A personal essay by Navaeh Wellington, Link Writer & Editor and BCIT Broadcast & Journalism student
Photos by BCIT Digital Photography student Donya Ahmadyar featuring student model Fatima Elmasri
Why a generation that grew up online longs for the ‘simplicity’ that came before them.
Fall has a way of pulling things loose. A cold morning. A song you forgot you loved. The sudden urge to pick up an old instrument or cook something you haven’t made in years. There’s a collective ache for simpler times. Where you can almost smell the days when everyone still had landlines, grainy Instagram photos, drive-in theatres, or when you still carried change because things were cheap enough to.
We’ve put so much energy into the future and, ergo, into technology. Into how we can optimize and advance. But there’s a different kind of pull in the other direction. The crackle of a record player, the clunky charm of a disposable camera, the ritual of inserting a DVD and waiting for the menu to load.
This isn’t about wanting to go back. It’s about wanting to experience a version of youth that felt less connected to technology.
You don’t have to throw away your phone and swear off every technological convenience; you can learn to use them as tools instead of being consumed by your online presence. Wanting to experience something without being constantly connected is to know that being offline doesn’t mean you’re behind or missing out. I think a step in the right direction is to put the phone down and remember that you don’t have to prove anything to your peers and strangers online.
A question I find myself asking is why it’s so hard to put the technology down. But also why, once you truly do, is it like you forget your troubles and just soak up all the little things that make you happy, like the phrase “time flies when you’re having fun,” because when you’re constantly watching the clock while scrolling or checking your phone every time you get a notification, you’re not letting your mind just be bored.
Boredom is a precursor for creativity and problem solving and I think that’s why the world seemed like it had more to offer when we were younger.
We left space for our imaginations. We weren’t afraid to be “cringey.” I think this is a part of why people in younger generations have started losing their individuality.
We tend to think of nostalgia as escapism, a surrender to sentimentality, but it can also offer comfort in uncertain times. It reminds us who we’ve been, what we’ve loved, and what versions of ourselves we might want to revisit. The immediate instinct is to recreate the activities by bringing back the routine. But the better question might be “what did I love about who I was that I’m missing now?” Once you figure that out you can ask yourself, ‘What can I do about that?’”
Younger generations are drawn to pieces of a past they never truly lived through: CDs, record collections, disposable cameras, flip phones, and thriving third spaces. This is what’s called cultural nostalgia, idealizing a golden age to counter modern anxieties. When we reach for older media or films from decades before our time, we’re not necessarily longing for the era itself. We know those eras had their own drawbacks; they weren’t perfect by any means. We’re longing for the feeling of clarity and connectedness they seemed to promise. The “simpler” pre-algorithm era, an idealized view of the early internet and a time before heavy corporate monetization and AI-generated content was everywhere.
None of this is about hating technology. It’s about questioning what technology asks of us.
Something existed before that doesn’t quite exist now which is a clear line between being online and offline. Most of us don’t want to disconnect entirely, we just want to stop feeling like not being connected means falling behind. No one likes the feeling that they’re missing something that everyone else is in on. The goal doesn’t have to be withdrawal; let it be intention.
Old Christmas photos you can almost smell. An elementary school classroom. Sitting in front of a boxy TV watching America’s Funniest Home Videos with your family. It wasn’t broken. There was nothing wrong with any of it. Overambition and greed pulled us away, convincing us that bigger meant better, and that we would be better for it. But what is ‘better’, exactly?
These things connected us. They brought us together in a sense of shared experience and community. Let’s not pretend technology can’t still do that because social media can help you find people you’d never meet in your city, but we’ve let it take over. It’s rare now to find groups gathering in third spaces the way they used to. Gone are the times you’d tell your friend where you’d be and just hope they show up on time. But you can still go out and buy a DVD player, try taking pictures on a film camera, or find a record player and start a vinyl collection. You can bring bits of the past forward.
With all that in mind, here are a few tools to help bridge the gap.
Imprint breaks down books on psychology and history into short, illustrated cards in a tap-to-advance format. With a monthly subscription of $16, it replaces mindless scrolling with something more educational.
BePresent blocks distracting apps during certain hours, tracks your streaks, and reminds you when you’ve been doomscrolling too long. It costs $4 a month.
Brick is a small magnetic device that connects to a free companion app and physically blocks access to distracting apps and websites. It’s a tangible barrier between you and the scroll, available for a one-time purchase of $60.
The goal isn’t to escape the present. It’s to bring what mattered most about the past forward, on your own terms. What you’re nostalgic for might be a clue to what you actually value. Maybe it isn’t something we find but something we build, starting with a single moment of intention. There is more peace in “missing out” than in performing a version of yourself that’s not true to who you are or who you want to be.
