Nov 20, 2023 marks a few approaching ends—the conclusion of the year, the nearing end of my mid-20s, and the closing of this chapter of my life. I have found a myriad of tools to distract me from my anxiety, with nostalgia being a key one. I dress in ’90s fashion to emulate the teenagers I saw when I was a kid in LA, even though I have long grown past their age. I rewatch the same few TV shows over and over again, even though their lines have become earworms. I listen to my Spotify Wrapped from previous years, even though my music taste has since changed. Doing things repeatedly has become obnoxious, but familiarity is comforting. During moments of nostalgia, I no longer need to anticipate, wait, dread, or react. I can just let my mind rest.

And collectively, we are all so tired. Nostalgia is seen everywhere, both online and offline. Girl internet has taken over, replacing the realized bleakness of adulthood. Y2K and vintage fashion are still in full swing. Stability is yearned for when future and current state of affairs are so uncertain. And I, like so many others, have on rose-tinted glasses for the past. But through the romanticization of its familiarity, we’re finding escape, comfort, and safety.

Capitalist ways of survival imply a constant need to be productive. Any moment of rest, unless done as a detox to come back to work more rejuvenated, is considered meaningless. Nostalgia counters productivity, maybe even as an active form of resisting the attention economy. Through nostalgia, nothing new is created, and no new information is learned. To rejoice and indulge in this feeling is to be defiant towards hyper-productivity culture. This is the medicine for the mess we made.