How Europe Became a Continent of Exes Who Still Vote for Each Other

Each May, Europe, plus a few emotionally persistent exes, gathers for its most dazzling tradition: the Eurovision Song Contest. Beneath the glitter, falsettos, and tactical pyrotechnics lies a contest of affection, attraction, and post-colonial baggage. Think of it less like a song competition, and more like a continent-wide group chat between (former) lovers. Eurovision, far from being a benign celebration of continental kitsch, offers a unique arena for soft power to thrive. Nowhere is this more apparent than in how the votes fall.

For those of us who pay more attention to foreign ministries than falsettos, Eurovision voting offers something unexpectedly rich: a setting to observe the symbolic alliances, grievances, aspirations, and affinities that shape the European political arena. It’s IR theory with better costumes.

Soft power is the diplomacy of attraction. It’s not about invasion, it’s about influence. In that sense, it’s not unlike the Brad and Angelina divorce: people took sides, narratives emerged, and every move became symbolic. A Eurovision entry, like an Instagram post, is less about artistic merit and more about who’s watching and what you want them to feel.

But while most soft power theorists examine universities, film, and diplomacy, Eurovision adds something novel: a quantifiable form of international approval. Not just “Did they like us?” but exactly how many points did they give us, and who else did they like more?

Voting as Cultural Foreign Policy

Eurovision’s voting process, combining jury scores and public televotes, is a uniquely revealing mirror of Europe’s informal alliances. The premise is simple: each country distributes its points (1–12, omitting 9 and 11 for dramatic flair) to other countries’ songs. But the outcomes are rarely about music alone. Voting patterns consistently reflect regional sympathy, diasporic bonds, and political tensions– in other words, the very dynamics that define soft power relations.

Eurovision’s voting isn’t about musical aptitude. It’s about vibes, loyalty, and soft pressure. The way Cyprus and Greece exchange 12 points every year is not unlike Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez rekindling. You know it’s strategic, you know it’s emotional, and you know everyone else has opinions.

Meanwhile, the UK and EU’s post-Brexit relationship now mimics Zayn leaving One Direction: unexpected, messy, and followed by years of passive-aggressive ballads no one really wants to rank highly.

These patterns aren’t secret. Every year, someone jokingly tweets “Balkan voting bloc strikes again!” while watching a 12-point announcement. Eurovision voting operates as a visible ledger of cultural influence and perceived legitimacy. A soft power scoreboard in sequins.

The Ukraine Factor: Sympathy as Strategy?

Ukraine’s recent Eurovision wins operate on the level of public sympathy and cultural resonance, think Selena Gomez after the breakup: heartbroken, dignified, incredibly well-lit. When Stefania swept the public vote in 2022, it wasn’t just about song quality; it was about shared values, emotional resonance and defiance.

In soft power terms, Ukraine won not just votes but narrative control. That’s Selena-level influence. This is soft power not just as projection but as reception. Ukraine’s cultural message of resilience, dignity, Europeanness, was heard, believed, and rewarded.

Hard Politics in Soft Packaging

Despite the European Broadcasting Union’s insistence that Eurovision is “non-political,” the contest is irreversibly shaped by international politics. Armenia and Azerbaijan often ignore each other. Russia’s exclusion from recent editions reflects not cultural standards, but geopolitical sanctioning. 

Eurovision is international relations wrapped in a breakup playlist. Like the Justin–Hailey–Selena triangle, it’s not just about who’s together now, it’s about who used to be, who’s bitter, and who’s thriving.

You can feel it in the way countries vote. You can hear it in the bridges of the ballads. And you can see it when an ex-bloc gives zero points to their former flame, even though their song had a budget AND a wind machine.

Eurovision, in the end, isn’t about music, it’s about memory. And no one forgets a good breakup. Especially not when it’s broadcast live to 160 million people.

Eurovision is that perfect stage where politics, passion, and petty grudges all collide in sparkles and sequins. It’s where the politics of love, loss, and lingering resentment are sung with key changes and splashed across the stage in confetti.

And just like a messy celebrity breakup, I’ll be watching, wine in hand, judgment in heart, Every. Single. Year.