Gen Z has a specific kind of melancholy. It’s glossy, it’s high-fidelity, and it usually sounds like it was recorded in a bedroom that smells like expensive candles and existential dread. If you want to find the ground zero for this specific aesthetic, you have to look at Tate McRae’s debut studio album. When i used to think i could fly dropped in May 2022, it wasn't just another debut. It was a pivot.
People forget how much pressure was on this kid. Tate wasn't just a "TikTok singer" or a "dance prodigy" from So You Think You Can Dance. She was being positioned as the North American answer to the moody, industrial pop coming out of the UK, but with a Calgary-born sincerity that felt... different. Honestly, the album title itself is a bit of a gut punch. It captures that exact moment when you realize you aren't a superhero. You’re just a person. And usually, that person has a messy breakup to deal with.
The Architecture of a Modern Heartbreak
Most pop albums try to be everything at once. They want the club banger, the acoustic tear-jerker, and the mid-tempo radio filler. i used to think i could fly didn't really do that. It stayed in this dark, metallic pocket.
Produced by heavy hitters like Greg Kurstin and Blake Slatkin, the record sounds expensive. But the lyrics? They're raw. Take "she's all i wanna be." It’s a masterclass in insecurity. It’s not a "girl power" anthem. It’s a "I’m looking at her Instagram and I feel like garbage" anthem. That honesty is why the album stuck. We’ve all been there, staring at a screen, comparing our behind-the-scenes footage to someone else's highlight reel.
It’s interesting to see how the tracklist flows. You’ve got "feel like shit," which is probably the most literal song title of the decade. It’s blunt. No metaphors. Just the physical sensation of losing someone. Then you have "chaotic," a piano ballad that strips away the polished production to show what Tate does best: vocal fry and vulnerability.
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Why the Production Choices Actually Mattered
If you listen closely to the low end of this album, it’s heavy. It’s almost trap-inspired but filtered through a pop lens. This wasn't an accident. In 2022, the "sad girl pop" wave was hitting its peak. Olivia Rodrigo had already opened the door with SOUR, but Tate’s team decided to go grittier.
The drums on "hate myself" aren't polite. They’re aggressive. This contrast—sweet, breathy vocals over harsh, jagged production—created a tension that defined the "i used to think i could fly" era. It reflected the internal chaos of being nineteen. You're supposed to be flying, right? You're young. You're successful. But instead, you're just hitting the pavement.
Navigating the "TikTok Artist" Stigma
There was a lot of talk back then about whether Tate McRae could survive the transition from a viral moment to a career artist. Social media is fickle. One day you’re the soundtrack to every "Get Ready With Me" video, and the next, you’re a trivia question.
i used to think i could fly was the shield against that. By delivering a cohesive body of work, she proved she wasn't a singles-only act. The album debuted at number 13 on the Billboard 200. Not a number one, sure, but a massive statement for a debut. It showed staying power.
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Let's talk about "boy x." It’s arguably the most underrated track on the record. It’s cinematic. It feels like the end credits of a movie you didn't want to finish. When critics talk about the "McRae Sound," they're talking about this specific blend of storytelling and atmosphere. She isn't just singing lyrics; she's world-building.
The Visual Identity
You can’t talk about this album without mentioning the pilot aesthetic. The cover art—Tate sitting on the wing of a plane—was everywhere. It was a literal interpretation of the title, but it also felt like a metaphor for her career. She was at the controls, but she was also terrifyingly high up.
The music videos for this era were high-budget. They leaned heavily into her background as a dancer. In "she's all i wanna be," the choreography is frantic and competitive. It visualizes the lyrics perfectly. This is something a lot of her peers can't do. She’s a triple threat in an era where most people are lucky to be a single threat.
Real Talk: The Critiques and Growth
No album is perfect. Some critics at the time felt i used to think i could fly leaned too heavily into the "Billie Eilish-ification" of pop. The whispered vocals, the dark themes—it felt familiar to some. Pitchfork gave it a 6.8, which is basically a standing ovation from them, but they noted that it sometimes played it safe within the genre boundaries.
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But looking back, those critiques feel a bit dated. The album wasn't trying to reinvent music. It was trying to document a very specific transition from adolescence to adulthood. It’s a coming-of-age story set to a synth-pop beat.
If you compare this to her later work, like think later, you can see the seeds being sown. You see the confidence growing. In "i used to think i could fly," she's still asking for permission to be sad. In her newer stuff, she’s owning it. That’s growth.
How to Listen to i used to think i could fly Today
If you're revisiting the album or hearing it for the first time, don't just put it on shuffle. It’s a journey. Start with "what would you do?" to get the energy up, then let the middle section of the album—the darker, more experimental stuff—sink in.
- Pay attention to the transitions. The way the songs bleed into each other tells a story of a long night spent overthinking.
- Watch the live performances. Tate is a performer first. Seeing how she translates these studio tracks into high-energy dance routines changes the way you hear the rhythm.
- Listen for the lyrics in "don't come back." It’s the ultimate "I’m done with you" anthem that serves as a necessary pallet cleanser for the more emotional tracks.
i used to think i could fly isn't just a nostalgic relic of 2022. It’s a blueprint for how to handle a debut in the digital age. It’s honest, it’s loud, and it’s unapologetically messy. It reminds us that falling isn't the end of the story—it’s just the part where you finally learn how to stand up.
To get the most out of this era, go back and watch the "Making Of" snippets Tate posted during the recording process. It humanizes the massive production and shows the work that went into every vocal layering. Then, compare the sonic landscape of this debut to the high-octane pop of her follow-up records to see how she traded internal doubt for external bravado.