Why Gen Z Can’t Stop Romanticising the ‘90s?

In thrift shops, Instagram filters, and even Spotify playlists, something surprising is happening: Gen Z is falling in love with the 1990s. Despite being born after the decade ended, they’re reclaiming its aesthetics, fashion, and media like it’s a personal inheritance. Baggy jeans are back. So are disposable cameras and cassette tapes. Despite a flood of new TV shows, Friends re-runs are still going strong. But why are people who never lived the ‘90s so deeply drawn to it?

The answer lies in more than just vintage vibes and aesthetics. The ‘90s symbolize a time when technology existed, but did not dominate life. Though social media platforms were designed to help people stay connected with each other, they now thrive on doomscrolling algorithms that keep the users hooked to content, not people. The dopamine loops are developed in a way that create a constant need to be “online.” And our “5-minute breaks” almost always turn into hours of endless scrolling. And for many, social media detox is unthinkable because it feels like erasing their identities.

But think about the ‘90s when people relied on landline phones and handwritten letters to stay connected. There was no worry about missing updates, trends, or events. There was no pressure to curate the proof of “a perfect life” on social media through Instagram posts, reels, stories and WhatsApp status. In the past, time away from phones never felt like deprivation. Most importantly, when phones were wired, relationships were real.

How are people responding to digital overload in a hyperconnected world? Well, one unexpected way is by bringing back “dumb phones.” Dumb phones (feature phones) are basic mobile phones that focus on necessary functions such as calling and texting, no social applications or high-end cameras, but the longer battery life will make up for it. In an era of advanced smartphones, surprisingly, dumb phones are gaining significant popularity. What’s even more striking is that, it’s not the old but the young who are bringing them back. For them, returning to simpler technology isn’t a step backwards, but a conscious effort towards freedom from constant notifications, instant updates and anxiety due to the fear of missing out. It’s about slowing down in a world that moves too fast.

The same shift can be seen with photography. Many would agree that when our phone captures thousands of images, our old cameras captured memories. With film, you had only 24 or 36 shots, and like my Amma would say “every click was precious a memory you do not want to forget.” And the wait for film photos to be developed made seeing them even more exciting. But smartphone users have developed a tendency to take dozens of photos just to get the “perfect shot,” but in doing so, the joy of capturing a single, unrepeatable moment often gets lost. Also, unlimited storage and instant results dilute the sense of value and often makes each photo feel less special. Thousands of pictures pile up, and most are never revisited and many are forgotten. Yes, I scroll through my phone’s gallery at least once every month, but the happiness from flipping through the pages of photo albums feels real.

It should not be a surprise, then, that disposable cameras and polaroids are making a comeback. People are craving the charm of imperfection, the thrill of waiting, and the joy of holding a physical memory in their hands in a world that otherwise feels increasingly instant and digital.

Despite the constant release of new shows and movies, many young people keep returning to classics or ‘90s rom-coms for relatable characters and simple humour. It’s 2025, and I still rewatch ‘Friends.’ Even music consumption reflects this shift—vinyl records, cassette tapes, and carefully curated playlists are resurging in a world dominated by auto-play. And it doesn’t stop there: parents are rejecting the fast-paced, loud, and overly stimulating cartoons designed to hold a child’s attention for short bursts, and instead are introducing their children to the cartoons they grew up with. Gen Z is slowly realising that the older cartoons, with their slower storytelling and space for wonder, nurtured patience and imagination in ways today’s hyperactive animations rarely do.

Fashion follows a similar story. Is the comeback of 90s fashion just a style choice? Hardly. We live in a world where fast-fashion manufacturers micro-trends on a weekly basis, making yesterday’s styles feel obsolete even before we’ve worn them twice. In wearing the 90s, young people aren’t just dressing differently, they’re rejecting the idea that identity should be mass-produced. Thrifting, upcycling, and reviving old wardrobes give clothes a second life, making fashion personal again instead of dictated by the trend-driven fast fashion industry. Gen Z is gradually realising that individuality, and memory matter more than fleeting trends.

For Gen Z, the 90s represent a cultural escape, a way to disconnect from the overstimulated, hyper-digital chaos they were born into. A symbolic refuge from the noise in a world flooded with data and notifications. By romanticizing the 90s, they’re constructing a world that feels more meaningful. One where life slows down, where imperfection is beautiful, and where meaning lasts longer.