There’s something about the ’90s that feels like it was designed in a lab to haunt our collective memory. You ever notice how people talk about it? There’s this wistful tone, like it was the last great era before the world started to move too fast.
But let’s be real—it’s not because the ’90s were actually better than today. It’s because it was the last time we could look around and still feel like the world made sense.
We weren’t drowning in information yet. The internet existed, but it wasn’t this omnipotent force that knew what you wanted before you did. You had to *work* to get your content. You’d actually watch MTV for hours just to catch the new Nirvana video. You weren’t doomscrolling. You were bored—but boredom gave you something: time to think, time to daydream, time to wonder what the next year was going to bring instead of refreshing your Twitter feed to see what’s breaking this minute.
But it’s not just about the lack of tech. The ’90s represented this weird middle ground between the chaos of the Cold War ending and the terror of 9/11 starting. For about a decade, it felt like the world hit “pause” on existential dread. The economy was booming, the Berlin Wall had crumbled, and the biggest crisis we had was whether Ross and Rachel were ever going to figure it out. There was this illusion of stability—an illusion we’ve been chasing ever since.
And the culture was simpler, too. Think about the stuff we’re nostalgic for: *Friends*, *The X-Files*, *Seinfeld*. These shows were about people just…existing. No binge-watching, no interconnected cinematic universes, no “hot takes” every five minutes. You were allowed to like stuff without dissecting it to death.
Then there’s the music. Of course, we’re nostalgic for the ’90s because the ’90s was the last time rock music still felt like it *mattered*. Kurt Cobain didn’t just front a band, he was a *voice*. You felt like these musicians were somehow speaking for you—angsty, disillusioned, but still hopeful in this detached way. Now? We’ve got algorithms creating pop hits and the manufactured rebellion of TikTok trends. It’s hard to get emotionally invested in something that feels engineered to go viral.
But the real kicker (yes, I said it) is that we weren’t drowning in nostalgia *during* the ’90s. We were too busy living it. Today, we’re nostalgic for everything all the time.
The ’90s is just the last decade that got to exist without being devoured by its own self-referentiality. It’s the last place we can go where our memories haven’t been cannibalized by the cultural remix machine.
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