Remembering 2016

I am a victim of 2016. Ten years have passed, and yet, a big part of me still wishes I could crawl back into that year, like it was a secret club everyone else somehow knew the password to.

Fidget spinners spun endlessly, Pokémon GO sent millions wandering the streets and parks, the TikTok Mannequin Challenge froze entire classrooms mid-motion, and dabbing invaded every corner of our feeds. Bottle flips became a serious sport in school playgrounds, prime-team Portugal lifted the EURO trophy, Clash Royale made its first appearance, and Moana’s ‘How Far I’ll Go’ played endlessly in every cinema and bedroom. The off-the-shoulder Tumblr girl aesthetic flooded teenage girls’ social media accounts, the Ice Bucket Challenge made us all feel like we had a case of hypothermia, and slime…. oh slime, was sticky and somehow sacred.

The list of everything wonderful 2016 gave to us could stretch on forever, but rather than cataloguing every trend and moment, it is worth asking a much deeper and richer question. Why is our generation so desperate to cling to this so-called ‘last good year’?

Back then, the world seemed to mature at a much slower pace, allowing everyone to savour and enjoy moments rather than rush straight through them

The answer is simple: 2016 was the year the world seemed to agree on. For once, media culture felt shared rather than fragmented. Trends didn’t stay in isolated corners of the internet: they spread everywhere, uniting millions in the same jokes, challenges, and moments. But why, in 2026, when we have even more jokes, even more trends, and even more viral moments than ever, does it not feel nearly as alive as 2016? It is because today, we technically have TOO much media culture.

This might sound completely absurd, but when we think about how much information is being circulated on social media daily, it means a meme can be born in the morning, remixed by lunch, and completely dead by dinner. Blink, and you have missed it. Compare this to 2016, when a single joke or trend could survive for months, evolving slowly. Back then, you did not need to ask, “Have you seen this?” while showing a video on your phone, you already knew the answer was yes.

Back then, the world seemed to mature at a much slower pace, allowing everyone to savour and enjoy moments rather than rush straight through them. The collective energy of 2016 was truly rare, explaining why so many people still recall that year with such vivid clarity.

Moving away from 2016, what does this nostalgia reveal about our present relationship with the world we inhabit? When an entire generation grips so intensely to a single year, it signals a deeper dissatisfaction with the cultural moment we are living in now. Nostalgia cannot emerge without a sense of loss. What exactly we have lost is a question that could be answered differently by everyone. For me, I would boldly argue that our sense of togetherness as a global community has declined. This loss is visible in every aspect of our world. In increasingly polarised politics, in the way online interactions have replaced face-to-face connection, surges in war and conflict, and in how younger generations are forced to mature faster than ever before.

Our nostalgia for 2016 is not just sentimental: it is a blatant response to a world that feels more divided and more rushed than ever before

As mentioned previously, when culture is constantly thrown at us in overwhelming amounts, there is little room for collective experience. Instead of moving together, we scatter, each person pulled in a different direction by algorithms, trends, and personalised feeds. Without shared moments, connection becomes harder to sustain. In that sense, our nostalgia for 2016 is not just sentimental: it is a blatant response to a world that feels more divided and more rushed than ever before.

So, should we even try to replicate another 2016?

The answer is no, we shouldn’t try; we must try. And without getting overly sentimental, the truth is this: we are humans, we crave connection, attention, and shared experience. If we become passive, docile, and indifferent to the forces of contemporary media, we risk losing the spark that fuels our entire existence. In many ways, we are already seeing the cracks. Nostalgia in every sense, not just for 2016, is the biggest wake-up call. We miss 2016 because we miss each other.

Reclaim shared moments, put down the phone, and maybe, just maybe, create the next cultural milestone that someone in our exact position will yearn for in 2036. Because if we don’t, 2016 will no longer remain a memory of what we lived, but a myth we will never be able to achieve again.