There was a time when Eurovision was genuinely a song contest. Yes, politics always played some role. Neighbor voting, diplomatic sympathies, geographic alliances — all of that existed twenty years ago as well. But back then, politics was more of a backdrop. Today, it has become the stage itself.

Modern Eurovision is now an anti-conservative aesthetic, a competition of media personas and loud cultural manifestos. And with each passing year, this aesthetic becomes increasingly radical. Every year, it seems impossible for the contest to become more eccentric, provocative, or desperate to shock viewers — and then another year passes, and somehow it sinks even lower.

Today, what wins is not necessarily the song, or even the performance itself, but rather an entire package. That package includes everything: political messaging, viral visuals, a contestant who can generate TikTok discourse, meme potential, controversy, visual extremity, the “correct” ideological tone, sexual identity, emotional triggers… Sometimes, the actual song barely makes the list of priorities.

Against this backdrop, Armenia appears to be experiencing an identity crisis. We are trying to play someone else’s game, by someone else’s rules, but doing so too hesitantly and far too late. For years now, Armenia has analyzed winners, visibly copied Eurovision trends, borrowed elements of European ethno-pop, and attempted to fit into Western musical aesthetics — but it increasingly feels like trying to catch a train that already left the station.

The biggest problem is that Armenia no longer sounds like Armenia.

In the past, Armenian entries may have been controversial, overly dramatic, or even labeled “nationalistic,” but they had energy, character, and a sense of cultural confidence. Today, the country often seems obsessed with guessing “what Europe will like.”

Ethno-pop itself is not the problem. On the contrary, when done well, it can be incredibly powerful. But good ethno-pop requires extraordinary craftsmanship. It demands balance, sophistication, and a deep understanding of how to merge modern production with authentic national identity so that it feels organic — rather than like a tourism campaign set to an electronic beat.

In recent years, Armenia has more often produced diluted Eurovision trend copies rather than offering something truly distinctive. If the country is not going to create its own signature style, then at the very least it should adapt trends to fit its own identity instead of delivering faceless imitation.

This year’s case with Simon only highlighted that issue.

Yes, his song was not disastrous. Compared to many genuinely weak or forgettable entries, it was relatively decent. But the problem was that there was absolutely nothing about it that made viewers remember it even ten minutes after the performance ended. There was no strong concept, no emotional impact.

The performance seemed to gesture toward themes like escaping office monotony, breaking free from gray routine, rejecting the system, and embracing freedom. But Eurovision audiences need something far stronger: either a performance that transports them into another world, or one that strikes them emotionally so hard they cannot forget it. Either total dance-floor chaos, or hypnotic atmosphere.

Simon’s song delivered neither.

It was not insane enough for modern Eurovision, nor sincere or emotionally powerful enough to break through the overwhelming noise of the contest. It simply dissolved.

And the issue was not just the song itself. Eurovision now functions as a massive media machine where the artist must be sold to the audience long before stepping onto the stage. Simon barely had that advantage either. There was no significant promotional strategy, no sense of event, no attempt to make him one of the season’s defining personalities.

Everything felt as though Armenia’s team had done just enough for him to technically participate — and nothing more.

Even a mediocre song can sometimes reach the final through charisma, strategic marketing, and emotional audience connection — Estonia’s Tommy Cash and his simplistic “coffee love” entry are an example. But for that to happen, the artist must at least be made memorable.

Yes, there were some collaborations, attempts at activity, performative behavior, occasional clips, and the standard Eurovision content package. But this is catastrophically insufficient for a competition now driven by internet culture, TikTok, memes, viral moments, and parasocial attachment.

And importantly, this is not necessarily the artist’s fault.

The problem is systemic.

Every year, Armenia invests resources into trying to fit into a contest whose values and aesthetics are increasingly distant from Armenia’s own cultural environment.

This raises an entirely logical question: should Armenia even continue participating?

Because Eurovision today is essentially a massive media war of images, ideologies, representation, and symbolism. It is a space where countries must constantly prove their compatibility with contemporary Western cultural narratives.

Armenia’s attempts to fit into this system often look awkward at best — and desperate at worst. It increasingly feels as though there is hope that an attractive face, a designer outfit, and a few “sexy” camera shots will somehow compensate for how hollow the entry itself often feels.

The most painful part of this story is not the loss itself.

It is the growing sense that Armenia no longer understands why it is stepping onto that stage.

Is it to win?

If so, then the country needs an entirely different level of concept development, production strategy, and understanding of how modern pop culture truly functions.

Is it to showcase Armenian culture?

Then why does Armenia seem so afraid of being authentically Armenian, constantly imitating foreign formulas instead?

Is it simply to participate?

Perhaps. But participation is expensive — and increasingly difficult to justify when it consistently fails to produce meaningful results or memorable cultural moments that leave a lasting international impression, as countries like Croatia, Finland, or Ireland have managed to do.

In my view, the most honest path forward for Armenia is either to completely rethink its Eurovision strategy from the ground up — or finally acknowledge that the contest has evolved into something the country no longer naturally fits into.

And frankly, perhaps it shouldn’t try to fit in at all.