The Return of 2016

Has the time finally come? Have we worn out the '90s and y2k trend cycles? I wouldn't go so far as to say we will ever be over low-rise jeans — but seems like our nostalgia has lurched forward to another decade. Welcome back 2016: the era of King Kylie, Tumblr-core and neon everything.

The sad thing about nostalgia in today's world is that it's almost impossible for the revival of the era it to feel organic. It's algorithmic. Open any social media platform right now and 2016 is everywhere, "vintage" filters, flash heavy selfies and Tiktoks claiming "we need to bring back 2016 energy." But what does this actually mean? Do we truly miss it, or do we miss the privilege of being less self-aware?

Was 2016 the last breath in time before curation became instinct? Before we started planning and editing our lives to literally fit into the grid. Speaking for myself, I was aware of an audience, but only faintly, like I was catching my reflection in a mirror without fully meaning to look. So maybe this nostalgia isn't just about the clothes or the filters; but a way we used to exist that felt raw and a little naive.

As humans, we crave weirdness, authenticity, and connection. It's built into us, this want to feel seen, to share, to belong. At the same time, we're also deeply susceptible to marketing tactics. We live in a consumer capitalist world that knows exactly how to turn desires into products. Brands have studied us so thoroughly that even our yearning and nostalgia is predictable.

The result? Realness gets chewed up by the system until it comes out beige. Almost like individuality gets tossed into a washing machine set to "delicate," and spins until every colour has bled into the same neutral tone. So when the next "era" comes back, it's already pre-washed, pre-approved, and ready to trend on TikTok.

In spite of this, there's still moments of genuine connection. At a party recently, I brought an old iPhone 5. Half-dead battery, cracked screen and yet people can't get enough of it. All night I'm getting asked "Can you use that phone to take the photo? The quality is so good." And the thing is, it's not. But those blurry, overexposed photos look like a memory. The flash is too bright, details are blurry, and it's that imperfection that makes the photos feel more honest than the 4k sharpness we have become accustomed too.

Of course, it's no secret that our nostalgia isn't purely sentimental, it's commodified. Capitalism thrives on recycling desire; it knows that if we keep longing for the past, we'll never stop trying to buy it. Still, that doesn't mean the feeling itself isn't real, our nostalgia comes from a genuine place.

What we actually miss about 2016 isn't King Kylie or the Snapchat dog filter. It's the brief moment when being online still felt like being someone, not a product used to market. Even though we can't fully escape the cycle, awareness must count for something? Because no matter what, authenticity always finds a way to exist.