The End of American Culture? Why Gen Z Finds Identity in Global Trends
TOI World Desk | TOI Global Desk | Sep 25, 2025, 21:35 IST
In 2025, American teens are increasingly shaping their identities around global trends rather than solely homegrown culture. From K-pop and Korean beauty routines to anime, Latin music, and Bollywood dance, youth engagement with international media and lifestyles is reshaping what it means to grow up in the U.S. Far from signaling a loss of culture, this fusion reflects America’s long history of adapting and remixing global influences. Through fandoms, social media, and immersive participation, Gen Z is creating a hyper-connected, multicultural identity that blends local traditions with worldwide storytelling, proving that American culture today is as dynamic and global as ever.
Throughout most of the twentieth century, the United States was the leading exporter of culture. Hollywood films, MTV music videos, and American consumer brands dominated the world's imagination. However, by 2025, the flow of culture appears to be reversed. American teenagers are no longer exporting their sounds and styles to the world; they are importing culture and fashioning identities from it.
Anime festivals in Dallas attract tens of thousands of fans. Bad Bunny tops Coachella to screaming crowds that don't all speak Spanish. BTS breaks up SoFi Stadium quicker than some of America's classic rock icons ever did. What appears to be a decline in "American culture" is, in fact, an outward-facing, adaptive, and highly attuned to world stories.
Anime is perhaps the most obvious case. Just a decade back, series such as Naruto or One Piece were written off as "geek culture." Now, Demon Slayer movie premieres occupy the top U.S. box offices, and streaming platforms such as Crunchyroll or Netflix announce astronomical anime views amongst American teenagers. TikTok is awash with anime edits, fan theories, and cosplay overhauls. Big U.S. retailers are profiting too. Uniqlo's anime lines sell out, and Vans partnered with One Piece. For most teenagers, viewing anime is not mindless consumption; it's participation in international fandoms. They make fan art, participate in Discord servers, and even learn Japanese vocabulary like kawaii or senpai to participate more genuinely.
Latin music has a similar narrative. Puerto Rican sensation Bad Bunny was Spotify's most-streamed artist for three years running, a feat unrivaled by American artists. His 2022 stadium tour across the U.S. earned him more than $230 million, shattering records previously set by rock legends. Latin reggaetón and trap no longer remain niche genres but rule American party playlists in Miami, New York, and Los Angeles. Non-Spanish speakers, too, sing phonetically, erasing cultural boundaries. Collaborations solidify this cross-pollination — Drake working with Rosalía, Cardi B with J Balvin making Latin rhythms a standard on American pop.
And then there is Korea's cultural tidal wave. K-pop tours in the U.S. are more than concerts; they're events. Fans bring lightsticks, master choreography, and camp outside overnight for merchandise. BTS addressing the United Nations in 2021 represented just how far out its influence went. Meanwhile, K-beauty companies such as Innisfree and Laneige adorn Sephora shelves, frequently being sold out by American teenagers pursuing the legendary "glass skin" aesthetic. For Gen Z, listening to a Blackpink song is not merely enough's about embracing Korean slang, binge-watching K-dramas on Netflix, or posting skincare routines on TikTok.
Why is this taking place at this moment? Partly because American pop culture, all its dominance notwithstanding, started to seem predictable. Sequels, formulaic pop songs, and celebrity scandals were no longer novel. International subcultures, on the other hand, promised something new: anime's multi-layered moral storytelling, K-pop's high-octane spectacle and intimacy, reggaetón's catchy rhythms. Globalization exists, but platforms such as TikTok and Netflix supercharged access. What was formerly fringe went mainstream, not through corporate promotion, but because teenagers discovered it and passed it on virally.
Others present this as Americans "losing culture," but history indicates otherwise. American culture has always been a melting pot: jazz fused African and European influences, hip-hop emerged out of Black, Caribbean, and Latino innovation in the Bronx, and rock and roll took considerably from blues. Teens today are just doing the same thing, but in real time, with worldwide inputs flowing into their phones every day.
Terms such as "Koreaboo" or "Weeb" define the depth of fandoms, but they also hide the greater truth: acceptance of international cultures is not a disavowal of American identity, it's a broadening of it. A student from Ohio may spend Saturday wearing a costume for an anime convention, streaming Bad Bunny on the way home, and then watching the Super Bowl the following day. These aren't contradictions; they're layers.
Rather than marking decline, this openness is emerging as America's new cultural superpower. Rather than exporting a single dominant style, U.S. youth culture is now a mashup of indigenous traditions combined with international flavors. And in an era where identity is being constructed ever more through music, fashion, and online communities, that makes American culture more pertinent than ever.
Anime festivals in Dallas attract tens of thousands of fans. Bad Bunny tops Coachella to screaming crowds that don't all speak Spanish. BTS breaks up SoFi Stadium quicker than some of America's classic rock icons ever did. What appears to be a decline in "American culture" is, in fact, an outward-facing, adaptive, and highly attuned to world stories.
Anime is perhaps the most obvious case. Just a decade back, series such as Naruto or One Piece were written off as "geek culture." Now, Demon Slayer movie premieres occupy the top U.S. box offices, and streaming platforms such as Crunchyroll or Netflix announce astronomical anime views amongst American teenagers. TikTok is awash with anime edits, fan theories, and cosplay overhauls. Big U.S. retailers are profiting too. Uniqlo's anime lines sell out, and Vans partnered with One Piece. For most teenagers, viewing anime is not mindless consumption; it's participation in international fandoms. They make fan art, participate in Discord servers, and even learn Japanese vocabulary like kawaii or senpai to participate more genuinely.
Latin music has a similar narrative. Puerto Rican sensation Bad Bunny was Spotify's most-streamed artist for three years running, a feat unrivaled by American artists. His 2022 stadium tour across the U.S. earned him more than $230 million, shattering records previously set by rock legends. Latin reggaetón and trap no longer remain niche genres but rule American party playlists in Miami, New York, and Los Angeles. Non-Spanish speakers, too, sing phonetically, erasing cultural boundaries. Collaborations solidify this cross-pollination — Drake working with Rosalía, Cardi B with J Balvin making Latin rhythms a standard on American pop.
And then there is Korea's cultural tidal wave. K-pop tours in the U.S. are more than concerts; they're events. Fans bring lightsticks, master choreography, and camp outside overnight for merchandise. BTS addressing the United Nations in 2021 represented just how far out its influence went. Meanwhile, K-beauty companies such as Innisfree and Laneige adorn Sephora shelves, frequently being sold out by American teenagers pursuing the legendary "glass skin" aesthetic. For Gen Z, listening to a Blackpink song is not merely enough's about embracing Korean slang, binge-watching K-dramas on Netflix, or posting skincare routines on TikTok.
Why is this taking place at this moment? Partly because American pop culture, all its dominance notwithstanding, started to seem predictable. Sequels, formulaic pop songs, and celebrity scandals were no longer novel. International subcultures, on the other hand, promised something new: anime's multi-layered moral storytelling, K-pop's high-octane spectacle and intimacy, reggaetón's catchy rhythms. Globalization exists, but platforms such as TikTok and Netflix supercharged access. What was formerly fringe went mainstream, not through corporate promotion, but because teenagers discovered it and passed it on virally.
America’s Culture Isn’t Ending — It’s Expanding
Others present this as Americans "losing culture," but history indicates otherwise. American culture has always been a melting pot: jazz fused African and European influences, hip-hop emerged out of Black, Caribbean, and Latino innovation in the Bronx, and rock and roll took considerably from blues. Teens today are just doing the same thing, but in real time, with worldwide inputs flowing into their phones every day.
Terms such as "Koreaboo" or "Weeb" define the depth of fandoms, but they also hide the greater truth: acceptance of international cultures is not a disavowal of American identity, it's a broadening of it. A student from Ohio may spend Saturday wearing a costume for an anime convention, streaming Bad Bunny on the way home, and then watching the Super Bowl the following day. These aren't contradictions; they're layers.
Rather than marking decline, this openness is emerging as America's new cultural superpower. Rather than exporting a single dominant style, U.S. youth culture is now a mashup of indigenous traditions combined with international flavors. And in an era where identity is being constructed ever more through music, fashion, and online communities, that makes American culture more pertinent than ever.