February 20th, 2026
Am I about to write an essay about Hilary Duff and her new album, “luck… or something”? You betcha. But I feel like it’ll be worth your time, especially if you’re an elder millennial and thinking deeply about this era of your life.
Let’s make my musical roots clear: I love all genres of music, with no exceptions. Truly. Even country and rap, as the cliché goes. I have exposed myself to everything, and have an appreciation for it all.
When push comes to shove, though, I’m a rock guy; however, my whole heart belongs to pop, particularly of the bubblegum flavor. My first concert was *NSYNC at Target Center. I can still recite the lyrics to Mandy Moore’s “Candy,” a song I used to wake up to in high school. There is just something about these processed, sugary confections that rot my teeth but fill my soul.
Enter Hilary Duff’s comeback (can I call it that?). She released a new album this morning with a tour to follow (of course I got my ticket). And it is nothing less than revolutionary, and I want to talk about why.
When artists create publicly over several decades, there is often a (subjective!) decline in their work, for any number of reasons; one of the most frequently cited is a definite feeling of repetition, like an artist has been here before.
The rejection of this is what makes Hilary’s album so compelling. She doesn’t write these songs like nothing ever happened, which is common for pop stars in her position, who may hold tight to a desire to project their image as timeless. No, instead she leans into middle age, with all its messiness, melancholy and loneliness. She digs into family, friendship and partnerships with an adult spade, and expresses the unique wants and needs we discover as we get older.
One of those wants really resonates with me and I’ve written about it several times before: novelty. Or: the concept of new.
So many midlife crises come from this particular obsession. New cars, new homes, new friends, new lovers. But the problem isn’t the same old world around us; it’s how we look at it. It is possible to look at a street or a tree or a face you’ve seen ten thousand times with brand new eyes, if only you let yourself.
You don’t need to blow up your life, burn all your bridges, move-ah to Italy. You can apply a beginner’s mind to everything you do, every single day. A beginner’s mind is one that never forgets the first question we ever ask ourselves: who and what am I? The answer will change; it’s evergreen, always new.
And on this album, it’s all Hilary wants: to be seen as perpetually new. Not to be new, not to lose her age and lore and wisdom, but to be appreciated for her middle-aged, messy self every moment she’s alive. To want like it’s new and be wanted like it’s new. She shares these very real feelings on top of fairly derivative, ultra-produced pop but, personally, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Welcome back, Hilary. Thank you for keeping it real for those of us with deepening wrinkles, fading grays and increasing existential dread.
The Den 