An oversaturated rose-tinted Rio de Janeiro filter is plastered on every photo as you scroll through your feed, the Chainsmokers are blasting from the iPhone speaker (a bit distorted), and in the comments, everyone’s anticipating the second season of Stranger Things.  

But it is not actually 2016. It is 2026, and somehow, we have collectively decided to go back 10 years. 

Searches related to 2016 have increased by 452% on TikTok, Adidas Superstars are back on everyone’s feet (I am guilty too), and the mannequin challenge has been revived on TikTok. The biggest hits from that era are also climbing back into our playlists, as Zara Larsson’s Lush Life re-enters the charts. 

Everyone, including Kylie Jenner, has posted a collection of throwback pictures from 2016. Brands are joining the aesthetic by using mid-2010s visual cues and repackaging old trends as something new again. Even artists are trying to revive the throwback sound, and what was once dated is coming back, making 2016 feel almost like a fever dream. 

However, 2016 is not as glamorous as we remember. 

There was major political disruption and instability, widespread public backlash and the loss of many high-profile figures. Online spaces were becoming increasingly toxic. At the same time, 2016 was the hottest year on record. And the scariest of all, the evil clowns that were lurking in local neighbourhoods, left everyone panicking. 

So why is it so easy to reminisce about the good parts? 

According to psychologist Clay Routledge, 

"We tend to be especially nostalgic when the world is going through some major change.” 

Nostalgia is not only about remembering, but it is also about coping. And right now, there’s a lot to deal with. 

We are living in a cost-of-living crisis. Artificial Intelligence is reshaping industries and raising fears about our job security. Social media has become a constant loop of overstimulation overrun with brainrot, ultra-short videos and trends that disappear as quickly as they arise. The future feels uncertain. We certainly had a chaotic and eventful start to the year. 

In my memory, 2016 felt a lot simpler. And it is no surprise that people are gravitating towards a time that was more predictable. 

It was pre-pandemic, pre-AI, and social media was way more carefree. Everyone was trying to capture the moment, and no one was trying to curate the perfect shot that fits our feed aesthetic and guarantees virality.  

And that’s the paradox of nostalgia. We do not want to actually go back 10 years, but we miss our blurred version of it. 

Because the truth is, it is not possible to recreate the 2016 we all wanted. Adding that rose filter onto your photos and looping your 2016 playlist isn’t going to bring back the cultural trends we are all reminiscing about. The world has changed a lot in the past 10 years, and so have we. 

But maybe that’s not the point. 

The “2026 is the new 2016” trend isn’t just a passing internet joke. It’s a reflection of something deeper, a collective emotional response to the instability, uncertainty and pressure of modern life. It’s a way to reach for a past version of life that felt more comfortable. With all the rapid development around us, reflecting on the past serves as a coping mechanism to keep us grounded in the real world.  

Perhaps nostalgia was more about survival than memory. 

And maybe in ten years, we will reminisce about the AI-generated videos, the rise of petrol prices, and strangely find comfort in all of that again. 

Stella is a third-year Commerce and Media student who always has her AirPods on, either listening to music or a new unsolved murder podcast.