Written by Jahnavi Menon
Illustrated by April Yang
The summer of 2024 is characterised, for me, by the sweaty synth of the Challengers soundtrack and Charli XCX’s BRAT. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’ electrifying score embodied the tension of one-on-one sport, relationships, and betrayal. Charli introduced hyperpop to a whole new demographic, doing the impossible by popularising a genre and aesthetic she deemed unpalatable to the masses. Challengers was driven by this titillating score. Youth reinvigorated by XCX’s dance pop anthems. Culture was shaken by the intersection of these two major moments.
Yet, Challengers was neither awarded nor nominated for best original score at the Oscars. And BRAT didn’t win best album.
It’s common knowledge that awards ceremonies are not the sole arbiters of artistic excellence – art is subjective. Their relevance persists, however, given that we are more likely to consume critically acclaimed works and justify our favourites by their trophies.
The Oscars and Grammys aren’t based purely on merit. Artists rely on For Your Consideration (FYC) campaigns to market their work. The bigger the marketing budget, the greater the odds of visibility. 2025’s best picture awardee, Anora, is a stellar example, with a $18 million marketing budget (three times its production budget). Logical, of course, that a movie with more public awareness would do better at awards shows — but this means that films without the budget to market, after hefty production costs, are sidelined.
The Eurocentrism of these awards shows is an issue in itself, with foreign artists funnelled into categories like ‘Best International Feature Film’ and ‘Best Global Music Album’. Although it’s unreasonable to expect critics to include the millions of films and records produced worldwide, awards shows set a precedent for what the creme de la creme of media is. This is why some of the most universally agreed upon masterpieces of film and music — the Godfathers and Abbey Roads of the world — are largely Western. It’s almost a form of artistic imperialism: the West heightens its allure by monopolising the sphere of cultural legitimacy. And excluding exceptions like Parasite and Bad Bunny’s DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS, impressive wins in an age when classic Eurocentric standards are essential accessories of cultural capital, the majority of filmmakers and musicians receiving their flowers are inspired by the works of lesser recognised artists in other parts of the world.
Award shows don’t simply concern artistic ability — they position themselves as authorities for political engagement and messaging. To their credit, they are often backdrops for passionate activism — vital when taking into consideration how intertwined art is with politics, being a target under fascism. Billie Eilish and Hannah Einbinder have recently spoken out against ICE and its unlawful deportations. However, even this aspect of awards shows is being slowly erased — the 2026 BAFTAs edited out a political statement, although an audience member with Tourette’s syndrome who shouted out a racial slur amidst a speech remained audible. The careful curation behind ceremonies exposes the inauthenticity and performance of political empathy at these shows: if they can meld narratives so easily, it’s dubious whether their opinions on artistic value can be trusted.
Social media discourse has further ruined the concept of awards shows that were flawed to begin with: artistic competition has the knack to fuel fan wars, emanating with misogyny, racism, and every flavour of bigotry imaginable. Beyonce was dragged for her ‘Best Album’ win in 2025, with naysayers blaming it on ‘wokeness’ and conspiracy theories that she has ties to the illicit Illuminati (cue my eyeroll: has this sort of dialogue ever cropped up when a man wins a prestigious title?). Women are pitted against each other endlessly: Mikey Madison’s win for ‘Best Actress’ sparked unnecessary hostility and claims of ageism from Demi Moore’s supporters. A lack of media literacy also plays a role: many thought Oppenheimer winning Best Picture over Barbie was symbolic of the misogyny covered in the film (a representation that I don’t think is picture perfect to begin with), when it was likely to just be because Oppenheimer was phenomenal craftsmanship on Nolan and the crew’s part. There’s also conformity: I often wonder whether people truly consider Timothee Chalamet an Oscar-worthy actor, or if they just repeat this sentiment because everyone seems to think so.
Then there are also the wins, snubs, and ignorance that confuses everyone: for instance, Emilia Perez’s critical acclaim at the Oscars, despite some of the worst audience reception a movie has received in recent years. At the Grammys, Ariana Grande wasn’t nominated for AOTY for her album Eternal Sunshine, just like the Weeknd was dismissed with his album After Hours despite Blinding Lights breaking records in 2021. The Academy is also often reluctant to nominate animated films, which are usually labours of thousands of hours of hard work and love (Spiderman: Into The Spider Verse — you deserved a nod in our hearts), and horror films (Pearl and Midsommar being glaring examples).
Awards shows must be taken with the most generous pinch of salt. Much of my anger is rooted not in the Academy and the committees of voters, but in the viewers who place so much faith in these shallow, superficial awards, too sluggish to seek out art on their own. Curation can never replace individual discovery. Many blame the watering down of art criticism on social media, but awards shows and the death of physical media have made it impossible to explore various horizons and travel to different thoughts, states, psyches, continents, and hearts through art. Why do we anxiously race to binge through Oscar-nominated films instead of asking our parents what movie they watched on their first date? Why do we insist on streaming Grammy winners instead of earnestly listening to our friends’ niche recommendations? Ranking media and getting involved in endless discourse have killed the core of artistic appreciation: connection. We are too wrapped up in numbers to see what pieces of media make our hearts beat. The art that matters isn’t on primetime television — it’s what we still feel compelled to defend and pass on long after the winner clutches the trophy.
