It’s the ultimate thing to aspire to—the acclaim that comes with an award recognised worldwide as the bastion of excellence. For some, it’s the Nobel Prize. For others, it’s the Pulitzer. But for those of us in film, it’s the Oscars. I’ve written an Oscar speech for Best Director every year since I was 12. For filmmakers, the Oscars are like elections. You know it’s all political bullshit, and you want to hate on it publicly. But you’re also glued to the screen when it’s on, imagining yourself up there, and then spend way too long dissecting every win, snub, and speech.

But as a cultural phenomenon, the Oscars don’t hit like they used to. Audiences are expanding their horizons, experiencing films from the past and around the world, and simply don’t care as much about the cult of The Academy. The shift in how we view celebrity culture, the ethically questionable reality of the entertainment industry, and the growing fatigue with performative progressiveness have made the whole thing feel less like a prestigious event and more like a relic trying to stay relevant. Sure, some speeches still go viral, fashion moments still get dissected, and Twitter still explodes over snubs, but the obsession isn’t what it once was.

The problem isn’t just that people are losing interest; it’s that the Oscars no longer dictate the cultural conversation the way they used to. There was a time when a Best Picture win could turn a film into an instant classic, when an actor’s career could skyrocket based on a single acceptance speech. Now, with streaming platforms democratising access to films, social media deciding what’s worth watching, and younger audiences gravitating toward more niche and international cinema, the Academy feels less like a tastemaker and more like an exclusive club desperately trying to prove it still matters.

The Academy was built on tradition, especially the Hollywood tradition—a very specific idea of what “greatness” in film looks like. Prestige dramas, war epics, and biopics about tortured geniuses are its comfort zone. It’s not where you go for the best of alt-cinema, the freshest voices, or the weird, groundbreaking films that actually push the medium forward. There are other spaces for that. The Academy knows this, but every few years, they throw in a rule change or a “diverse” nominee like a Band-Aid on a broken system. It’s not about real evolution—it’s about ensuring they don’t fade into irrelevance.

Their attempts to adapt often backfire, revealing just how out of touch they still are. Take last year, when director Jonathan Glazer used his speech to condemn the atrocities in Gaza and position himself as a Jewish ally. The response? The Academy conveniently cut that speech from repeat broadcasts and streaming versions of the ceremony. And yet, this year, No Other Land, a documentary about the Palestinian struggle under occupation, won Best Documentary. Some saw it as a win, but others pointed out that the film’s recognition likely hinged on the involvement of an Israeli filmmaker: someone who gave it the legitimacy that a Palestinian filmmaker alone could not. The Academy may have acknowledged the cause, but only on terms that fit within its comfort zone.

Then there’s Anora, an independent romantic comedy—comedies being a genre the Oscars generally dismiss—that swept awards season, challenging the Academy’s usual biases. Similarly, the indie body horror The Substance, directed by a woman, was recognised, which was a welcome surprise. Many nominees this year felt a little more removed from the traditional Oscar mold, yet the Academy’s selections still seemed random, inconsistent, and ultimately guided by outdated instincts.

Take Emilia Pérez, for example, a film widely regarded as pandering and a difficult watch, yet it still made waves. Meanwhile, a film like Challengers, which had all the hype, was completely snubbed. So what do the Oscars actually stand for anymore? It’s not purely craft. Plenty of films mastered that. It’s not just hype, otherwise, Emilia Pérez wouldn’t have made the cut while Challengers was left out. It’s not even political alignment, since their messaging seems to be all over the place. One year, they’re silencing voices, the next, they’re suddenly all about world peace.

At the end of the day, the Academy should stick to what it’s good at; promoting films that fit its long-established standards. There’s no harm in being what you are. Film buffs have always known what the Oscars want, and that’s part of the fun of watching. The prestige drama, the historical epic, the serious, weighty storytelling. These are the films that define the Oscars’ identity. And maybe that’s okay. I’m still not at the point where I can fully leave the cult of the Hollywood dreamers. The Oscars have been a big part of my foundation as a filmmaker, for better or for worse. I still keep up with all the hot takes, still update my imaginary acceptance speech every year. But I find myself looking past them more and more.

Maybe the Oscars were never the real finish line, just the loudest voice in the room. And as the industry shifts, as audiences carve out their own definitions of excellence, maybe it’s time we stop waiting for old institutions to catch up. The power isn’t with them anymore. The Academy can keep chasing relevance, throwing in token nods to what’s already happening outside their walls, but the reality is, the culture has moved on.

Attention is currency in this too-fast world, and most of us are choosing to spend it elsewhere—not on an outdated system that tries to package progress into a three-hour broadcast, but on the films and artists making an impact on their own terms. Let the Oscars stay in their lane, celebrating the Oscar bait they’ve always been drawn to. There’s no shame in that. Meanwhile, the rest of us? We’re looking toward something bigger.