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Alexia: Hi! I’m Alexia Bailey, a sophomore here at CU Boulder. While I may just be in my second year, I’m here to share everything I’ve picked up so far, which is a surprising amount of information. “What’s Eating at Alexia” is my unofficial and unfiltered guide to some of the things that being a CU Boulder Buff brings. Think of it as your guide to navigating everything that makes CU Boulder, well, CU Boulder. Whether you’re a freshman finding your footing or a senior with “no body, no crime” level grievances about finals week, I’m here to share my takes, tips and honest observations on everything from the sometimes-unpredictable Buff Bus system to navigating campus protests (or dodging them entirely). College is a wild, unforgettable ride, and “What’s eating at Alexia” is here to make sense of some of it, one opinion at a time.
Divorced dad rock has taken my Spotify playlist by storm. Classics such as “Say It Ain’t So” by Weezer and “Where Is My Mind?” by the Pixies have found their way into my daily rotation, not because I’m middle-aged or recently divorced, but because this genre just gets it. There’s something deeply human about these songs that remind me of nostalgia, melancholy and the overall reflection on what once was.
“Divorced dad rock,” as the internet lovingly calls it, captures an emotional range that’s often overlooked in mainstream music. It’s vulnerable without being showy and sad without being hopeless. When Rivers Cuomo wails, “Say it ain’t so,” it’s not just about a broken home; it’s about disappointment, loss and the sting of growing up. It’s the sound of realizing your parents aren’t superheroes, your childhood home isn’t forever, and your teenage angst never really left. But more than that, this genre represents a kind of emotional literacy that society desperately needs. For decades, male-coded vulnerability has been seen as weakness, especially in music. Rock was supposed to be loud, defiant, and full of swagger. The “rock star” image was about rebellion, power and the illusion of control. Yet the bands that fall into the “divorced dad rock” category, like Foo Fighters, Counting Crows, R.E.M. and The Smashing Pumpkins, remind us that it’s okay to be reflective, to grieve and to feel.
In a society where “performative males,” categorized by Parents.com as cisgender heterosexual boys who “perform” or intentionally adopt traits, hobbies, and aesthetics often associated with women or online “soft boy” culture, dominate the social media landscape, divorced dad rock is a breath of fresh air. It isn’t curated for clout or built for aesthetics. It doesn’t rely on vintage filters or quirky captions about self-awareness. It is raw, flawed and painfully earnest. It’s not about curating a personality; it’s about confronting emotion without irony.
I’m lucky enough to have parents who are still together, so I can’t exactly relate to the “divorced dad” part of divorced dad rock. But I think that’s what makes it so fascinating. The emotions it taps into aren’t exclusive to middle-aged men nursing heartbreak in a Chili’s parking lot. They’re universal. It speaks to millions of college-aged kids who are thrust into a world of drinking, classes, and adulting with little to no adjustment period. The songs mirror the feeling of realizing you’re not a kid anymore, but you’re not quite an adult either. You’re in that uncomfortable in-between space where the only logical thing to do is listen to “Mr. Jones” and pretend you’re in a coming-of-age movie. As someone who has had the worst past month of my entire adult life, this genre is like a buoy keeping me afloat.
Divorced Dad Rock is about regret, acceptance and the resilience that comes with realizing life doesn’t always go the way you planned, but you keep going anyway. In a world obsessed with hustle culture and toxic positivity, it stands as a reminder that it’s okay not to be okay. It’s okay to DoorDash Shake Shack and binge-watch “Brooklyn 99.” It’s okay to mourn the person you used to be or the future you thought you’d have. It’s okay to just exist in the messy middle of things. I think part of what makes this genre so powerful is that it’s not trying to be revolutionary. It’s not reinventing the wheel or chasing trends. It’s familiar. It’s the comfort of a worn-out flannel or a scratched CD that still plays perfectly. The beauty of divorced dad rock lies in its honesty. It’s music that meets you where you are, whether that’s stuck in traffic on your way to an 8 a.m. class or standing in the kitchen wondering how your life got so complicated at nineteen years old.
There’s also a strange cultural irony in how Gen Z has adopted this genre. For us, divorced dad rock isn’t nostalgia for our own pasts but for an imagined one. We didn’t grow up in the nineties, but something about the soundtracks of that era feels safe. Maybe it’s because so much of today’s music is about image, aesthetics, and virality, while divorced dad rock was made by people who just wanted to feel something real. In an era where vulnerability is marketed, this kind of sincerity feels almost rebellious. The music also reminds us of our “simple” childhoods that we miss so much when we’re hundreds or thousands of miles away from home.
Listening to “1979” by The Smashing Pumpkins or “The Ice is Getting Thinner” by Death Cab for Cutie reminds me that emotional expression doesn’t have to be glamorous or perfectly packaged. It can be messy. It can be loud. It can sound like someone pouring their heart into a microphone after their kids have gone to bed. And that kind of honesty is something we don’t see enough of, both in music and in life. It’s so unlike modern rock and pop that we are used to nowadays, with synthetic beats and artificial lyrics. Divorced dad rock gives us permission to feel deeply without apology. It doesn’t ask you to post about your healing or make it aesthetic. It just says, “Hey, life is weird and sometimes sad, but you’ll be okay.” That’s something we all need to hear, whether we’re nineteen or forty-nine.
So yes, I’m fully embracing my divorced dad rock era, cargo shorts and all. Because underneath the irony and the jokes, this music speaks to something timeless, which is the messy, complicated beauty of being human that I love and talk about so much. It’s the soundtrack to growing up, breaking down and getting back up again. And honestly, if that’s what being a divorced dad is all about, then maybe we could all use a little more of it in our lives.
Contact CU Independent Opinion Editor Alexia Bailey at alexia.bailey@colorado.edu
