The aesthetics of 2016 comes back strong: filters that They imitate the Instagram of then (according to Wikipedia, more than 200 million videos with filters that imitate visuals), trends that they recover photos from thenrecreations of the summer of ‘Pokémon GO’, tributes and memories to David Bowie. Generation Z users, many of them teenagers at the time, they rebuild 2016 like a golden age (there has been a 450% increase in searches of the term “2016” on TikTok). The contradiction is obvious: That same year, numerous media declared it one of the worst in recent history.
What happened. On January 10 he died David Bowie; they followed him Prince, Leonard Cohen, George Michael, Carrie Fisher. On June 23, the United Kingdom voted to leave the European Union. On November 8, Donald Trump won the US election. Media like slate either Newsweek They wondered if it was the worst year in history. Less than a decade later, that same year it has become an object of nostalgia.
Starting shot. The Bowie’s death January 10 marked the year since its inception. Two days before he had published ‘Blackstar’, an album that today is interpreted as a farewell but that then went unnoticed in its testamentary dimension. The shock was immediate: an artist who had hidden his cancer for 18 months disappeared without warning, and memes filled that void almost immediately. The artists mentioned above followed, and each death reinforced the same idea: 2016 was cursed.
Imbalance. Trump and Brexit shattered the expectations of progress and openness that dominated Western political discourse. In‘The future of nostalgia’already in 2001, Svetlana Boym distinguished between “restorative nostalgia” (which seeks to reconstruct a mythical home) and “reflective nostalgia” (which enjoys longing without seeking to recover anything). Nostalgia for 2016 is of the first kind: it invents a year that never existed. Boym noted that restorative nostalgia “does not recognize itself as nostalgia, but as truth and tradition.” Just what happens when TikTok recreates the summer ofPokémon GO as if it had been edenic.
This has already been said. There are theorists who have reflected on the phenomenon to remember 2016 just ten years later. David Foster Wallace documented in the 1990s what he called “nostalgia for the present”: the urge to long for something that is not yet over. 2016 fulfills that paradox: it has become an object of nostalgia before being historically processed, while its political consequences remain active. The temporal distance necessary for nostalgia, usually two or three decades, has been compressed to the point of almost disappearing.
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Retromania. It is inevitable to refer to ‘Retromania‘a 2011 essay in which Simon Reynolds argued that since the 2000s, pop culture had reversed its direction: instead of generating the future, it was dedicated to reactivating the past. Reynolds documented band reunions, deluxe reissues, revival festivals, nostalgic samples. Fifteen years later, his thesis has intensified: no society has ever been so obsessed with the cultural artifacts of its most recent past. The return to 2016 confirms his diagnosis: a decade is enough to activate nostalgia.
Hauntology. Mark Fisher elaborated on this idea in ‘The ghosts of my life’where he developed the concept of “hauntology” that Derrida had coined: we are inhabited by futures that did not materialize. Fisher, who died in 2017, argued that contemporary culture had lost its ability to imagine alternatives to the present. The past cannot be recovered; Their ghosts haunt a present incapable of projecting forward. Nostalgia for 2016 materializes this paralysis: one longs for a year defined by its catastrophic nature because there is a lack of vocabulary to articulate desirable futures.
Nostalgia mode. Finally, Fredric Jameson had anticipated this phenomenon in ‘Postmodernism: or the cultural logic of late capitalism’ in 1991, when describing the “nostalgia mode”: postmodern culture reproduces styles from the past by emptying them of historical reference and reducing them to an aesthetic surface. Instagram and TikTok accelerate this process. What was present yesterday is content today vintage available for consumption. The Spotify playlists of 2016 and the summer of ‘Pokémon GO’ are remembered, but not the bad thing. The algorithm creates a sweetened version of the past that eliminates conflict.
It could be worse. 2026, without going any further. The nostalgia of 2016 reveals an escape from much more present horrors: those of 2026. That year has been dwarfed as a “bad year” because a decade later Trump returns to the presidency in a much more virulent way, with attacks on international law and invasion of countries, the war in Ukraine has no signs of ending, Gaza is going through a humanitarian disaster that shames the planet, political and media polarization has become radicalized, housing has become inaccessible…
Carrie Fisher, who died in 2016
If in 2016 there were those who considered it exaggerated to talk about authoritarian drift, 2026 materializes that exaggeration: the alarms that seemed like hyperbole turned out to be prophetic. Nostalgia for 2016 is not innocent: it is the implicit recognition that the situation has worsened, that that year, with all its disasters, was preferable to the present.
It’s coming. The cycle accelerates. If 2016 is already an object of nostalgia in 2026, what year will be nostalgic in 2030? 2020, the year of the global pandemic? 2024? Culture is caught in a loop where the present devours itself before it has been digested, where the ability to imagine alternatives has atrophied to the point that we can only look back. Even when what we see behind is disaster.
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was originally published in
Xataka
by
John Tones
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