There was a time when Indian politicians competed for voters with rallies, manifestos, slogans and carefully choreographed public meetings. Today, they are increasingly competing for something far more elusive: attention.

And nowhere is that contest more visible than on the smartphone screen.

Gen Z has become the new political catchword. Everyone seems to be talking about it – families, businesses, advertisers, universities, social-media platforms and, increasingly, politicians. Admired by some, misunderstood by many and watched carefully by almost everyone, this generation has emerged as one of the most coveted demographic groups in India’s political landscape.

The reason is simple. The next generation of voters is already here, and the elections that will determine India’s political direction over the coming decade are not very far away. With Assembly elections in politically crucial states such as Uttar Pradesh and Punjab due in 2027, followed by the 2029 Lok Sabha election, political parties have little choice but to understand how young Indians think, communicate and consume information.

The response is already visible.

The traditional Indian neta – kurta-pyjama, serious expression, folded hands and a microphone – is gradually being joined by a new political avatar: jeans, chinos, jackets, sneakers, smartphones and, above all, a camera facing the politician.

The transformation is not merely sartorial. It represents an attempt to make politics appear less distant and more familiar to a generation that has grown up with influencers rather than political gatekeepers.

Congress leader Rahul Gandhi’s recent outreach to students and young audiences is a prominent example. His interactions under the “Chhatron Ki Goonj” campaign have sought to create a direct connect with students, while his public appearance has also acquired a distinctly more contemporary flavour.

The conventional political wardrobe has increasingly given way to T-shirts, shirts, denims, chinos and sneakers. There is nothing inherently wrong with a politician changing his clothes. Politics, after all, has never been immune to fashion.

But there is a larger question here: does dressing like a college student make a politician understand college students any better? A change of clothes may make a politician look relatable. It cannot automatically make him relatable.

Rahul Gandhi’s decision to embrace Instagram’s “Ask Me Anything” format is another indication of the changing political grammar. By offering glimpses of his personal life – including his pet dog Noorie – he has moved beyond the traditional boundaries of political communication. The underlying lesson is one that social-media influencers understood long ago: audiences often respond more strongly to personality than to polished speeches.

Sometimes, apparently, a dog can generate more engagement than a policy document. The same digital transformation can be seen elsewhere in politics.

Former Delhi Chief Minister Arvind Kejriwal and the political ecosystem around the Aam Aadmi Party have long experimented with direct, informal and social-media-driven communication. The emergence of the so-called Cockroach Janta Party from viral Internet culture is another example of how the boundary between political messaging and Internet culture is becoming increasingly blurred.

Whether such experiments translate into durable electoral influence remains a separate question. But the phenomenon itself is significant. Political organisations are beginning to recognise that young voters do not necessarily encounter politics through newspapers, television debates or party rallies. Increasingly, they encounter it while scrolling through their phones.

The selfie camera is becoming the new political microphone.

Samajwadi Party chief Akhilesh Yadav, too, has recognised the importance of this shift as he seeks to regain political momentum in Uttar Pradesh. The party’s efforts to engage influencers and its emphasis on understanding the language of reels reflect a broader realisation: political communication today requires more than the ability to deliver a long speech from a stage.

It requires the ability to survive the attention economy. The old political training manual might once have begun with: learn how to address a rally. The new one may well begin with: learn how to make a reel. But beneath the humour lies a serious demographic and political transformation.

Gen Z, broadly defined as those born between 1997 and 2012, has grown up in a fundamentally different environment from previous generations. Their relationship with information, authority and communication is unlike that of their predecessors.

The generation born in the post-war years, often identified as the Baby Boomers, grew up in an India of restrictions, limited entertainment choices and close parental supervision. Going to a cinema could itself invite questions at home. Privacy was limited and authority was rarely questioned openly.

Generation X, broadly those born between 1965 and 1980, experienced a gradual opening of society and the arrival of new technologies. Television entered homes, economic and social aspirations expanded, and the world slowly became more connected.

The Millennials, or Generation Y, witnessed perhaps the most dramatic technological transition. They remember a world before smartphones but also became the first generation to embrace the Internet, email, mobile phones and social networking as everyday tools.

Gen Z inherited the finished product. For them, the smartphone is not simply a device. It is a classroom, entertainment centre, social space, news source, marketplace and political window. That changes the nature of political communication.

A politician once had to reach the voter through a public meeting, newspaper advertisement or television interview. Today, the politician can appear directly inside the voter’s personal space – often without invitation. A leader can be serious in one video, humorous in another, emotional in the next and, perhaps, introduce a pet in the fourth.

The distinction between politician and personality is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. Prime Minister Narendra Modi has understood this digital transformation perhaps earlier and more effectively than most Indian politicians. His emphasis on India’s young population has been a recurring feature of his political messaging, while his social-media presence has built a substantial following among younger Indians.

His recent selfie-style Instagram video on examination paper leaks demonstrated the extraordinary reach that political content can achieve when packaged for the digital generation. The video reportedly crossed hundreds of millions of views within a day, highlighting the enormous scale of India’s political attention economy.

The numbers themselves are impressive. But they also reveal something more important. Politics is no longer confined to political spaces.

It lives on Instagram, YouTube, Facebook, X and countless other digital platforms. A political message competes not only with another political message but also with music videos, memes, gaming clips, comedy, influencers, sports and an endless stream of entertainment.

The politician is therefore competing for attention before he can even begin competing for votes. And Gen Z knows it. Perhaps this explains why political parties are suddenly so interested in understanding the “vibe” of the younger generation. But there is a danger in reducing an entire generation to its vocabulary, fashion choices or social-media habits.

Gen Z may enjoy reels, but it does not mean Gen Z is politically shallow.

Young Indians have serious concerns – employment, education, examinations, inflation, climate change, inequality, mental well-being, technological disruption, opportunities and the quality of public institutions. They may consume political information through a 30-second video, but the issues they care about cannot always be reduced to 30 seconds.

That is where the real test for politicians begins. Looking young is easy. Speaking the language of the young is somewhat harder. Understanding their aspirations is harder still. And delivering on them is the most difficult task of all.

There is also a danger that politics could become excessively performative. When leaders begin measuring success primarily through views, likes, shares and viral clips, political communication can gradually become entertainment. A catchy reel may travel faster than a detailed policy proposal, but electoral politics cannot ultimately be governed by algorithms.

The challenge before political parties is therefore not simply to become “cool”. It is to become credible. Gen Z may be more comfortable with informal communication, but that does not mean it has abandoned scrutiny. In fact, the same generation that consumes political content quickly can also fact-check it, ridicule it, remix it and expose contradictions within minutes.

A politician can go viral today and become a meme tomorrow. That is the unforgiving nature of the digital age. The old neta wanted to look authoritative. The new neta wants to look accessible. The next political challenge will be to become both. The kurta may survive. So will the rally. The manifesto will not disappear. Nor will traditional political organisation.

But alongside them will remain the smartphone, the selfie camera, the reel and the influencer. The political contest of the future will therefore take place simultaneously on the street and on the screen. The voter has changed, and politics is adapting.

But there is one lesson politicians should remember before they attempt another carefully choreographed reel: young voters may appreciate a politician who speaks their language, but they will ultimately judge him by what he does after the camera is switched off.

In the age of Gen Z, looking relatable may win attention. Only performance can win trust. And, ultimately, the vote.