In a post revealing her debut album’s release date and cover, TikTok star turned rising pop princess Addison Rae glances over her shoulder. She’s wrapped in a delicate veil with golden lighting, blurred neon tassels and sparkles adorning her. Her name is stamped in a chunky blue font.

The image reinforces her seemingly boundless, occasionally unfocused homage to the early 2000s. But looking at the picture while walking home, I could only think of the Sparks Fly album cover and declared what others might be scared to say: she’s trying too hard to be Miranda Cosgrove.

It’s difficult to articulate issues with Rae’s music fleshed out beyond industry plant accusations. A better, less accusatory word could be “inauthentic” — appearing to sample the better parts of artists like Lana Del Rey, Madonna and Britney Spears. Even stops at Arca and Charli xcx’s Coachella sets demonstrate her hesitancy to fully commit to a sound.

Rae stands out more as a chameleon than a force to be reckoned with. With the album cover announcement, her artistic direction again came at the expense of an underappreciated pop icon.

But this connection to Cosgrove went too far. And more importantly, why do I care? Since 2011, when have I thought of the iCarly star’s music career? Was it the frustration of seeing Rae’s asinine y2k aesthetic contorting another childhood icon — someone she’ll never be, and kids today will know nothing about?

It clicked then — I sound like my parents.

[Bon Iver struggles with a new sound on ‘SABLE, fABLE’]

At its core, what our parents experienced, and what’s creeping up into me, is disconnect. I’ve sheltered myself so deeply in my pop-culture echo chamber — where the sounds of 2009 reign supreme and, bass-fueled dance pop never died. Everything inspired by this era feels hollow, a pastiche of more robust songs and better times.

I should’ve noticed the warning signs when I complained about Tate McRae’s  “Sports Car,”  inspired by the Pussycat Dolls track “Buttons.” At worst, it should’ve been apparent when Benson Boone performed a Freddie Mercury tribute at Coachella and I accused him of having too much audacity.

The same eye-roll my mother fixed onto Ariana Grande when she debuted because she’s “a wannabe Mariah Carey,” I’ve put onto Rae.

But can’t people change? Can’t the same person who made the retail store ear-candy track “Obsessed” pivot and embrace her true calling of alternative, synthesized dance pop? Can I know for certain whether these new pop stars experience a genuine love of recession pop, of the 2000s, of classic or indie rock? Does it matter? Authenticity isn’t real in the digital age of overexposure.

Twenty is still young. But I’m at a moment in life where I’m confused at top 40 hits and asserting that what I remembered as a child was the golden age of pop. As much as I believe this, so too did my dad, and his dad before him.

A golden age is no more than what pulsed in car speakers on the way home from school. The music I enjoy, and what I had when I was younger isn’t inherently better than now — not when it’s so heavily influenced by the time I proclaim to be supreme.

[Maryland Opera Studio modernizes ‘The Merry Wives of Windsor’ in new production] 

With senior year looming, it’s clear there are no longer tangible remnants from my pop culture childhood. The proliferation of remakes, reboots and “paying homage” instances online can’t escape the long arm of time. Only now are we hit with constant echoes of the past due to the immediate online access we have to it. Music can transport me back for three minutes but what is there to look forward to after?

It’s become another needless reason to be upset. To tap into a screen-fueled rage and feel superior to high schoolers — clinging to a semblance of freedom, innocence and an easier time. Will I be 40 one day with two kids screeching about how they’ll never understand a “Brat Summer?” Why does it matter?

This is how the world turns — we pick and choose our favorite parts of culture to pin onto ourselves. Seeing what I love reflected in newer artists isn’t as luminous as I thought it was. Instead, I’m suffering from a haunting feeling that nothing can ever be recreated.

Recession pop isn’t really coming back, Rae isn’t the villain I want her to be and I need to move on before I get left behind.