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The music world was stunned yesterday by the devastating news of D’Angelo’s passing. The neo-soul pioneer — whose given name was Michael Eugene Archer — died at 51 after battling cancer, his family confirmed. The timing feels particularly cruel, coming just months after the loss of his former partner and musical collaborator Angie Stone.

His family’s statement captured the raw emotion of the moment. “The shining star of our family has dimmed his light for us in this life,” they shared, their words heavy with both grief and gratitude for the extraordinary musical legacy he leaves behind.

That legacy began taking shape nearly three decades ago. When “Brown Sugar” dropped in ’95, it didn’t just launch D’Angelo’s career — it helped birth the neo-soul movement itself. The album’s breakout single “Lady” dominated Billboard’s Hot 100 for 20 weeks, peaking at No. 10 and announcing the arrival of a game-changing talent.

But it was “Voodoo” that truly showcased D’Angelo’s genius. Released at the dawn of the millennium, this masterwork of soul, funk, and R&B fusion shot straight to No. 1 on the Billboard 200. The album’s lead single, “Untitled (How Does It Feel),” became more than just a Grammy-winning track — it was a cultural moment. That iconic video, stripped down in more ways than one, practically lived on MTV.

Music legend Nile Rodgers remembers his first encounter with D’Angelo’s raw talent like it was yesterday. “He was trying to figure out what to do with the music he’d brought with him,” Rodgers recalled. After listening to every cut — “not just out of respect but because it was smoking” — Rodgers’ advice was beautifully simple: “Put it out. It’s perfect!”

D’Angelo’s artistry wasn’t limited to his own recordings. His collaboration with Lauryn Hill on “Nothing Even Matters” remains a masterclass in musical chemistry. His work with The Roots and Black Men United further demonstrated his versatility and commitment to pushing Black music forward.

The personal side of his story adds another layer of poignancy. His relationship with Angie Stone in the ’90s proved creatively fertile — she was the inspiration behind “Brown Sugar” and a frequent collaborator. Stone, who tragically passed in a car accident earlier this year at 63, once told The Associated Press their connection was “like milk and cereal… Musically, it was magic.”

RCA Records, looking back on their visionary artist’s career, perhaps said it best: “He was a peerless visionary who effortlessly blended the classic sounds of soul, funk, gospel, R&B, and jazz with a hip hop sensibility.” As we enter 2025, his influence continues to shape the sound of contemporary R&B, with countless artists citing him as a primary inspiration.

D’Angelo leaves behind three children — including son Michael Archer Jr. (who performs as Swayvo Twain), daughter Imani Archer, and a younger son born in 2010. More than that, he leaves a musical blueprint that will undoubtedly inspire generations to come. In an industry that often prioritizes commercial success over artistic integrity, D’Angelo remained true to his vision — and music is infinitely richer for it.

The music world stands diminished today. D’Angelo — the virtuoso who redefined soul music for a generation — has passed away at 51, following a battle with pancreatic cancer that his family revealed had been fought largely away from the public eye.

His catalog might seem modest at first glance: just three studio albums spread across two decades. But numbers hardly tell the story. Each release landed like a meteor, leaving craters of influence that shaped the musical landscape for years to come. From the honey-dipped grooves of “Brown Sugar” in ’95 to the revolutionary complexity of “Black Messiah” in 2014, D’Angelo crafted patient, perfectionist works that defied commercial pressures and redrew the boundaries of what R&B could be.

The news hit the music community like a thunderbolt. Red Hot Chili Peppers’ bassist Flea — never one to mince words — captured the raw emotion felt by many: “No one did anything funkier over the last 30 years… He changed the course of popular music.” The sentiment rings especially true now, as artists across genres grapple with the void left by his departure.

Jamie Foxx shared a particularly touching remembrance of witnessing D’Angelo’s magic at the House of Blues. “Your voice was silky and flawless,” Foxx recalled, admitting through “real tears” how he’d been “graciously envious of your style and your swag.” It’s that combination — technical brilliance wrapped in effortless cool — that made D’Angelo such a singular presence.

Dig deeper into his discography, and the genius becomes even more apparent. His collaboration with Lauryn Hill on “Nothing Even Matters” remains a masterclass in vocal interplay. His interpretations of Prince and Earth Wind & Fire classics didn’t just pay homage — they reimagined the possibilities within those songs, speaking to his profound understanding of soul music’s DNA.

The personal toll of this loss cuts deep. D’Angelo’s son, Michael Archer Jr., who lost his mother Angie Stone mere months ago, showed remarkable strength in his statement: “One thing that both my parents taught me was to be strong, and I intend to do just that.” The family’s words strike a delicate balance between grief and gratitude, acknowledging the profound loss while celebrating “the legacy of extraordinarily moving music he leaves behind.”

As cultural critic Jemele Hill noted with elegant simplicity: “D’Angelo made three albums with no skips. That man is a legend.” For those who came of age in the neo-soul era, who found their groove in his pocket and their heart in his harmonies, this feels like more than just the loss of an artist. It’s the closing of a chapter in American music — one written in soul, dripping with swagger, and touched by undeniable genius.

Looking back now, in early 2025, at the breadth of his influence across three decades of music, perhaps D’Angelo’s greatest gift wasn’t just the songs he gave us, but the doors he opened for generations of artists to come. His passing leaves us with memories, masterpieces, and the bittersweet knowledge that some voices truly can’t be replaced.

Reality TV’s emotional stakes are hitting new heights this fall, serving up a double helping of raw vulnerability that might just remind us why we fell in love with the genre in the first place.

Dancing with the Stars is about to deliver what could be its most gut-wrenching episode yet — and honestly, the timing couldn’t be more perfect. The show’s upcoming dedication night looks poised to strip away the glossy veneer we’ve grown accustomed to, revealing the beating heart beneath all that spray tan and sequins.

At the center of it all stands Robert Irwin, whose presence on the dance floor has already captured viewers’ hearts with an authenticity that’s becoming increasingly rare in today’s manufactured TV landscape. The young conservationist’s choice to honor his mother Terri with “You’ll Be in My Heart” from Tarzan feels almost too perfect — like one of those moments when the universe conspires to create television magic. The emotional weight of his performance carries extra gravity given his recent social media revelation about his beloved dog Stella’s cancer diagnosis.

Meanwhile, Bravo’s cooking up something deliciously different with their latest experiment. “Wife Swap: Real Housewives Edition” (premiering October 14th at 9 p.m. ET) sounds like the kind of brilliant-yet-obvious idea that probably got pitched in countless production meetings before someone finally had the nerve to greenlight it. The show’s taking four franchise favorites — Angie Katsanevas, Dr. Wendy Osefo, Melissa Gorga, and Emily Simpson — and tossing them into each other’s carefully curated lives.

Let’s be real: watching these polished personalities navigate unfamiliar territory could either be television gold or a spectacular train wreck. Maybe both? That’s half the fun.

The timing of these shows feels particularly meaningful as we head into the holiday season. There’s something oddly compelling about watching celebrities — whether they’re fumbling through a foxtrot or failing to figure out another housewife’s coffee maker — strip away their carefully constructed personas.

For those looking to catch either emotional rollercoaster, the viewing options are pretty straightforward. DWTS continues its run on ABC, while the Housewives’ social experiment will air on Bravo. Can’t catch it live? No sweat — streaming services like Fubo, DirecTV, and Sling have got you covered. Peacock offers next-day streaming starting at $7.99 monthly, though let’s face it — waiting an extra day when social media exists feels like torture.

Perhaps what’s most fascinating about this particular moment in reality TV isn’t the individual shows themselves, but what they represent. In an era where everything feels increasingly artificial, these programs are gambling on authenticity. Whether that gamble pays off… well, that’s why we tune in, isn’t it?

Talk about a tale of two industries. While Hollywood’s independent sector is celebrating a fresh injection of capital, the banking world is scrambling to clean up yet another mess of its own making. The contrast couldn’t be more striking — or more telling about where we’re headed in 2025.

Let’s start with the good news. Electric Entertainment, that scrappy L.A. outfit that’s been churning out crowd-pleasers like “Leverage” and “The Librarians,” just landed themselves a sweet $20 million deal with Content Partners Capital. Not too shabby for their 25th anniversary present, announced during the glitz and glamour of MIPCOM in Cannes.

Dean Devlin, Electric’s CEO, couldn’t contain his enthusiasm — and honestly, who could blame him? With 36 episodes across three series in the past year alone, they’re proving that independent production houses can still pack a punch in today’s streaming-dominated landscape. The timing of this deal feels particularly significant as we’re seeing a shift back toward mid-budget content that actually connects with audiences.

Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, the banking sector’s latest drama is unfolding with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. Close Brothers — you know, that supposedly steady British banking group — just had to nearly double its car loan compensation provision to £300 million. Yikes. That’s an extra £135 million on top of their previous £165 million reserve, and it’s not even the biggest number being thrown around.

Want to hear something really eye-watering? Lloyds Banking Group has set aside £1.95 billion for the same issue. These aren’t just big numbers — they’re symptoms of a systemic problem that affected roughly 14 million car finance deals between 2007 and 2024. The total industry bill? A cool £11 billion, according to the Financial Conduct Authority’s estimates.

Close Brothers’ response has been… well, defensive would be putting it mildly. They’re “committed to achieving a fair outcome for customers” — aren’t they always? — but they’re not exactly thrilled with the FCA’s methodology. The bank claims the regulator’s approach doesn’t reflect actual customer losses or achieve proportionate outcomes. Sound familiar? It’s practically the same tune Lloyds was singing.

The market’s reaction was swift and predictable — Close Brothers’ shares dropped 3% faster than you can say “regulatory oversight.” But here’s where things get interesting for the average person: while they’re waiting for their next binge-worthy series from Electric Entertainment, they might just find themselves getting a £700 compensation check in the mail.

The FCA’s chief, Nikhil Rathi, didn’t mince words last week when he defended their approach. “We believe our scheme is the best way to settle the issue for both consumers and firms, and alternatives would be more costly and take longer.” Translation? Time to pay up, banks.

As we navigate through 2025’s increasingly complex financial landscape, these parallel stories highlight a fascinating shift in how different sectors handle growth and accountability. While content creators are finding innovative ways to expand and evolve, traditional financial institutions are being forced to reckon with their past — and pay for it, quite literally.

Perhaps that’s the real story here: in an era where transparency and accountability are becoming non-negotiable, the contrast between forward-thinking creative enterprises and backward-looking financial cleanup operations couldn’t be more stark. Or more revealing about where we’re headed next.

The documentary world is having quite the moment — and honey, it’s about time. As we dive into 2025’s awards season, the industry’s most prestigious festivals are serving up a feast of non-fiction storytelling that’s equal parts grit and glamour.

DOC NYC (sweet sixteen and still slaying) just dropped its influential 15-film Short List, and the competition? Fierce doesn’t begin to cover it. With a track record that would make a Vegas bookie weep — they’ve called the eventual Oscar winner 13 out of the last 14 years — their selections carry some serious weight.

Among this year’s standouts is Mstyslav Chernov’s raw and devastating “2000 Meters to Andriivka.” The film picks up where his Oscar-winning “20 Days in Mariupol” left off, documenting Ukraine’s ongoing struggle with an unflinching eye that’ll have you reaching for the tissues (and maybe a stiff drink).

But wait — there’s more. The Critics Choice Documentary Awards are bringing their own brand of prestige to the table. Raoul Peck’s “Orwell: 2+2=5” is leading the pack with seven nominations, and honestly? In this post-truth era we’re living through, Orwell’s lens feels more relevant than ever.

Speaking of heavy hitters, IDFA (that’s the International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam for the uninitiated) isn’t playing around. Under Isabel Arrate Fernandez’s fresh leadership, they’ve assembled a staggering lineup of 250 titles from 76 countries. Not too shabby for a festival that’s become the documentary world’s equivalent of Fashion Week.

Here’s a delicious little morsel that’s generating buzz across multiple platforms: “Secret Mall Apartment” chronicles eight young artists who pulled off the ultimate retail rebellion back in ’03, creating a hidden living space inside a shopping mall. It’s the kind of story that makes you wonder what other secrets are hiding behind those Orange Julius stands.

The overlap between these prestigious platforms isn’t just coincidence — it’s a testament to an extraordinary year in documentary filmmaking. From Laura Poitras and Mark Obenhaus’s “Cover-Up” (a deep dive into investigative journalism that’ll make your head spin) to Mariska Hargitay’s surprisingly intimate “My Mom Jayne,” these films are pushing boundaries and taking names.

What’s particularly striking about this year’s crop? The sheer fearlessness. These aren’t just documentaries — they’re time capsules, love letters, and warning shots across the bow of conventional wisdom. They’re reminders that in a world of carefully curated social media feeds and AI-generated content, there’s still nothing quite like the raw power of truth captured through a lens.

As Isabel Arrate Fernandez so eloquently put it during IDFA’s press conference, these works represent “the courage of filmmakers who refuse to give up.” And darling, in 2025’s increasingly complex media landscape, that courage is worth its weight in gold statuettes.

Hollywood’s visual alchemist Drew Struzan — the artistic genius who transformed movie marketing into pure magic — has left us at 78, closing the final chapter on an era when hand-painted posters were cinema’s first love letter to audiences.

The news of his passing on October 13th hit the entertainment world like a punch to the gut. His brother Greg shared the heartbreaking update on Instagram, revealing something that perhaps softens the blow just a bit — Drew knew, really knew, how much his work meant to all of us who grew up dreaming in his colors.

Anyone who’s ever stopped dead in their tracks, mesmerized by a movie poster in a theater lobby, has probably fallen under Struzan’s spell. His signature style — that otherworldly blend of hyperrealism and pure fantasy — didn’t just advertise movies; it made promises about the adventures waiting in the dark of the theater. Think Harry Potter’s determined gaze, Indiana Jones’s knowing smirk, or Luke Skywalker’s heroic stance against impossible odds.

Before becoming Hollywood’s poster wizard (and honestly, that’s not even hyperbole), Struzan paid his dues in the music world. His album covers? Pure gold. The Beach Boys never looked more California-cool, and that Alice Cooper “Welcome to My Nightmare” piece? Rolling Stone didn’t name it one of the greatest album covers ever just for kicks.

By the time the ’80s rolled around, Struzan wasn’t just busy — he was Hollywood’s worst-kept secret. Cranking out roughly ten masterpieces a year, he approached each project with a philosophy that sounds deceptively simple. “I wasn’t looking to tell a story,” he mused in a 2021 chat with Slash Film. “I’m looking to give a person a feeling about something they could hope for.”

God, what a beautiful way to think about it.

His technique revolutionized the whole game. “I had to do something different,” he once reflected, taking a subtle dig at the old guard. “The trouble with a lot of early movie posters is that they looked too much like classic illustration, which feels like it’s telling the whole story.” Struzan’s posters? They didn’t spell everything out — they made you lean in, made you wonder.

That ethereal, airbrushed style became his trademark. Somehow, he managed to make his work look both photographically perfect and completely dreamlike. It’s no wonder the biggest franchises in film history — Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Back to the Future — kept coming back for more.

The cruel twist in this story? Alzheimer’s. His wife Dylan shared the devastating news on Facebook this March. “Drew can no longer paint or sign things for you,” she wrote, the words probably catching in her throat. “He is not enjoying a well-deserved retirement but rather fighting for his life.”

His final poster — for How to Train Your Dragon — proved that even as the curtain was falling, the magic hadn’t dimmed one bit. In an age of quick-fix digital designs and AI-generated imagery (lord help us), Struzan’s hand-crafted masterpieces remind us what we’re losing as technology marches on.

Drew Struzan didn’t just make movie posters. He created first loves, sparked daydreams, and gave wings to imagination. His passing marks more than the end of an era — it’s the final bow of an artist who taught us that sometimes, the best part of the movie is the dream it inspires before the lights even go down.

The final countdown has begun for MTV’s iconic music channels in the UK. By New Year’s Eve 2025, the network that once had teenagers rushing home after school to catch their favorite music videos will silence five of its beloved channels — leaving an entire generation to grapple with the end of an era.

Remember waiting anxiously for that one special video to play? Those days are fading into history as Paramount Global prepares to pull the plug on MTV Music, MTV 80s, MTV 90s, Club MTV, and MTV Live. Only MTV HD will remain standing — a lone survivor in what feels like the last gasp of traditional music television.

The news hit particularly hard for those who lived through MTV’s golden age. Former VJ Simone Angel couldn’t mask her emotions when speaking to BBC News. “I am really sad, and I’m a little bit in disbelief,” she shared, her voice carrying the weight of countless memories. “MTV was the place where everything came together. So it really does break my heart.”

This isn’t just a UK phenomenon — the tremors are being felt worldwide. From the sun-soaked shores of Australia to the bustling streets of Brazil, Paramount Global’s cost-cutting measures are reshaping the landscape of music television. The company’s targeting a cool $500 million in global savings, and the aftermath hasn’t been pretty. One MTV insider put it bluntly to The Sun: “Everyone at MTV is gutted. To say there has been a bloodbath of cuts would be an understatement.”

Let’s face it — we probably should’ve seen this coming. In a world where TikTok trends can make or break a song overnight, and YouTube’s algorithm serves up an endless buffet of music content, who’s still planning their evening around a TV schedule? The shift to digital platforms has transformed how we discover and consume music, making traditional broadcasting feel almost… quaint.

The timing’s particularly interesting. As Paramount navigates its merger with Skydance, whispers in the industry suggest we’ll see between 2,000 and 3,000 staff cuts by early November — just in time for those third-quarter earnings reports. Talk about a rough autumn ahead.

For millennials (and even some Gen Xers), MTV wasn’t just a TV channel — it was the soundtrack to their youth. Those grainy music videos and charismatic VJs shaped not just music tastes, but entire cultural movements. From Madonna rolling around in a wedding dress to Nirvana’s game-changing “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” MTV didn’t just play the culture — it created it.

Sure, the medium’s changing, but music’s soul-stirring power remains constant. Maybe it’s not about mourning what’s lost, but celebrating how far we’ve come. After all, isn’t there something magical about having virtually every music video ever made right at our fingertips?

The beat goes on — just through different speakers, different screens, and with a whole new generation of music lovers finding their own way to press play.

The Battle for Music’s Soul: When Algorithms Meet Authenticity

Something remarkable happened at San Francisco’s Chase Center last month. Pop sensation Dua Lipa, her voice slightly trembling with emotion, shared a story about being that wide-eyed 9-year-old who once plastered Green Day posters across her bedroom walls. Minutes later, she was sharing the stage with Billie Joe Armstrong himself, their raw rendition of “Wake Me Up When September Ends” sending shivers through the crowd. It wasn’t just another concert moment — it was a powerful reminder of music’s ability to forge genuine human connections across generations.

That authenticity stands in stark contrast to the increasingly algorithmic landscape of modern music consumption. Across the bay in Oakland — where Green Day cut their teeth in the punk scene decades ago — a grassroots movement called “Death to Spotify” has caught fire. These sold-out talks have struck a nerve, particularly as streaming platforms rush headlong into AI integration for 2025.

“Spotify’s endgame is for you to stop thinking entirely about what’s playing,” notes Will Anderson of Hotline TNT, who recently joined the growing exodus of artists from the platform. The timing couldn’t be more pointed — just as Spotify co-founder Daniel Ek’s investment in military AI technology through German firm Helsing came to light.

Yet the tech juggernaut rolls on. YouTube Music (remember when it was just plain YouTube?) has jumped on the AI bandwagon, rolling out its own DJ feature complete with artificially generated voices chattering between tracks. Sure, they’ve thrown in some trivia questions to make it feel more “interactive,” but it’s exactly the kind of algorithmic hand-holding that’s driving artists to the barricades.

The resistance isn’t just coming from the indie trenches anymore. While heavy-hitters like Neil Young and Joni Mitchell previously took stands against Spotify (only to eventually return), this new wave feels different. Eric Drott, who teaches music at the University of Texas at Austin, points out a crucial shift: “These aren’t household names we’re talking about. Artists used to accept that streaming wouldn’t make them rich, but they needed that visibility. Now, with the sheer volume of music out there, many are questioning if it’s worth anything at all.”

Some artists aren’t just complaining — they’re creating alternatives. Take Caroline Rose, who dropped “Year of the Slug” exclusively on vinyl and Bandcamp. “Pretty lame that we pour our hearts into something just to give it away online for free,” she noted with characteristic bluntness. When Hotline TNT took the direct-to-fan route through Bandcamp and Twitch, they didn’t just survive — they thrived, pulling in thousands of dollars.

The Union of Musicians and Allied Workers (UMAW) is thinking bigger. They’re pushing for systematic change through legislation like the Living Wages for Musicians Act, sponsored by Rep. Rashida Tlaib. It’s an ambitious attempt to regulate streaming payouts in an industry that’s historically resisted oversight.

Death to Spotify co-organizer Manasa Karthikeyan cuts to the heart of the matter: “Culture withers when we’re trapped in algorithmically constructed comfort zones.” As we barrel toward 2025’s promise of even more AI integration, the industry faces a crossroads. Can technology and artistic authenticity find common ground? Or will music lovers increasingly have to choose between convenience and connection, between algorithms and soul?

The answer might just lie in that magical moment at Chase Center — where a childhood dream became reality, and two generations of musicians reminded us what really matters in music. No algorithm could have predicted that.

The final credits are rolling on an era that defined how generations experienced music. MTV’s decision to shut down its music channels across the UK feels less like a business move and more like watching your childhood home get demolished. By the time the ball drops on New Year’s Eve 2025, five of MTV’s dedicated music channels will fade to black, leaving behind echoes of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” and the zombie dance moves from “Thriller.”

Remember when MTV actually played music? Those days are officially numbered.

The network’s pulling the plug on MTV Music, MTV 80s, MTV 90s, Club MTV, and MTV Live — leaving just MTV HD standing. Though “standing” might be generous, since it’s mostly pumping out reality shows like “Teen Mom” and “Geordie Shore” these days. Quite the plot twist for a channel that once had teenagers rushing home after school to catch the latest world premieres.

Simone Angel, who rocked the mic as an MTV Europe VJ back in the ’90s, puts it perfectly: “MTV Europe was really the forerunner to the internet.” She’s not wrong — at its peak, MTV was beaming into 150 million homes worldwide. “It was like being on a school trip without any teachers,” she adds, perfectly capturing that intoxicating mix of rebellion and possibility that made MTV feel dangerous and essential.

But this isn’t just some isolated UK shake-up. The tremors are already being felt across the globe, with similar shutdowns looming in Australia, Poland, France, and Brazil. YouTube and streaming platforms have become the new video jockeys, serving up endless playlists to a generation that wouldn’t know Carson Daly from Kurt Loder.

The irony’s thick enough to cut with a guitar pick. MTV — the revolutionary force that turned music into must-see TV back in ’81 — is now getting steamrolled by the same kind of innovation it once championed. Those iconic moments — the first VMAs in ’84, the epic Live Aid broadcast of ’85 — feel like artifacts from another universe.

Former VJ Jasmine Dotiwala nailed it in her bittersweet X post about the “end of a trailblazing, once-upon-a-time, one-of-a-kind era.” Meanwhile, musician Casey Rain didn’t sugarcoat it: “MTV was culturally and spiritually dead when it stopped airing music videos. Corporate-led decline of what was once the coolest brand in existence.”

Sure, there’s a money angle here — isn’t there always? This whole transformation’s happening while Paramount Global’s doing the corporate tango with Skydance Media in an $8.4 billion merger. They’re looking to trim half a billion from their global budget, and those music channels? Just another line item on the spreadsheet.

But maybe the most fascinating take comes from an unexpected source. Angel recalls how Mikhail Gorbachev once told MTV’s brass that the channel showed kids behind the Iron Curtain what life in the West was really like. Talk about power beyond the playlist.

“You’ve just got to move with the times,” Angel reflects. “To this day, it’s one of the most recognizable brands in the world. Why on earth throw that away?” Good question. As we watch MTV’s music channels prepare for their final bow, you’ve got to wonder: Is this just another evolution for a shape-shifting cultural icon, or are we witnessing the last gasp of a revolution that changed how the world experienced music?

Guess we’ll find out when those channels go dark in 2025. Until then, pour one out for the network that taught us video killed the radio star — before the internet came along and killed the video star.

Apple’s Clips app quietly shuffled off into the digital sunset this week, marking the end of an eight-year experiment that never quite found its groove in the fast-paced world of social video creation. Remember 2017? When vertical video was still somewhat controversial and TikTok was just a glimmer in ByteDance’s eye? That’s when Apple boldly stepped into the ring with Clips, promising to revolutionize how we create and share video content.

Well, that didn’t exactly pan out.

The app’s departure — while hardly shocking to anyone who’s been paying attention — tells a fascinating story about how dramatically the content creation landscape has shifted since the late 2010s. Back then, Susan Prescott, Apple’s vice president of Apps Product Marketing, painted a rosy picture of Clips as the next big thing in casual video editing. The reality proved somewhat different.

Existing users running iOS 26 or iPadOS 26 can still access the app, though it feels a bit like hanging onto your favorite discontinued streaming service — you know the end is coming, it’s just a matter of when. Apple’s been surprisingly generous about the whole thing, even going so far as to recommend competitor apps like InShot and VN Video Editor. (When’s the last time you saw Apple pointing users toward non-Apple solutions?)

Here’s the thing about Clips that made it such an odd duck: it was essentially a social media tool without the social media part. In 2025, when platforms like TikTok and Instagram have practically perfected the art of in-app editing, Clips felt like bringing a calculator to a smartphone party — technically useful, but missing the point entirely.

The preservation process, thankfully, isn’t complicated. Users can save their videos with or without effects through the sharing menu. It’s worth noting that anyone who’s created content with Clips should probably get on that sooner rather than later — future iOS updates might not play nice with the abandoned app.

Despite regular updates that brought trendy features like Memoji and LiDAR Scanner capabilities (remember when those seemed cutting-edge?), Clips couldn’t overcome its fundamental identity crisis. Professional creators found it too basic, while casual users couldn’t be bothered with the extra step of exporting videos to their preferred social platforms. In an age of instant gratification, that extra tap or two might as well have been a marathon.

Eight years is nothing to sneeze at in the app world — plenty of high-profile apps have crashed and burned in far less time (pour one out for Google Stadia). But Clips’ demise speaks to something larger: the ongoing consolidation of creative tools within social platforms themselves. What was once revolutionary — adding text, filters, and music to short videos — is now baked into practically every social app on your phone.

Perhaps Clips’ real legacy isn’t about what it achieved, but what it revealed about the evolution of digital creativity. In an era where the line between content creation and content sharing has essentially disappeared, standalone editing apps need to offer something truly spectacular to justify their existence. Clips, for all its Apple polish, just couldn’t clear that increasingly high bar.

As we wave goodbye to yet another piece of late-2010s tech nostalgia, it’s worth remembering that even tech giants like Apple occasionally miss the mark. Sometimes, being good just isn’t good enough — especially when your competition is literally a tap away.