G'day legends,
If you've been online this week, you've seen it: everyone's suddenly obsessed with 2016. TikTok searches for "2016" are up 452%. Zara Larsson's "Lush Life" is back in the charts. Twenty-somethings are posting hyper-saturated throwbacks with "#2026isthenew2016" like they've discovered fire.
But here's what they're really mourning: 2016 was the last year before everything broke.
Think about it. In 2016, Instagram was still just photos. You could scroll Facebook without wanting to throw your phone in the bin. People took holidays without filming them. The internet felt like a tool, not a boss.
We called it "digital innocence" back then, though we didn't know it at the time.
The Last Normal Year
2016 in Australia was pure nostalgia gold. Pokemon Go had half of Sydney walking around Circular Quay catching Pidgeys. The Chainsmokers were everywhere (sorry). Your Instagram feed was sunrise coffees and avocado toast, not sponsored posts about crypto supplements.
It was simpler. Not perfect, just simpler.
And now everyone under 25 is discovering that maybe, just maybe, we had something figured out back then that we've since lost.
Meanwhile, In 2026 Australia
Speaking of things we've lost: try explaining 2026 prices to your parents in 1998 terms.
"Wait, a pie costs how much now?"
Your dad bought the family home for $89,000. Petrol was 80 cents a litre. Movie tickets were eight bucks. And now we're here, with the RBA hiking rates to 3.85% while 1.3 million households are in mortgage stress.
The gap between then and now isn't just inflation, it's a different economic reality entirely. Your parents' Australia and your Australia might as well be different countries.
What We're Really Missing
Here's the thing about nostalgia that most people miss: it's not actually about the past. It's about possibility.
When we look back at 2016 (or 1998, or 1986), we're not just remembering what was. We're remembering when change felt manageable. When the future felt like an upgrade, not a threat.
That's why the "2016 trend" is hitting so hard. For a brief moment, we're remembering what it felt like to believe tomorrow would be better than today.
The Creative's Dilemma
As someone who makes things for a living, this nostalgia wave is fascinating and frustrating in equal measure.
On one hand, it's pure creative gold. Shared memory is the fastest path to connection. Give people something they recognise, and they'll tag their mates faster than you can say "remember when?"
On the other hand, it's a trap. You can build a career mining the past, but you can't build a future there.
The best creative work isn't nostalgic, it's anticipatory. It doesn't just remind you of what was good; it shows you what could be good again.
Three Things I'm Thinking About
Brand closures hurt differently now. Sass & Bide and Fletcher Jones both shut their doors this month. Not because they were bad brands, but because the retail landscape changed faster than they could adapt. There's something deeply melancholy about watching institutions that defined entire generations just... disappear.
Digital detox isn't enough anymore. The solution to online overwhelm isn't less screen time, it's better screen time. Curated feeds. Intentional consumption. Using the tools instead of being used by them.
Nostalgia as resistance. Maybe all this 2016 posting isn't just trend-chasing. Maybe it's a form of cultural resistance, a way of saying "this is what we want back."
The Point
Look, I'm not saying 2016 was perfect. Social media was already rewiring our brains. The housing market was already cooked. The signs were there.
But there's something to be said for the pace of life back then. For digital tools that still felt like tools. For a culture that hadn't yet optimised the soul out of everything.
The trick isn't going backward, it's carrying the best parts forward.
What are you nostalgic for? Hit reply and tell me. I read every one.
Stay grounded,
Sam
P.S. If you're reading this on your phone while walking, stop and look around for thirty seconds. Call it a 2016 moment.
Share this with someone who remembers when the internet was fun.