The internet’s newest obsession is “brainrot.”
From random meme compilations to dogs drinking sparkling water, almost any content designed purely for entertainment is now casually labelled as brainrot. The term has become the internet’s favourite way of describing media that appears chaotic, unserious, repetitive, or intellectually “empty.”
And increasingly, comedy is being pushed into that category.
When filmmaker Farah Khan discovered that many internet users describe films like Tees Maar Khan and Happy New Year as “peak brainrot,” her reaction was simple:
“Is brainrot a compliment?”
That question captures the confusion around the term perfectly.
Originally, “brainrot” referred to excessive consumption of low-quality online content — media so repetitive and overstimulating that it supposedly damages attention spans and causes mental fatigue. The term became popular alongside short-form platforms built around constant scrolling, rapid consumption, and viral trends.
But today, the definition has expanded so widely that it now acts as an umbrella term for almost anything people do not consider intellectually serious.
That ambiguity is exactly what makes the phenomenon interesting.
The internet rewards content that is immediate, fast, and emotionally reactive. Brainrot thrives because it fits perfectly into that system. It is easy to consume while multitasking, easy to share, and easy to repeat. People watch it while eating, studying, travelling, or simply trying to escape boredom.
At some point, however, the label stopped being limited to short-form internet videos.
Movies, television shows, books, songs, and even carefully crafted comedic performances are now being grouped under the same category. Comedy, especially exaggerated or absurd comedy, has increasingly become shorthand for “mindless content.”
That is where the problem begins.
Because comedy is not mindless.
It may look effortless, but comedy is one of the most difficult genres to execute successfully. Unlike tragedy or drama, humour does not follow a universal formula. What makes one person laugh may completely fail for another. Comedy depends on timing, rhythm, delivery, performance, direction, surprise, and cultural context — all working together precisely.
Good comedy often hides its own complexity.
The best jokes feel natural because they are designed to. Characters in comedies are rarely aware that they are being funny. The humour emerges through situations, reactions, pacing, and exaggeration. That illusion of ease is what makes comedy so difficult to create well.
Farah Khan’s films are a good example of this misunderstanding.
Her films are exaggerated, loud, chaotic, and proudly over-the-top. They are not trying to offer serious political commentary or philosophical depth. Their purpose is straightforward: entertainment. But simplicity should not automatically be confused with lack of craft.
The jokes in those films are carefully constructed to appeal to large audiences. Their humour relies on rhythm, absurdity, repetition, visual staging, and timing. Calling them “brainrot” reduces all of that work into something disposable.
And the more the internet uses the term casually, the more comedy itself starts being treated as low-quality art.
That shift reflects a larger problem in online culture.
Today, media is increasingly consumed through speed rather than attention. Content is judged by how quickly it can entertain, trend, or become meme-worthy. Long-form storytelling, subtle humour, and slower creative experiences struggle to survive in systems designed around instant reactions.
Comedy suffers heavily in that environment because its simplicity is mistaken for emptiness.
But humour has never been meaningless.
Comedy allows people to process awkwardness, discomfort, absurdity, and social tension. It often says difficult things in ways that feel approachable. Even the most ridiculous comedy reflects observation, timing, and understanding of human behaviour.
Ironically, the internet’s obsession with labelling everything “brainrot” says more about online consumption habits than about comedy itself.
People are not simply consuming media anymore — they are consuming it rapidly, continuously, and with decreasing patience. The result is a culture where entertainment is flattened into categories of “serious” or “mindless,” leaving very little room for nuance.
That is why Farah Khan’s question matters.
Because being called “brainrot” may look like praise online, but it is often a backhanded compliment. It turns years of creative work into a temporary viral joke.
And perhaps it is time for the internet to rethink why making people laugh is increasingly treated as something intellectually inferior.
