Nostalgia Is A Drug

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In a few days, Netflix will release Rocko’s Modern Life: Static Cling; a full-length movie from the same team that brought us the 90s cartoon.

The movie joins Fuller House, The Connors, Will And Grace, and Murphy Brown, among others, in this 90s resurgence currently dominating our culture.

90s fashion has, too, been a cultural force these past few years.

Not to mention artists like The Backstreet Boys New Kids On The Block coming back to try and recapture some of the magic they had in their heyday.

It’s not just 90s nostalgia specifically that sells - but nostalgia in general.

Quentin Tarantino’s latest film Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood is a period piece set in 1960s Los Angeles. Every song used in the film is from the era. The cars are all 60s-appropriate. The outfits are consistent with what was in style back then. The film itself is meta in that its characters struggle to accept the cultural shifts of that time, looking back fondly on what was, as opposed to what is, or what will soon be.

America’s 2016 election largely played on conservatives’ nostalgia of the “good ‘ol days,” as if 1950s muscle cars were gonna return, along with Marilyn Monroe on roller-skates bringing a tray of milkshakes to said muscle cars.

In that last example, nostalgia was weaponized to devastating affect as we’re moving backwards alright - to the darkest aspects of that time period. Turns out it wasn’t drive-in movies and hip diners that they wanted to see make a comeback, but blatant racism and sexism. Whoops.

But nostalgia in general can be a pretty dangerous substance, even when not used for political purposes.

I routinely go through bouts of depression, and if those bouts weren’t brought on by nostalgia itself - nostalgia certainly made the depression worse.

On its face, it doesn’t make sense. There’s been plenty of awesome things that have happened to me as an adult. I have autonomy. I can eat ice cream for dinner (and do!). I can spend my money any way I want, financial responsibility be damned. I don’t have a bed time. I own a phone that’s a technological miracle. One that can access the internet - another technological miracle. Um, hello, I’ve had sex. Like, actual sex. That thing I used to watch on the Spice channel late at night when my parents were asleep; or the less titillating, but still good-enough-for-teenaged-me cheesy, barely R-rated skin flicks on Cinemax after hours. I’ve lived those onscreen experiences now.

But it doesn’t beat Saturday morning cartoons. It doesn’t beat the cereal I’d eat while watching those Saturday morning cartoons (the same cereal I eat to this day because, nostalgia). It doesn’t beat going to Toys ‘R’ Us. It doesn’t beat summer camp. It doesn’t beat returning to school in the fall after summer camp and seeing all my friends again. It doesn’t beat returning to school in the fall and having it actually feel like fall. For fuck’s sake, even the weather was better back then. We were taking field trips to apple orchards and wearing sweatshirts and hoodies when we did so. Now my air conditioner stays on until mid-October.

Where I have autonomy now, I have responsibilities as well. I’m expected to be a fully-functional adult, like all the time. As a child, I didn’t have to worry about bills, finding a job, keeping that job despite hating that job, or stressing out about relationships. Life was easier when girls were yucky and had cooties - though I still had crushes on them despite knowing full well I hadn’t had my most recent cooties shot.

The shows were better. The movies were better. The albums were better. The snacks were comically unhealthier, but that’s what made them better.

I look at the era my folks grew up in - Beatlemania, free love, Woodstock. How the fuck - how can you wake up in today’s world and not feel incredibly depressed?

Oh yeah - they also had the Vietnam war, the Dr. King assassination, and watched their president get blown away on live television.

Every generation has their share of horrors and tragedies, but because we’re children, we don’t have the capacity to fully understand them. And that’s assuming our parents hadn’t completely shielded us from those atrocities to begin with.

But that innocence of childhood; that carefree, problem-free lifestyle a good number of us were fortunate enough to experience - is a high we continue to chase for the rest of our lives.

No matter what good things have happened to me in my adult life, they pale in comparison to the highs of my childhood.

Losing my virginity was cool, but you know what was cooler? Getting a Sega Genesis for my 6th birthday.

The 2019 Lion King was amazing, but you know what was more amazing? The 1994 Lion King. Sorry, Beyonce (she would agree though, I’m sure).

Even if it’s not your childhood specifically - that feeling that things were better in the past is a feeling all human beings can relate to on some level. Maybe you pine for a relationship that no longer exists. A friend, relative, or even pet that’s sadly no longer with you. Sure, you may experience emotional highs again; but they can’t compete with the rose-colored hues of the past.

There’s no remedy for nostalgia. All one can do is accept that fact, and do their best to manage it when the mood inevitably strikes. Right now, I’m not getting it done. I dwell way too much, and way too often for my own good - but hopefully in time, I’ll be able to respond to an oncoming nostalgic wave with a melancholy sigh, and a Jim Halpert smirk, before moving on with the rest of my day. It’s a best case scenario for someone who knows they’ll never truly ever get over their past.