In a world where technology evolves faster than our emotions can keep up, there’s been a curious revival of all things 90s — from fashion trends to music, even the grainy filters on our photos. Gen Z is digging out Walkmans and baggy jeans. Millennials are revisiting old cartoons and TV shows. So, why are we all drawn to a time most of us barely remember?
The 90s represented a slower, more tactile world. Before smartphones and endless notifications, life felt more grounded. Watching cartoons meant being on the couch at a specific time. Listening to music required owning the CD. Photos weren’t taken in bursts of 30 — they were moments, limited and precious. That scarcity made everything feel more real, more intentional.
But this isn’t just about nostalgia. It’s a response to burnout. In an age of information overload and performative living, the 90s give us something we miss: simplicity. We look back not just with longing, but with relief — relief from digital noise, from curated perfection, from constant comparison. We remember childhoods where boredom led to creativity, not scrolling.
There’s also a collective grief embedded in this romanticization. We miss the days before global anxiety felt constant. Before pandemics, climate crisis, and economic uncertainty defined every news cycle. The 90s, in hindsight, seem like the last chapter of innocence before the internet opened Pandora’s box.
So when we wear our chokers or play that old song on a cassette, it’s not just fashion. It’s emotional survival. We’re not just trying to remember the past. We’re trying to feel safe again.