There’s a scene in the 2015 movie Sisters where a group of lesbians ask to DJ the house party. Tina Fey’s character turns to Amy Poehler’s and whispers, snarkily: “Get ready for a Sarah McLachlan, Tracy Chapman mash-up.” The gag is that this wouldn’t be an enjoyable way to spend a Friday night, because this brand of female singer-songwriter music is forever incapable of lending itself to fun. That insignificant, decade-old joke echoes a common stereotype, one that was put to shame with the release of the Hulu documentary Lilith Fair: Building a Mystery. 

Produced by Dan Levy, the feature was released in September to my immense excitement. Being Gen Z, Lilith Fair has existed in my world as oral folklore distributed via YouTube comments and defunct blog posts. It is something I can read about repeatedly but never fully experience. While I emotionally resurrect the fair every single day within my playlists, there was no tangible way for me to see, feel or live it, until now. 

The documentary includes archival footage from each year of the tour (1997-99). Though it preceded what we now consider vlogs by a whole decade, that’s exactly what is happening in the videos. They have a perfect cozy feel as you see the backstage fun and performances each day brought. In one clip, Liz Phair kisses Sarah McLachlan; the kiss is light and playful, yet serves as a visual representation for the way each performer and fan was indebted to and expressed gratitude towards McLachlan.

Lilith Fair is her brainchild. In 2025, it is hard to conceive of an exclusively female festival being novel—We may not have an equivalent, but the concept itself is not unimaginable. This fair was born into a world where radio stations did not play female artists back-to-back for fear of alienating audiences. Women served as a palate cleanser between the men and nothing more. The fact that that was the standard for so long and I never even knew is wild to me. We take that for granted literally each time we turn on the radio, and we owe it to Lilith.

When it comes to female singer-songwriter stuff, the enduring legacy seems to live most within those who attended the festival. While artists like Fiona Apple have crossover appeal with young girls to the point that Shein sells knock-off merchandise of hers, that seems to be the exception instead of the rule.

That is a complete shame. When I told a friend I wanted to write about McLachlan, they asked if she was the woman from the dog commercials. Yes, but she is so much more. Those ads, if overplayed, demonstrate her commitment to honoring and supporting what she believes in. Lilith was what she, her crew and all the women they got on board believed in.

Lilith, of course, is named after the biblical figure of Adam’s first wife, the ‘demon.’ Second-wave feminists of the 1970s had long reclaimed her as a symbol for their movement, and McLachlan carried the torch for the subsequent third wave. She notes that ‘Fair’ was chosen because it represents: “beauty, equality, and celebration or festival.”

All three qualities are applicable, perhaps beauty most. Not only is every single woman included beyond talented and beautiful, but the sea of fans is such an impressive feat. Everyone looks simply radiant in their joy to be together in the summertime, singing their favorite songs.

In perhaps the most 1998 moment of the entire documentary, Kelsey Grammer introduces a medley between McLachlan, Paula Cole and Shawn Colvin at that year’s Grammy Awards. In retrospect, the women lament the fact that they accepted that, while all the other song of the year nominees got to perform individually, the women were reduced to a medley. This medley is not to be confused with the iconic encore the festival produced, where performers joined each other for a final song; this was rather a belittling of their accomplishments.

Perhaps the closest we come to a time machine, closer than all the archival vlogs and photographs, was in the release of the documentary itself. In a moment of synchronicity, McLachlan was scheduled to perform at a Disney event for the launch of the documentary on Sept. 22nd, when Jimmy Kimmel was off the air. Instead, she forwent the performance to give a speech on the importance of women’s rights, queer rights, trans rights and, of course, free speech. She was, some may say, earnest in her speech. Which is so fitting, because Lilith Fair celebrated earnestness! The documentary even features scanned excerpts from McLachlan’s tour diary—Diaries, tears, embraces—None of it is considered corny or embarrassing: it’s vital. 

At the very end of the documentary, Liz Phair remarks: “The reason why people who weren’t even there feel connected to Lilith Fair is because it really does embody the world we wish existed right now for us.” 

While Phair may not have intended to address Gen Z irony there, it fits. We as a generation seem to view everything with a level of detachment, or at least have that reputation, which I believe only serves as a hindrance rather than any form of protection. At the risk of sounding like the old man yelling at the clouds, I’d argue we still have lots to gain from looking back at this particular time in the world.

Even if someone cannot stand the folk tunes often associated with the festival, they are still indebted to it as a creation. It allowed female artists the agency to tour together, celebrate each other and simply be human in a way we all take for granted nowadays.

On Sarah McLachlan’s latest album, Better Broken, she features Katie Gavin of MUNA on the track “Reminds Me.” It is an earnest, amazingly sweet love song: “Your kindness comes easy, you’re wild-hearted and free /  Everything that I desire.” The beautiful lyrics are only amplified through their vocal harmony, and it’s one of many tracks I find myself resonating with as a young woman in 2025.

The album is enthralled in vivid imagery of forests, bodies and community. It’s perfectly relevant in our current landscape, painted beautifully with McLachlan’s songwriting prowess and distinct voice. Between the album and documentary, 2025 is feeling a lot like the ‘90s. Only now, we aren’t dependent on CD players or Walkmans. I urge everyone to queue this album up on their streaming services, because it truly is worth a listen. And while you’re at it, check out Lilith Fair: Building a Mystery on Hulu to literally transport yourself to such an important and unique time in music history.