This is an extended version of a SEED originally published over at Protein.
The Italian fashion brand Diesel turned heads last month with a new release: a set of headphones plated in industrial aluminium, decked with edgy lockets and charms. True to the brand’s subversive ethos, the headphones sidestep the usual consumer-tech playbook where sleek, minimal, invisible has long reigned supreme. It’s music hardware designed to stand out.
Diesel isn’t alone in leaning into music hardware as a fashion statement. This season, headphones, CD players and boomboxes have been appearing everywhere on catwalks, in collections and across editorial shoots.
There’s Alyssa Liu’s feature in Teen Vogue, where the Winter Olympics gold medalist poses amid a tangle of CD players and stereos. Sandro’s recent editorial features a model in bright orange 80s-style headphones. Miu Miu debuted a custom Walkman as part of its SS26 collection. And then there’s the Tati Fête Bag, a viral creation from Nik Bentel Studio: a personal stereo shaped like a bag, with a control panel for spontaneous sound-sharing. The list goes on, quietly multiplying.
On one level, analogue music hardware now functions as a convenient prop, instantly delivering nostalgic pop-culture charm. But on another, it signals something deeper about the way we listen. Audiophilia, once the domain of obsessive enthusiasts chasing top-tier systems, has evolved. Today, flexing music hardware – whether cutting-edge hi-fi or deliberately low-fi and retro – is performative and lifestyle-driven; a way to signal taste, style and cultural capital.
The theatricality of analogue audio first bubbled up with the rise of the “Wired It Girl.” Shelby Hull documented the trend on her @wireditgirls Instagram as early as 2021, tracking wired earbuds spilling from the ears of celebrities from Bella Hadid to Jacob Elordi. As Hull told CNN, it was rarely about a technical preference: wired headphones had become cool precisely because they declared indifference to tech: “there’s something so effortless about it, very cool, [they’re] very unbothered to keep up with the latest trends.”
And just like the tangled wires of analogue earbuds have returned as an accessory that exudes something infinitely cooler than AirPods, retro MP3 and portable CD players have also made a comeback. These devices offer a return to tactile, physical players; buttons you can touch, a weight you can feel, a far more personable alternative to Spotify on a black-mirrored iPhone.
Apple’s now-discontinued iPods, in particular, are enjoying a renaissance. A lively second-hand market has emerged around customised iPod Nanos with altered shells and clickwheels. iPod Shuffles, with their Dieter Rams-inspired industrial sensibilities and bright colours, have even been repurposed as hairclips – wearable technology in its truest sense.1
Ultimately, the resurgence of MP3 players connects to a sense of excitement that many associate with Y2K tech. A time when we felt in control of our music taste, an era of our very own private music libraries, before streaming services inundated us with limitless choice, and algorithms flattened our once unruly music taste. Anyone old enough to remember the iPod silhouette ads from the early 2000s, featuring dancers, proudly holding their iPods, moving freely against backdrops of fuchsia, yellow and green to a soundtrack of N.E.R.D. and the Black Eyed Peas, will recall this sense of optimism, where music players represented creative passion and energetic liberation.
It’s no surprise, then, that Apple devices have become a touchstone for a new generation of pop artists. US singer Slayyyter has described her upcoming album - Worst Girl in America - as ‘iPod music’ - as a means to capture the pre-algorithmic eccentricity of its sound: “its when u put an ipod on shuffle and u hear a track by U2 then M.I.A then kid cudi back to back but they all feel sonically related”.
Producer Ninajirachi has also evocatively captured this nostalgic relationship with audio hardware through her music, earning her millions of fans around the world. In her break through single from last year, titled iPod Touch, the self-proclaimed ‘girl EDM’ musician reminisces about listening to her secret songs found in the murky depths of the internet, turning mundane moments on the bus into unforgettable memories. Indeed, for many young people, using an iPod today signifies a nostalgic return to a time when listening to music felt like a highly intimate and personable experience.
Performative audiophilia doesn’t stop with the more intimate signalling of analogue headphones and MP3 players. The conspicuous, public display of hi-fi sound systems, which uniquely live at the intersection of high-quality audio and aesthetic craftsmanship, have also become an effective emblem of taste in physical environments.
From Valentino’s L’Atelier Sonore listening room on Madison Avenue, to Pharrell’s use of the cult OJAS system design as part of Louis Vuitton’s fall-winter 2026 runway, artisan speakers and carefully crafted listening experiences have become a prerequisite for luxury spaces. Hi-fi audio has always represented the highest expression of musical culture, featured in spaces and rituals typically associated with tastemakers and early adopters, from Japanese jazz kissas to Jamaican sound system culture, and as a result offers a tangible way to signal cultural credibility. When you look at collaborations like artist Mateo Garcia’s architectural horns and geometric structures for Celine’s Fall Winter 2026 show, it becomes clear that featuring an artisan sound system is never just about ensuring immaculate acoustics; they are a canvas you showcase a commitment to detail, beauty and craftsmanship.
The same can be said for the rise of listening bars across London, Berlin, Paris and Barcelona. Dimly lit, intentionally designed, these spaces have become the new default hangouts for those in the know. Their popularity reflects not only a heightened regard for high-quality sound, but also an opportunity for its patrons to see and be seen by like-minded people. As Benny Howell, co-owner of UK audio space Holding Patterns, told Dazed: “They’re beautiful, well-curated and open. Listening bars draw from that Japanese influence, but apply it through the lens of community.”
When studies have found that music quality deteriorates year on year, thanks to the increasingly compressed audio formats used by streaming services and the dominance of Bluetooth connections, it’s perhaps no surprise that audiophilia, in all its forms, has evolved into such a potent marker of taste; an opportunity to separate the devotees from the musically disengaged.
However, just as the concept of the ‘performative male’ emerged as a pejorative to describe the act of listening to Clairo, drinking matcha oat lattes, and reading bell hooks in public, merely to appear in tune with progressive values, performative audiophilia runs the risk of falling into the same trap. The open display of music hardware, whether it’s a hi-fi sound system in a luxury space, a custom, branded MP3 player, or the deliberate rejection of subpar wireless Airpods in favour of something more vintage, can signal a genuine appreciation for music culture. But without intention, depth, and functionality, these acts can easily come across as hollowed-out performances. Silent, wired earbuds dangling loosely around necks, merely in an attempt to exude cool girl energy, a customised iPod Nano with an empty library, a €10,000 OJAS stack proudly on display, but not plugged in; will only reveal you as an audio-poseur: all treble, no bass.
Footnotes:
I joined Peter Spear recently for his That Business of Meaning podcast, discussing a wide range of topics, including: how growing up feeling like an outsider has shaped my approach to research, getting into cultural strategy, and the dark forest future of social media. Listen below.
iPods have truly always been regarded as beautiful design objects. The band U2 shocked fans and critics in 2004 by endorsing the iPod in the promotion of the release of their new single, ‘‘Vertigo.’’ Fighting allegations of ‘selling out’, Bono famously doubled down and stated that the iPod was ‘‘the most beautiful object art in music culture since the electric guitar.’’
I don't believe it's about performance or a return to analog, especially since that's almost impossible today (for example, using these types of headphones to listen to streaming music). Instead, it's a search for music rituals, even if they are rituals of consumption. People are looking for small rituals in this moment where spirituality and meaning are so scarce...
"all treble, no bass" I love this!!