Ananya Panday and the new language of ambition for young India

Adulthood in India no longer looks like what it used to. The milestones—career, marriage, stability—are beginning to lose their order. “Globally, Gen Z are dismantling the idea that ambition must follow a linear path,” says Olivia Houghton, beauty, health and wellness lead analyst at The Future Laboratory. “They’re blending creativity, commerce, and cause, and redefining influence as something built through participation rather than hierarchy.”

Actor Ananya Panday understands that shift better than most. Having spent her formative years in the public eye, she is a product of her generation’s contradictions, both participating in and symbolising its fluid idea of success.

The mid-twenties, once a checkpoint for careers and commitments, are now a testing ground for identity. For Panday, it’s been almost a live experiment. She began working at the age of 19, while her friends were still in college, their worlds shaped by lectures and late nights out. Hers was defined by call times for shoots and scripts. It was an early start that collapsed the usual rhythm of growing up.

“Every generation is growing up much faster,” says Panday, referring to her younger sister Rysa and those in her age group, who live in a world where the boundaries between online and offline are almost indistinguishable. “They know so much for their age. Sometimes I wish people would just hold on to their innocence a little longer.” It’s a thought that every generation shares, though today the speed of it all feels harder to ignore.

In an actor’s job, Panday notes, things are done for permanence. “The films we do, the things we say, it’s going to go down in posterity,” she says. But when she looks at moments from even two months ago, she feels like a different person. “I've learned that I'm constantly evolving and I'm changing my likes and my dislikes. So, nothing is permanent.” It’s a contradiction that feels fitting for her age and her time, where everything is recorded and remembered, even as the person behind it keeps changing. 

The recalibration of ambition

“I used to really bog myself down and think, how could I say this or why did I do that?” says Panday. Over time, she’s learned to stop overthinking her every move. “You think everyone’s watching every single thing you do or say, but honestly, no one is.”

Her relationship with success has evolved, too. Ambition is no longer a fixed goalpost but an ongoing negotiation between visibility and authenticity. “When I started, I had a very microscopic view of what a Hindi film actress is. I thought you have to just be a part of blockbuster films and that box office success was everything,” she says. “Now, success means working with good people, being proud of the work, and doing something people remember.”

Her shift to streaming projects including films like Kho Gaye Hum Kahan, Call Me Bae and CTRL continues her exploration of identity through distinctly Gen Z worlds—online, at work, and in relationships. Each story captures young people in urban India negotiating visibility in a way that feels real rather than performative, reflecting a broader recalibration of the Hindi film heroine from a fixed archetype to someone more real, flawed, and self-defined. “When I read the script of Kho Gaye Hum Kahan, it felt like the director had put a camera in my room and observed me for the last two years. It was that real and relatable—a very honest representation of our generation,” she says. “I got so many messages after the film, and even now people come up to me saying, ‘We’ve all been Ahana at some point.’” 

The storytelling on streaming is less defined by box office arithmetic and more by character and connection. For actors like Panday, it’s a chance to experiment without being boxed in by expectation. “A few years ago, you could say, ‘oh, this film will be a hit or this is the formula’. But right now everyone’s figuring it out, because so much has changed with OTT and post-pandemic viewing habits,” she says.

While streaming platforms have expanded her range, Panday hasn’t stepped away from the mainstream. Her commercial hits from Dream Girl 2 to Pati Patni Aur Woh, sit alongside projects that feel riskier, more self-reflective. It’s a balance that mirrors where Hindi cinema itself is headed, somewhere between spectacle and self-awareness.

The growth of streaming in India has created room for more nuanced, youth-oriented narratives—stories that reflect experiences mainstream cinema once left out. “I thought I’d be the kind of actress dancing on mountains in a sari, which, of course, I still want to do because that’s iconic and that’s what I grew up watching,” she says. Panday shares that she has surprised herself with the roles that have come her way. “Filmmakers have surprised me, when they’ve thought of me for projects I never would have dreamt of being a part of.”

For Panday, Call Me Bae was more than a streaming debut; it was a fashion moment grounded in character. Anaita Shroff Adajania, who has styled Panday  for her roles in Gehraiyaan, Tu Meri Main Tera Tu Meri, and Call Me Bae, says Bae’s sartorial sense resonated because it felt real, not prescriptive. “With Bae, Ananya slipped into the character effortlessly, from the hair and make-up to the scarves we used in a hundred fun ways. The styling wasn’t designed to chase trends or fit into a Gen Z narrative; it was created to reflect her.” 

“I think the relatability factor was really strong. I felt like people weren’t making films about Gen Z,” says Shroff Adajania. “People still tell me her look changed the way they dress and as a stylist, I don’t think there’s a better compliment than that,” she adds. 

Balancing authenticity and visibility on social media

If ambition defines how this generation works, authenticity defines how it is seen. For Panday, growing up in the public eye has meant negotiating two selves: the professional constantly on display and the private one she’s learning to preserve. “I’m figuring out a balance of how much to give to the world and how much to keep to myself,” she says.

Her Instagram presence, with over 26 million followers (at the time of publication), reflects that instinct. It feels part diary, part dispatch. It’s the friend who goes on holidays and cuddles with her dogs, but also has a full-time job. Her film promotions, behind-the-scenes moments, and brand campaigns coexist within the same grid. It’s a feed that prizes authenticity over aspiration, where humour and self-awareness make stardom feel less distant.

“I’ve always been competitive, but it’s never been about doing better than someone else” - Ananya Panday

“Power is shifting from celebrity-led aspiration to decentralised influence, where trust is earned peer-to-peer,” notes Houghton. You see that in the rise of digital-native voices blurring the lines between influence and entrepreneurship. “Creators such as Sarah Sarosh, who went from being a YouTuber to the Cannes red carpet, reveal a generation merging entertainment and entrepreneurship.” It mirrors the new social grammar of influence. A blend of hustle, self-awareness, and cultural fluency makes participation feel more powerful than projection.

Global visibility and Indian Gen Z’s creative confidence 

Indian Gen Z’s cultural influence is no longer peripheral. As Houghton notes, they “are not waiting to be seen by global culture; they’re building new ecosystems that reflect their realities. Beauty, fashion, and media brands are learning that credibility now comes from community fluency, not global gloss.”

Panday sees it too. “When I work internationally in terms of what's happening in India, people have a lot of questions about the market and what people are liking because even our social media environment is very different from abroad,” she says.

In India, the rise of homegrown beauty and fashion brands reflects that shift from aspiration to participation. “Consumers aren’t just buying into aesthetics; they’re buying into access,” says Houghton. “This appetite for honesty and hyper-local relevance is what sets Indian Gen Z apart from their global peers.”

Panday points out that young people everywhere are now shaped by the same cultural feed—films, memes, music. What changes is the context, not the curiosity. For Shroff Adajania, Panday is a stylist’s dream, one who is “curious, playful and completely invested in the process. There’s still that little girl in her who loves to play dress-up.”

When Chanel announced Panday as its first Indian ambassador earlier this year, it wasn’t just a career milestone for the actor. It was a quiet correction in how global fashion has long imagined India—less as a source of inspiration, more as a participant. For decades, the country has appeared in embroidery, textiles, and moodboards; now, its faces are part of the frames. 

It’s one thing to be seen; another to be included. As Houghton notes, “Lasting impact will depend on whether such moves are followed by structural inclusion, from Indian talent shaping creative direction to global strategies being informed by India’s science-led, culturally attuned innovation.”

Panday’s appointment sits within a broader recalibration. Alia Bhatt for Gucci, Deepika Padukone for Cartier, and Priyanka Chopra Jonas for Bvlgari signal that Indian visibility in luxury is no longer about tokenism, but timing. “When luxury houses like Chanel appoint Indian ambassadors, it signals recognition of this creative force,” says Houghton.

It also reflects the growing confidence of a market and a generation that no longer seeks validation from the West. “My relationship with fashion has really improved for the better,” says Panday. “I used to wear whatever people put on me. I didn’t have a mind of my own and didn’t feel confident enough to share my opinions. Now I’ve become a little more classic than trendy… I’ve learned to say no.” That sense of self-assurance perhaps aligns with the new script at Chanel under creative director, Mathieu Blazy. As Shroff Adajania puts it, “Ananya can be spontaneous yet completely poised, and that balance is what Chanel celebrates—women who are confident in their individuality.” 

Redefining success: The arc of Ananya Panday’s evolution

For Panday, growth isn’t a finish line but a continuous state of becoming. Her ambition lies in the in-between—the act of learning, unlearning, and starting over. “I want to keep learning. I don’t want to arrive; I want to keep arriving,” she says.

She approaches her career with quiet competitiveness—measured not against others but against her own progress. “I’ve always been competitive, but it’s never been about doing better than someone else,” she adds. “It’s about doing better for myself. I have a lot of fire in me, but it’s quiet; it keeps me going.”

“When luxury houses like Chanel appoint Indian ambassadors, it signals recognition of this creative force” - Olivia Houghton 

Her philosophy on ambition mirrors her acting: restless, curious and self-aware. What makes her journey resonate isn’t fame or access but the willingness to evolve in plain sight. Panday isn’t chasing the illusion of arrival; she’s learning that relevance now comes from reflection. It is this openness to growth and change defines her generation, one reshaping what success looks like in a  world that never stops watching.