The nostalgia of everything

Has pop nostalgia hit critical mass? What should our feelings be toward the past and the present?

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Statistically speaking, you will live for about 71 years. Throughout those years, both the good and the bad will often lead you to dream about the past. This phenomenon is incredibly common, something nearly everyone experiences. It’s not a secret to me, to you, or to marketing agencies, who are all too familiar with tapping into our nostalgic tendencies—like the promotion of a classic Ford Bronco, evoking memories of simpler times.

Let me set the scene: I’m part of a generation that, more than many before, seems to romanticize the past. We’re mesmerized by vintage aesthetics, longing for a time that feels more tangible and less complicated. For me, this materializes in the car I drive, the clothes I wear, and, most obviously, the cameras I use. I’ve invested a lot of time and money into shooting film, and recently I started questioning why I’m so drawn to it. At first, I thought it was because of the colors, but then I fell in love with black-and-white photography, and I realized something important: I don’t love film for what it is, but for what it isn’t.

Skateboarding is another passion of mine that’s tied to nostalgia. It’s one of the few hobbies that feel truly tangible in a world that’s increasingly digital. I don’t post much about it, partly because it’s sacred to me. And the reason why it’s sacred reveals a lot about nostalgia—it’s raw, imperfect, and grounded in the present moment. Joy, I believe, isn’t all that complicated. Fundamentally, we all just want to feel alive, to experience something real and imperfect.

I think we’re approaching what I call the “nostalgification” of everything. Much of the media we consume is recycled or designed to look old, like biopics of legendary figures or retro logos, even from NASA. It’s not surprising—we love to romanticize the past, often as an escape from the overwhelming presence of modern technology. But there are two types of nostalgia: insincere and sincere. Insincere nostalgia is purely aesthetic, convincing us that life was better in the past, and that we can buy it back. Sincere nostalgia, however, is an emotional encounter with who we once were.

Every year, I experience sincere nostalgia during the sandhill crane migration, a family tradition that never fails to take our breath away. The event remains largely the same, but we, as a family, change year after year. It’s a time when we reconnect, not just with nature, but with each other. It’s a loop, reminding us of where we’ve been and how far we’ve come, filling us with gratitude for the present rather than longing for the past.

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t think nostalgia should make us yearn for another time. Instead, it should help us appreciate the present. Right now, we are creating memories that someone, someday, will wish they could return to. We’re defining a future nostalgia that will be cherished by others.

What am I saying here? I’m not telling you to avoid buying retro shoes or reissued cars, or to boycott the latest remake of Ghostbusters. Honestly, who cares? But I am saying that while you’ll often look back on the life you’re living now, you should appreciate it as it happens. Celebrate the past without idolizing it. Let nostalgia remind you of who you’ve been, while also guiding you toward who you’re becoming.

In the end, I want to romanticize not just the past, but the present. Life is happening right now, and despite all its imperfections, it’s worth cherishing. We’re building the memories of tomorrow, and I, for one, want to live fully in the moment that I’ll one day look back on with fondness.