The whimsy of Y2K and all its associated context seems to be scratching an itch for our generation. More than just a yearning for tacky fashion, our nostalgia may be an attempt to restore the youth to our increasingly soulless society.

The revolutionary, whimsical Y2K — also known as The Year 2000. Not only the turn of the millennium and the time of birth for many of us but also the cause of widespread panic for computer programmers, who feared calendar data would not be able to handle the novel coding of ‘2000,’ thus creating the ‘Y2K Problem.’ Computer programming, however, was not the only early-2000s problem — we can’t forget about 9/11, stock market crashes, the Iraq War, and more. And yet, as barely conscious beings at this point, all appeared well for us. While world events rumbled in the periphery, we were enraptured in Scholastic Bookfairs, Trix yogurt cups, the D.S. chat feature, and Hello Kitty everything. 

Herein lies the magical dreamworld of youth and denim suits that we have not quickly forgotten. Low-rise denim jeans and trucker hats are making a resurgence, and aughts-inspired pop punk is on the rebound. The Jonas Brothers are back together, and Paris Hilton is now a chef. Now, is this style making a comeback because we actually find the tackiness of the 2000s to be worthwhile? Not likely. 

It appears we may be experiencing a bout of nostalgia — longing for the feelings associated with the time. “Nostalgiacore” has permeated online spaces with content full of oddly specific yet ubiquitously recognizable images — from slideshows of Mr. Sketch “Smelly” markers and Kid Cuisines to videos captioned “POV: you’re in third grade, and it’s the last day of school before winter break.” We are stopped in our tracks because a once latent part of ourselves has now been awakened: our inner child. We are also instilled with solemn awareness that that part of us is now gone.

Nostalgia was originally described by a 17th-century Swiss doctor as a “neurological disease of essentially demonic cause” because, sometimes, it can be a painful and even distressing experience marked by grief. We grieve the excitability of what we would now consider mundane. We grieve the naivety of the less savory parts of the human experience. We grieve the courageous minds of children so brazenly present, unaffected by the anxiety of what’s been or fear of what’s to come. 

Our generation didn’t invent this. Talk of “the good old days” has occurred for decades. The 20-year rule describing how fashion trends and popular culture cycle every twenty years has been long established. And funnily enough, our reminiscence of these times is often through rose-colored lenses that romanticize the difficult historical context of the past. How else are we expected to cope with the ever-heightening stakes of existence, especially when our generation is feeling the heat?

Adulthood in our postmodern, capitalistic society is no picnic. It conditions us away from the present, teaching us to define ourselves by our past and attempt full control over our future. Threats of apocalypse — pandemics, war, climate change, and artificial intelligence — keep us vigilant and untrusting. Inequality and bigotry, despite all the progress we’ve made, still run rampant. Our increasingly virtual reality doesn’t satisfy the sensational grittiness we experienced with our bare feet in grass and our lungs full of evening barbecue aroma. Being an adult now also means suffering an overload of media, information, knowledge, opinions, news, ideas, work, waste, things. We are overwhelmed by complexity as adults, so we yearn for the simplicity of our youth.

Sadly, youthfulness has no place in our work-dominated society. Our world, where productivity trumps all, has sustained skewed priorities. What was once the joy, leisure, and creativity of a child becomes the efficiency, professionalism, and submission of a worker. That zest for life is no longer nurtured, leaving us jaded and resigned to the forces around us. This process — written off as “growing up” — is often subliminal, beyond our conscious awareness. When we see some niche photo of that coveted parachute from gym class or Paris Hilton’s infamous “Stop Being Poor [Desperate]” shirt, it grazes that dormant part of us that we eventually did away with to survive “the real world.” 

Luckily, nostalgia is a double-edged sword. Yes, we must confront the despair and grief of realizing what is no longer, but reflection can offer an emotional reprieve from present circumstances and help us identify and restore what we have lost. Our candid generation can question the integrity and value of society’s priorities. Why must we forsake our lightheartedness for seriousness? Reports of mental health struggles have been the highest they’ve ever been. We are looking for a light in the murky waters of modernity, and dusting off that inner child might be our beacon.

So, no, the Juicy Couture sweatsuits and trucker hats of Y2K may not be our most fashionable revival, but our nostalgia for its child-like eccentricity may offer us the comfort and courage needed to rebel against soulless society for the better.