The Power of the Listicle

From People Magazine to 'We the People...'

I grew up in the era of the listicle — that glittering, clickable art form that promised wisdom, chaos, and self-discovery in neat, numbered packages. My early education in media didn’t come from The New York Times or PBS NewsHour. It came from People magazine headlines like ‘7 Signs Harry Styles Is Ready to Settle Down’ or ‘10 Celebs Who Rocked the Same Dress — Who Wore It Better?’ It was intoxicating, horrifying, and formative.

Growing up in the late 2010s, the listicle wasn’t just a format; it was a cultural constant. It shaped how we talked about everything: love, self-worth, fashion, even feminism (see: ‘13 Ways Beyoncé Is Empowering Women Everywhere’). The listicle invited comparison and curiosity in equal measure. ‘Which Disney Channel star are you most like?’ ‘Top five signs he’s into you (or not)’. ‘Twelve reasons you should love your body — even though we just showed you twelve bodies that look nothing like yours’. The listicle was dizzying — a carousel of self-assessment — but also strangely empowering. Those lists gave me frameworks. They taught me how to categorise the chaos and how to make sense of the infinite scroll.

And that’s the thing: the listicle, for all its superficial sparkle, is one of the most effective tools for disseminating information ever invented. It’s ancient, really. The Ten Commandments? A listicle. Hammurabi’s Code? A listicle, but make it legal. Even the US Constitution — a sacred civic text — reads like a particularly stern BuzzFeed article. ‘We the People Present: Seven Articles That Will Define a Nation (Number One Will Literally Change Your Government)’. Think about it, Article I: Congress. Article II: The President, Article III: The Courts; and so on, right down to the Bill of Rights: ten amendments, cleanly itemised. The Founding Fathers were trying to maximise readability; the listicle is a layout designed not for kings and scholars, but for people. You don’t have to wade through philosophical treatises to understand it. You can skim it, grasp it, and quote it. In other words, the Constitution walked so BuzzFeed could run.

When you realise that, the listicle suddenly feels less like a guilty pleasure and more like a democratic act. Lists flatten hierarchy. They don’t require narrative arcs or grand authority; they invite participation. A numbered list says, “Here are the facts — you can make sense of them, too.” It’s no coincidence that the internet, the most participatory medium in human history, made the listicle its native format. Of course, not all listicles are created equal. The ones I grew up with were a weird mix of empowerment and pressure. ‘10 Ways to Glow Up This Summer’ made me feel both seen and insufficient. ‘Which Girl Will Harry Styles Choose Next?’ made it clear that being chosen was the goal. Comparison was baked in — rank yourself, rate others, decide who wore it better. But comparison, as cruel as it can be, is also part of how we learn. Those glossy celebrity lists were, in their own way, training wheels for more complex judgment. They taught a generation of girls how to analyse, evaluate, and synthesise information, even if that information was about lip gloss. When the world later handed us lists about the climate crisis, reproductive rights, or civic engagement, we already knew the format. We were fluent.

Now, the same structure that once ranked One Direction members by dateability helps explain voting rights, racial justice, and foreign policy. You can scroll from ‘9 Ways to Style Your Jeans This Fall’ to ‘7 Ways to Support Trans Rights in Your Community’ without missing a beat. That’s not a coincidence — it’s a reflection of how the human brain likes to learn in patterns, steps, and lists.

Yes, the listicle has its flaws. It can be shallow, manipulative, or maddeningly reductive. But it’s also a gateway — the most democratic format in digital media. It doesn’t demand reverence; it demands attention. It takes the overwhelming flood of modern information and breaks it into chewable bites, saying: here, take what you need, and keep scrolling. 

Maybe that’s the real genius of the listicle. It began with ‘Who will Harry Styles date next?’ and ended with ‘How does a democracy hold itself together?’ Same structure, different stakes. In the end, the listicle isn’t just a format. It’s a philosophy. It’s We the People, bullet-pointed.

Illustration by Mokshita Nagandla