastonbury performance had also already set a powerful creative precedent, where he wore a Banksy-designed 

 to highlight the structural racism embedded in British society. Elsewhere, A.G. Cook, a producer and the head of PC Music, also turned the Union Jack pink and green for his 2024 album 

. “There are many versions of the Union Jack, and I didn't want it to feel nationalist. One of the first things I did graphically with this album campaign was to ban red, white, and blue,” he told 

Elephant

The original Britpop movement was brought together by a collective Britishness and unconditional national pride – on the nose rather than anything particularly nuanced. Now, though, there's a cultural landscape of divided opinion. For some, the Union Jack is a red flag for the far-right and a symbol of shame; for others, it's a mark of pride compatible with a progressive outlook. This is reflected in the 76% of Britons who believe the country is divided these days. 

Ipsos

 How, though, can we measure British pride if we're not sure what 'British' actually means? A list by 

 of 100 'Britishcore' experiences things went viral for missing the mark. 

The Tab

 "It was just the most unhinged, niche, unrelatable list ever," says Smith. "It sparked this discussion of what it means to be British. If this invokes such a visceral reaction, then what is 'British'? Very rarely do people clarify what it means." 

In this sense, 'Britishness' risks becoming a totally meaningless quality. "Britain is so fragmented and polarised and divided it's hard to find anything that really unifies us," she adds. 

 on TikTok, sparked by the Oasis reunion, has seen new takes on Greggs sausage rolls, meal deals, and boozers. But are these things really enough to bind us together? "What 'Britishness' actually is continues to be a grey area. I wonder, though, whether Britons are – cautiously – becoming a little more patriotic. We recently saw a huge pushback to the 2024 riots, where people turned out in droves to face the fascists and distance themselves from racist narratives. This, coupled with the recent Tory defeat, may be allowing younger people to express some sense of national pride," says Martin. 

But, more pressingly, is the Britpop revival 

 happening? "I've seen people drawing many parallels with the Cool Britannia movement. But I'm always sceptical when people talk about this online and say it's happening. People have been talking about an indie sleaze revival, but it's not really something I've noticed in real life. I'm hesitant to say Britpop is back when I can't see it out of my window," says Smith. 

 Perhaps it's a continuation of our incessant cyclical culture, a nostalgia trip seen through rave glasses, founded on the fact that 57% of Britons think life in the 90s was better. 

YouGov

A more optimistic outlook, though, is that this isn't just recycling but 

, unpicking Britpop's rich cultural history and using the threads to create new, better designs.

British pride is a complex phenomenon, existing on a continuum that ranges from an appreciation of UK art through to centrism, conservatism, nationalism, jingoism, racism, and fascism. It's, therefore, an incredibly polarising social force to tap into and certainly comes with risk. A small minority of young people, however, 

 survey, almost one in five young Britons feel 'extremely proud' to be British. 

 "I'm optimistic we're on the verge of a real cultural revival and are going to have loads of interesting things going in music, art, and literature," says Smith. 

 There's space, then, for brands to capitalise on this energy cautiously, taking a nuanced and balanced approach to patriotic branding by accepting Britain's flaws, remixing iconography, and prioritising pop over politics.

To be truly representative, brands are increasingly having to ensure that interpretations of what it means to be British are not exclusionary. The best route into this is to harness the cultural capital of the new wave of Britpop artists, who are working to reassess the genre and move Britpop away from its association with ‘laddism’. “A way in is working with or aligning yourself with some of these artists that are trying to do something interesting with Britishness,” says Smith. 

 Nia Archives, for example, has become a fixture on the front row for Burberry, a staunchly British brand looking to reinvigorate and modernise its image. It’s also a good idea to avoid cloying cliches about Britishness and instead capture its eclectic influences. “Brands might look to be cautious about tapping into the ‘laddier’ sides of Britishness, and instead platform the more authentic aspects of it, as well as digging into its history of subversiveness and genuine ‘coolness’. I think there’s a cheeky, fun aspect to Britpop (both in the past and currently) that brands can tap into – it doesn’t have to take itself seriously,” adds Martin. 

If a true Britpop revival is to emerge, its original spirit and imagery can’t be completely bulldozed; otherwise, it’s rendered meaningless. Instead, it has to be approached with both the discerning eye of a cultural archivist and the contemporary vision of a gallery curator, presenting its output in a new light. Outside of pop music, Black British DJ, broadcaster, and author Zakia Sewell is achieving this through reinterpreting British folklore customs. “I want people to feel that other ways of thinking about our national story are possible without shying away from the darker aspects of our collective history in Britain,” she told 

Time Out

 This conscientious approach is similar to the new wave of Britpop artists, who are proud of being British but not necessarily proud of Britain. It’s a conditional love that acknowledges its pitfalls and appreciates its culture.

 of Britons were proud of their country's history, compared to 

 of Britons think life in the ‘90s was better

 young Britons feel ‘extremely proud’ to be British

Young musicians are reshaping Britpop by balancing pride in British culture with critiques of its exclusionary past, reflecting a shift toward conditional patriotism

The revival of symbols like the Union Jack highlights the tension between reclaiming national pride and rejecting far-right connotations

Modern Britishness is increasingly fragmented, with individuals and brands navigating polarised identities through nuanced, inclusive expressions of culture

Serena Smith is Deputy Editor for Dazed Digital and also writes about popular culture for The Guardian, Prospect, and The i. She wrote a longread for Dazed last year about the complicated history of the Union Jack, interrogating what it means today.

Felicity Martin is a freelance editor and writer who has written articles about youth culture and music for The Guardian, THE FACE, Refinery29 and Dazed. She also runs 

, a newsletter fusing dance music and food. She has recently written about authenticity in pop music, the return of electro-house and 

Brat and It's Completely Different but Also Still Brat

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A new wave of Britpop is subverting the genre's aesthetics, challenging its laddish roots by blending pride with critique. Diverse, inclusive, and often disruptive, these musicians are remixing symbols like the Union Jack, reshaping what it means to be British in a fragmented cultural landscape.