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A few months ago, my boyfriend and I saw Leon Thomas at the Brooklyn Paramount as part of his “Mutts Don’t Heel World Tour.” It was one of the best shows I’d seen in a long time, with the musician belting out hits like “Mutt,” alongside tracks like “I Do,” which features the lyrics, “God and losing you are the only two things I fear” and “If I could spend more private time with you, then I’ll sell everything I have.” As I leaned against my boyfriend, both of us singing in harmony, I thought to myself: they’re finally making music like they used to. The people are yearning again.
In recent years, I’ve noticed a shift in my own listening habits, drifting away from what my friends and I call “rowdy” music toward warm, soothing tunes. Music I can work to, clean to, and daydream to. Music that lets me imagine my future with my boyfriend, marriage, kids, the house—the whole thing. And I’m not alone. In addition to my friends, yearning music fills my feed. From Instagram to TikTok, it’s almost impossible not to hear artists like Thomas, Naomi Sharon, Mariah the Scientist, Laufey, and, of course, Olivia Dean. Her “Best New Artist” Grammy win, and Laufey’s “Traditional Pop Vocal Album” award feel like proof that we’re in the midst of a real shift—and, if I may say, this is the adulthood I was promised: beautiful, vulnerable, and soft.
But what does this shift say about society as a whole? Why are we longing to hear love like never before? Is it simply the evolution of growing older? Or is it a response to living in such turbulent times? Ahead, we tapped a couple of experts to explain why music is for lovers again.
Meet the Experts
- Austin Thach is a publicist who has worked with Alex Isley, Muni Long, and PartyNextDoor. He is also the founder of The Forefront Group, an agency that specializes in public relations, branding, and strategic partnerships.
- Tomás Mier is a music journalist with bylines in People, Rolling Stone, Variety, and Vogue.
Why Is Music In Its Yearning Era?
Culture is cyclical. What was once cool will certainly become cool again. We see this especially with beauty and fashion trends—but music isn’t exempt. It’s why Kendrick Lamar sampled SWV in “The Heart Pt. 6,” and why Doechii’s “Anxiety” became an instant hit, transporting us back to where we were the moment we first heard Gotye’s “Somebody I Used to Know” in 2011.
And maybe the next step isn’t just revisiting the past through samples, but pulling from its spirit—using earlier eras as emotional and creative blueprints. That influence is evident in today’s artists. Olivia Dean has cited Sade, Lauryn Hill, and the late Amy Winehouse as key inspirations behind her sound.
“History always repeats itself,” Thach says. “Nostalgia sells because it makes people think and reminisce, and music is the number one thing that allows people to drift away, to forget, to, well, yearn. We’re still not over The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill or D’Angelo’s ‘Brown Sugar’—and you can hear those references in Leon Thomas’ music. Olivia Dean, in a way, reminds us of the lightness we felt when listening to Natasha Bedingfield. It’s why Hilary Duff can even have a musical comeback. The past is always welcome in the present when it comes to music.”
Mier echoes similar sentiments. “There will always be an era when a certain style of music resonates with the culture, and there’s always going to be a pull toward it—even if it’s before our time. If you watch something from the ’80s, even if you didn’t live through those years, there’s still an excitement to experience it, to hear another artist tap into that sound.”
How the Pandemic Influenced Artists
It still feels like we’re recovering from the pandemic. Those were some of the longest, most disorienting years, and according to Thach, that lingering aftershock is a major reason yearning music is on the rise. “We’re coming out of a time marked by isolation, loss, and uncertainty,” he explains, adding that much of the music from that era mirrored a period of survival and emotional detachment. “People aren’t trying to perform invincibility anymore—they’re craving connection and tenderness. Softer music allows space for vulnerability and complexity, which is missing someone, wanting someone, being afraid, and being hopeful. That right now feels cooler than being tough.”
Beyond the pandemic, Thach also points to today’s political climate and a growing rejection of hustle culture. “There’s burnout, economic pressure, social media fatigue, and global tension. People are emotionally overstimulated, and tender music acts almost like regulation—it slows down the system.”
Getty Images / Byrdie
Mier adds, “We’re looking for escapism, and music provides that. Love provides that,” he says. “It’s interesting because you look at data, and it says marriage is on the decline, but weddings are all we’re seeing on the FYP. The basis of love, the desire to experience love, will always exist.”
Recent artists, songs, and albums that capture this feeling, according to Mier, include The Marías, Ariana Grande’s Eternal Sunshine—which taps into both optimism and the struggles that come with love—and Lady Gaga’s “Blade of Grass” from Mayhema song about not needing anything more than a blade of grass around her finger to commit to her fiancé. “[That song] is such a beautiful metaphor,” Mier adds. “Like, in a world of mayhem, there is still love. There’s still a deep desire to hold onto that love—and to be okay if there was nothing else but that.”
That same desire for closeness shows up even in how we hear heartbreak. Mier emphasizes vulnerability, highlighting breakup songs that still feel rooted in love and connection, like Kehlani’s “Folded,” in which she sings, “No matter what you do to switch the story up, I know I made my mark / And I would still choose you through it all.”
Mier says, “That’s still love music. That’s longing. Being emotionally closed off or unable to articulate feelings is not the moment.”
A Feminine Return to Romance Is Also Happening
The term “girl boss” haunts me. It was an intense—if well-meaning—era, one that championed women for breaking molds, building empires, and rejecting traditional gender roles. And that progress matters. But somewhere along the way, worth began to feel increasingly tied to productivity. If you weren’t working hard enough or running 10 different companies, it could feel like you weren’t doing anything at all. This mindset created a severe culture of burnout.
In recent years, there’s been a quiet counter-movement—especially among Black women—toward rest, ease, and self-definition. One that recognizes that softness doesn’t cancel out strength and that wanting a gentler life doesn’t mean you lack ambition. That shift, Thach says, is showing up in music.
Getty Images / Byrdie
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being independent, being completely happy without a partner,” he explains. “In fact, women are romanticizing that. But there are also women saying, ‘I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be in love. I’m tired of pretending I don’t want life to be a rom-com.'”
Artists today are writing songs that feel like these exact conversations and inner monologues. Laufey’s “Falling Behind” captures the quiet ache of watching everyone else find love while wondering when it will happen for you. Meanwhile, Naomi Sharon’s “Can We Do This Over” turns heartbreak into a plea for another chance because sometimes love can be rewritten. And Raye’s chart-topping single, “Where Is My Husband?” offers an upbeat, playful commentary on the topic.
How Social Media Is Fueling the Yearn
The return to yearning music isn’t just cultural—it’s technological. In 2026, it comes as no surprise that the algorithm plays a role in shaping what trends. Platforms now reward atmosphere, emotion, and intimacy more than spectacle (sometimes).
“Olivia Dean is somebody that the algorithm really enjoys, and I think that’s because it’s easy listening,” Mier says. “When you’re consuming something on TikTok, especially, the music is the background, and there’s something else happening in front—someone speaking, telling a story, taking you somewhere with them, sharing their vacation.”
It’s a big shift from the pandemic, which saw music guide posts more directly—TikTok dances, challenges, and trend-driven formats that required upbeat, sing-songy, or in-your-face tracks. That kind of music was what went viral at the time. Now, there’s a noticeable slowness to it all. “We’re looking at people cooking pies on a rainy day—naturally, that pairs nicely with ‘A Couple Minutes,'” Mier says.
Tender, low-stakes visuals paired with romantic, slow-burn songs help romanticize even the most ordinary moments. And that impulse—to find beauty in the mundane—feels especially appealing during times of uncertainty.
As social media continues to amplify mood-driven storytelling, music will continue to fuel our daydreams of past crushes, stolen glances, slow dances, and the love stories we’re still hoping to live. I’m genuinely excited for what this next chapter brings, from the artists already defining the sound to the new ballads still to come. Music is officially for lovers again.
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