What If Tumblr Was Built on Mashrou’ Leila, Not Arctic Monkeys?

So I grew up on Tumblr.

It shaped the way I write. It shaped my music taste. And both of those things ended up shaping me into a music journalist, a career that started somewhere between obsessively reblogging The 1975 edits and being a hardcore Arctic Monkeys fan. I went to their concerts more times than I can count (still waiting to see Lana live… one day).

Back then, my phone background was a grainy black-and-white picture of shirtless Matty Healy that I had to hide inside a folder on my Samsung Corby so my mom wouldn’t find it. I had entire pages filled with “aesthetic” gifs, lyrics in Courier font, and that eternal search for curated melancholy.

So I had this random idea one day at work, and I sent out a quick survey, just asking my friends and coworkers if they remembered the Tumblr era. And they did. Deeply. Not just the photos and the filters, but the feelings. The obsessing. The quiet heartbreak we all romanticized at 2AM. Everyone had their version of it, but somehow the memories all rhymed. It felt like we were remembering something sacred we’d all built together. And maybe that’s what we miss the most, this collective act of reimagining. So I decided to take it one step further: to imagine what Tumblr might’ve looked like if it had been built here. Around us. Around our music. Our lyrics. Our dramas.

Because let’s be real: we didn’t just have the aesthetic, the makeup, the fashion, the deep stares out of taxi windows. We had the language. Arabic poetry can make you want to isolate yourself from the world and cry on the bathroom floor. We didn’t need to scream “Lovin' you is hard, bein' here's harder”, we had “Inta Eh” by Nancy Ajram in a goddamn nightgown. Why did Lana get the monopoly on sad-girl seaside rage in “High by the Beach” when Nancy literally did it first?

That’s what this is, Tumblr-core reimagined. A world where the Middle East and North Africa shaped the internet’s soft grunge aesthetic instead of watching from the sidelines. Where we didn’t just reblog, we created the canon.

What If Our Nostalgia Didn’t Need Translation?

Let’s talk about it. The feel of Arab Tumblr would’ve been split into two parallel universes - one revolutionary, one romantic. But at their core, both were built on the same thing: feeling everything all at once. And for many of us, this wasn’t an aesthetic we curated, it was just life.

On one end, you’ve got revolutionary-core: the gritty grayscale of resistance. Protest footage reblogged with Arabic graffiti across the walls. Photos from the streets of Syria, Egypt, and Tunisia during the Arab Spring, tear gas clouds, raised fists, cracked asphalt and hope. Martyr dedications in bold white text on black backgrounds. Smoke curling in slow motion over lyrics like “صوت الحرية بينادي”. Sadness, yes, but with purpose. Melancholy layered over memory, over movement, over mourning.

And the soundtrack? Bands like Cairokee with “Yal Midan” and “Matloob Zaeem”, whose rise was directly carved out by the revolution. The kind of music that made you feel like history wasn’t something that happened, it was something you could scream into existence. Jadal playing in your headphones on the bus ride to a school that might be closed tomorrow because of political unrest. “Akher Oghneya” lyrics scribbled in your notebook like a secret prayer.

You’d scroll past rainy street photos of downtown Cairo captioning “Kenna Netlaka” by Fayrouz. Or find an old radio playing protest songs in the background of a grainy kitchen snapshot. A Darwish quote pasted over a photo of a scribble “قف علي ناصية الحلم وقاتل” The vibe was grief, but it was alive.

Then there’s fluffy-core - soft revolution. Glitter in tea glasses. Pomegranate seeds on Persian rugs. Cats stretching in window sills as the call to prayer echoed in the distance. Henna tattoos, evil eye bracelets, Tarot decks next to Nagat cassettes. The kind of mornings where you wake up on your teta’s balcony to the smell of coffee and the soft hum of Fayrouz from a neighbor’s radio, a memory so shared it feels collective. Girls in fake Doc Martens & skinny cigarettes (or shisha) typing lowercase captions like “normal people scare me”. Books stacked on a nightstand, Gibran, Qabbani, and a half-read English translation of Rumi.

The nostalgia wasn't performative. It was rooted in something tangible. Something that smelled like jasmine and sounded like hope in the background of a childhood memory.

And the architecture? Already Tumblr-coded. Cracked walls with vines growing through them in Palestinian cities. Hand-painted ceramic tiles from Morocco. Yellowed photos of old balconies from Lebanon. Mashrabiya shadows in Old Cairo filtering sunlight like God himself applied a sepia preset. It was all there, the melancholy, the romance, the rebellion, long before hashtags or aesthetics told us it was cool.

Arab Tumblr wouldn’t have been an aesthetic we borrowed, it would’ve been one we invented without knowing.

What If Our Fangirls Looked Like Us?

Let’s be honest: if you were on Tumblr, you had a secret fanbase. Whether you were writing moody poetry in the tags, or just reblogging edits at midnight, you were definitely hiding something. One Direction fanfics, Alex Turner thirst edits, maybe even a Lana Del Rey shrine.

But imagine if our fanbases looked like us. Instead of The Neighborhood or 5 Seconds of Summer, we’d be posting Mashrou’ Leila lyrics like they were gospel. Zooming in on “Lil Watan” w “Raasuk” and setting it in bold white Arial on a low-res photo of a protest in Beirut. We’d be crying over “Shim El Yasmine” the way we cried over “Robbers.”

There’d be Jadal song lyrics in the captions of selfies taken on Retrica app with tangled headphones. Elmorabba3 edits floating around with glitchy VHS filters. Teen girls would be wearing their band t-shirts with denim skirts, fishnets, and that signature chipped black nail polish that says i overthink everything and romanticize heartbreak.

And don’t even get me started on the Arab girlie pop icons. There would’ve been a whole soft pink Tumblr niche dedicated to Sherine, Ruby, Nancy, Haifa, Elissa—dark hair, blonde highlights, lip liner, spaghetti straps. CD covers scanned and shared around like holy relics. Posters taped to every bedroom wall. Let’s be real: Arab girls started all the aesthetics that are trending now (specially Y2K core). We just didn’t get the credit.

What If We Typed in Arabic?

If you were on Tumblr between 2012 and 2017, you know that lyrics weren’t just lyrics, they were personality traits. Black text on a white or pink background, no punctuation, always lowercase. Halsey said “I found god / I found him in a lover” and suddenly everyone had a flower crown and a god complex. Lana Del Rey breathed “we were born to die” and it felt like heartbreak had a soundtrack. Melanie Martinez had us romanticizing our trauma and crying in pastel, baby-doll fonts.

Now imagine that energy, but in Arabic.

Imagine posting the lyrics of “Yumain O Leila” from Jadal, قلت نام وقوم تنساها ، او عد عيوبها تكرها، بس حتي العيوب بتحليها after a late-night argument with your highschool boyfriend. Arabic is already a poetic language, but when those lyrics hit just right, it’s devastating in the best way. Heartbreak, nostalgia, identity crises, all already Tumblr, just waiting for the aesthetic treatment. If the Tumblr girls knew about Mashrou’ Leila in 2014, their dashboards would’ve never recovered.

What If It Was Still Ours?

This piece started with a question, and a bunch of replies that said “hey, I remember this too.”

Maybe we didn’t have a Tumblr-core Arab world in real time. But maybe we didn’t need to build it.

Maybe we already had it, in old Sakia concert flyers, in stolen lyrics in our Notes app, in blurry phone clips of someone covering an indie song in a bedroom somewhere.

One Mashrou’ Leila reblog at a time.

One sad girl anthem. 

One grainy gif of Cairo at night.

It’s late. But it’s here.
And it’s always been ours.