When you think of the early 2000s, your mind might go to Britney Spears, low-rise jeans, tamagotchis, flip phones, Juicy Couture and frosted lip gloss. But in the slew of trends and subcultures popularized during this time, one major standout is the alternative music and style popularized among youth. From emo to post-hardcore to scene and mall-goth, the sounds and sights of these subcultures are easily recognizable and define the moment in time when they peaked.

With the music of this era came the 2000s garage-rock revival, also known as post-punk or indie-rock revival — an explosion of back-to-basics guitar, energetic performance and instantly recognizable aesthetics. Bands like The White Stripes, The Strokes and Arctic Monkeys were among the most influential in the genre. Groups like Panic! At The Disco were born in garages and basements, formed by dorky high schoolers who were just looking to mess around and make some music, but eventually found success on a global stage.

Along with the revival of rock heroes and gritty guitar hits came the popularity, as depicted in TV and movies, of teenage garage bands with — admittedly — varying degrees of talent. Whether it be original music or covers, the “teenage dirtbag” archetype could be found behind a drum set or strumming a guitar down the streets of any suburban neighborhood. The garage band was a rite of passage for angsty teen boys who didn’t fit in or couldn’t seem to get the girl, whining their sorrows into a low-quality microphone, much to their neighbors’ chagrin.

But the garage band of the past has since disappeared. Small, local youth music scenes persist, but the stereotype of the teenage boy jamming in his parents’ garage is long gone. They faded in popularity alongside the side bang and the frosted tip, buried in the same graveyard as every long-forgotten 2000s teen stereotype.

Teenagers today don’t seem to have the time, level of commitment or drive to commit to after-school band practice or half-empty gigs. With the pressure of the modern world, hobbies are more about what can be listed on a college resume than what actually ignites passion. Moreover, hustle culture is at an all-time high and there’s barely any incentive to make music for money. Live venues are few and far between and if you want to share your music online, the scene is oversaturated and intimidating.

I’m not the first to mourn the loss of the influence of amateur rock bands — countless videos captioned with phrases like “Someone tell white boys to get back in the garage” to songs like Lit’s “My Own Worst Enemy,” Lustra’s “Scotty Doesn’t Know,” The All-American Rejects’s “Dirty Little Secret” and other classic early-2000s rock, emo and pop-punk anthems. People miss the music, sure, but they also miss the authenticity.

Perhaps the most difficult thing about playing music is that it’s an inherently vulnerable thing to do. A kind of vulnerability that’s simultaneously desirable and scary. Something is refreshing about the kind of masculinity associated with the aesthetics of the garage band era.

It’s not macho or chauvinist, desperately trying to live up to a caricature of ideal manliness fed to the young men of the United States through alpha-male podcasts and protein powder ads. It’s messy, spirited and creative in a way that can only be found in long song titles, too-tight jeans and, of course, “guy-liner.”

With the rise of the “performative male” meme last summer, it seemed like people were eager to criticize men’s performance of sensitivity or intellectualism. It was easy to see through the facade of the type of guy the meme was referring to — someone who fulfills the requirements of a sensitive, emotional and intellectual aesthetic without doing any creative work themselves.

In the era of incels and male loneliness epidemic think pieces, it’s crucial to ask: what happened to simply putting pen to paper and writing a song about how “down bad” you are? Is it better to make bad art or to make nothing at all?

In all seriousness, it’s not that we need a direct revival of the garage rock era or the emo boy takeover. But we are in desperate need of a creative outlet for American youth, especially young men. Whether it’s love poems, blog entries, paintings or lyrics, the benefit of creating for the sake of simply expressing a feeling is immeasurable. Pressure from social media leaves young people disillusioned and uninspired, creating a significant gap in art and music scenes.

The global scale of the online world is intimidating; what’s the point of making anything when there’s always someone more talented, original or popular just a click away? That’s without even mentioning the toll AI art and music is taking on creative communities.

There is potential for music and art to come that will excite American youth and redefine interpersonal communities again, but it’s hard to say what the future will hold with technology as an unpredictable yet pervasive part of modern life. Social trends come and go in cycles and are historically challenged by young people themselves.

Bands from the garage rock era are popular to this day and for good reason. If those bands were inspired by the ’70s and ’80s, then another rock revival might be in store, inspired by the ’90s and 2000s and sooner than we expect.

Regardless, the good thing about trends, both in music and subculture and in lifestyle, is that they’re constantly changing and evolving. Experimentation and creation are inevitable and perhaps more important than the art created is the way it can shape the person doing the creating.

Megan Buchovecky is a freshman majoring in philosophy, politics and law. 

Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the staff editorial.