There’s been a lot of noise around CORTIS lately—debates about whether they qualify as a “self-produced group,” arguments about whether they’re “post-K-pop,” and pushback from fans of established self-producing acts who insist CORTIS shouldn’t hold that label because they work with additional producers. Others point out that the group is still firmly marketed as K-pop: they cultivate fandom culture, communicate constantly with fans, release variety-style content, and participate in the familiar ecosystem of schedules and promotions. None of these critics are wrong, but the lens being used is extremely narrow. The insistence on labeling CORTIS as either self-produced or not, K-pop or post-K-pop, overlooks what is actually happening. These categories may be moot—unnecessary, irrelevant, and ultimately unhelpful in understanding their work.
In the next twelve minutes, we’ll step past those labels and look at what CORTIS is actually doing: the way they create first and define later, how their process mirrors the psychology of Gen Z and Gen Alpha, and why their MAMA 2025 performance functioned less as a debut stage and more as a statement of method. By the end, it becomes clear that the usual terminology doesn’t describe the group—and doesn’t capture the shift taking place around them.
1. The Traditional K-Pop Blueprint
For nearly three decades, the K-pop system has run on a familiar structure. Agencies decide a group’s identity before a single public appearance. Concepts—schoolboy innocence, sleek futurism, rebellious noir—are picked early. Songs are written to fit that theme, choreography is commissioned to match the sonic palette, and visual direction follows a carefully curated arc. Most rookie groups debut with fully formed identities, down to the way each member speaks, dresses, and introduces themselves. Roles such as main vocal, lead rapper, or main dancer often remain unchanged across an entire career.
This framework has produced some of the most successful pop acts of the 21st century. But it has also created a culture where creation is often separated from execution. Idols perform material that has already been shaped for them, stepping into stories rather than generating them. Even when groups are labeled as “self-produced,” their work usually exists within predetermined artistic boundaries.
CORTIS entered the landscape without those boundaries. Their starting point wasn’t a finished concept; it was the creative process itself.
2. CORTIS as a Creator Crew
CORTIS emerged with an unusual premise: they make first and define later. In an interview with iHeart, they explained that their debut EP didn’t come from a preselected theme. They created hundreds of songs—around 300 by their count—and selected the tracks that best reflected what they had been feeling and living through. Their album wasn’t designed to express a central concept; the concept revealed itself through the work they had already made.
This creator-first approach extends far beyond songwriting. Members draft music video storyboards, film their own footage, experiment with editing software, and workshop choreography together before presenting ideas to Big Hit. This aligns with how creator teams in digital spaces work—ideate, produce, draft, refine—before a platform amplifies the result. The label then scales these drafts into polished versions, but the initial spark originates with the group. For a team whose average age hovers around 17, this is a remarkable level of authorship.
Just as striking is their refusal to adopt fixed member roles. Instead of locking into positions, they change responsibilities depending on the track, the arrangement, or the mood of the project. One member may take a rap-heavy verse in one song, a melodic line in another, and choreography leadership somewhere else. The group functions less like a hierarchy and more like a small creative studio that reallocates talent based on need.
Their work does not follow the conventional idol pipeline. If anything, the idol framework bends to them.
3. Process-as-Art
CORTIS treats creation as an ongoing practice rather than a series of isolated outputs. Their songs often begin as fragments—an idea overheard, a melodic line recorded into a phone between schedules, a phrase someone couldn’t shake that day. The group has described their music as a kind of journal, shaped by whatever resonated with them emotionally.
This orientation toward process also reflects their stage in life. Four of the five members are teenagers, and the oldest is twenty. Developmental psychology makes it clear that adolescence is defined by identity exploration, experimentation, and fluid self-concepts. Their artistic choices mirror this reality. Instead of presenting a stable identity, they show the search for one.
Because their drafts, experiments, and abandoned ideas remain part of the conversation, their art carries the energy of becoming rather than arrival. This resonates strongly in an era when audiences value behind-the-scenes glimpses just as much as finished content. For CORTIS, the drafts are not discarded; they are the foundation.
4. The MAMA 2025 Performance: A Live Thesis
Their philosophy became visible onstage at MAMA 2025. The performance opened with Martin constructing the arrangement live, building loops piece by piece while the arena’s coordinated lightsticks pulsed in response. The moment spread quickly online—praised by viewers and covered by press as an example of real-time creation shaping a major awards show.
Then came the rock rendition of FaSHioN. The shift felt natural, not contrived. Martin’s musical background began in rock, and the set carried that history. Live vocals cut through the mix, the choreography loosened into spontaneous movement, and the group’s energy felt more like a band stretching out on tour than a rookie idol group debuting on a prestige stage. There was no sense of replicating a pre-approved template; the performance unfolded with the elasticity of a group discovering its full range in real time.
The stage underlined something that has always been part of their identity: experimentation is not a risk for CORTIS—it is the method.
5. Sound-Alike Critiques and the Limits of Sonic Comparison
Some observers have argued that CORTIS’s music resembles American pop-rap acts or that certain tracks sound like “rejects” from A$AP Rocky or Post Malone. These comparisons flatten the language of musical influence. The more useful question isn’t whether two songs “sound alike” but in what way they overlap. Often the answer points to elements so widely shared they cannot define authorship: mid-tempo beats, atmospheric guitar loops, slurred vocal lines, or introspective lyrics.
Take the comparison between CORTIS’s “JoyRide” and Post Malone’s “Circles.” The resemblance—drowsy melodies, hazy production, acoustic undertones—comes from a palette that existed long before “Circles” became a hit. Tame Impala’s “The Less I Know the Better,” Mac Miller’s “Good News,” and John Mayer’s “New Light” all moved through similar textures years earlier. Influence flows through ecosystems, and artists inevitably work with the sonic materials of their time.
For members who are 16 or 17, drawing from familiar sounds is not a flaw. It is a developmental stage, the place where artistic identity is shaped by immersion and reinterpretation. What matters is whether they continue building a vocabulary that becomes identifiable as their own—and their current approach suggests that this evolution is already underway.
CORTIS operates with the openness Gen Z and Gen Alpha instinctively respond to. The group’s creative instincts are forming in real time, and that evolution is part of the appeal.
– Fairlane raymundo
6. Gen Z and Gen Alpha: Why This Resonates Now
CORTIS’s appeal is tightly aligned with the psychology of the generations shaping contemporary culture. Research on Gen Z consistently points to a preference for transparency, personal expression, and creative agency. Studies from the APA and Pew show this demographic responds more strongly to creators who reveal their process and motivations rather than presenting only polished products. Authenticity is not aspirational for them; it is structural, tied to well-being and self-understanding.
Gen Alpha carries this even further. Analysts describe them as the first cohort raised in an environment where creation is woven into daily life: remixable media, open-ended digital tools, games that encourage world-building, and platforms where behind-the-scenes work is part of the viewing experience. Studies highlight their comfort with fluid identity, collaborative creativity, and rapid experimentation.
CORTIS reflects these traits with uncanny precision. Their process is visible. Their creative roles are interchangeable. Their songs chart emotional landscapes rather than fixed concepts. Their performances reveal the scaffolding behind the final shape. Older K-pop systems prized refinement above all else; Gen Z and Gen Alpha value the work in progress.
7. Work-in-Progress as Aesthetic
Previous K-pop generations often equated polish with professionalism. Debut stages were expected to be immaculate, and group identities were designed with long-term stability in mind. CORTIS stands outside that expectation. Their appeal lies in their openness: they show the seams, the learning curve, the parts that are still forming. They adjust roles track by track. They move through genres without worrying about coherence. They treat mistakes as markers of growth rather than blemishes.
This is not a lack of preparation—it is a different definition of artistry. They are building their identity in public, and the audience is invited to witness the process. For Gen Z and Gen Alpha, this aligns with the creative culture they inhabit, one shaped by drafts, edits, behind-the-scenes vlogs, livestreams, and collaborative expression. Their art mirrors the rhythm of their lives.
8. The Creator Economy Connection
Their approach also mirrors the structure of the creator economy. YouTubers, TikTok artists, independent animators, indie musicians, and streamers ideate, produce, shoot, edit, package, and distribute their work—often without a formal team. The allure isn’t perfection; it’s participation in the process. Audiences follow the development, not just the premiere.
CORTIS operates with the same rhythm. They work like creators who happen to be idols. Big Hit functions less as a puppet-master and more as an amplifier—providing resources, infrastructure, and scale to projects that originate within the group.
This is one reason Forbes described CORTIS as reshaping the expectations placed on K-pop rookies and noted the extent of their hands-on involvement. Industry press is already framing them as a sign of where the field may be heading.
CORTIS feels contemporary to younger audiences because they mirror the creative frameworks those audiences already inhabit.
A Forward Look
Here is the second major new section you asked for.
If CORTIS represents the beginning of a larger shift, several questions emerge. Will future K-pop acts be marketed as “creator crews” rather than idol groups? Will rotating roles replace rigid positions? Will younger audiences continue to gravitate toward artists who reveal drafts, process, and experimentation instead of fixed concepts? And if this becomes the standard, how much will the industry have to evolve to remain culturally legible to Gen Z and Gen Alpha?
CORTIS’s arrival doesn’t answer these questions. It simply makes them harder to ignore.
