Representing reality: The risks and rewards of nostalgia

For a generation raised online, the future is starting to look a lot like the past. VHS filters, Y2K aesthetics, retro football kits, and lo-fi camcorder cuts are cropping up everywhere, from TikTok trends to luxury catwalks.

At first glance, it looks like the trend cycle is looping back on itself. But look closer and it’s clear: this isn’t just style. It’s strategy.

Nostalgia’s just a comfort blanket, it adds to the noise and shelters us from what we should be paying attention to. 

Nostalgia is fast becoming one of the defining creative tools for 2025, with brands leaning heavily on its emotional resonance. We’ve seen it before: in moments of uncertainty and dissatisfaction, people reach for things that ground them.

Fatigue from digital noise and endless trend cycles has left space for familiarity to thrive. Along with AI-generation stopping perfection from feeling exceptional, the analogue, the imperfect, and the emotionally familiar are punching harder than ever. 

Above: McDonald’s revival of McDonaldland has been praised for its energy before it's even launched, modernising a world it already owns.

With global conflict no more than a few scrolls away, it’s not hard to see why nostalgia has taken off. In the early 2000s, the internet felt wilder; more mess, less algorithm. That kind of freedom is easy to romanticise, especially with laws like the UK’s Online Safety Act tightening its grip on digital censorship. The rose-tinted veneer of simpler times feels like a safe escape from the trials and tribulations of reality. But nostalgia’s just a comfort blanket, it adds to the noise and shelters us from what we should be paying attention to. 

Once significant and purposeful subcultures are pillaged, stripped back to their shell with their edges smoothed off, losing the intent that made them matter in the first place. 

Effective nostalgia is more than a trip down memory lane. It can be a creative playground for brands to root their identity in something meaningful or progressive. Martine Rose finds inspiration in the 80s UK rave scene, crafting a brand which functions as a revival of underground liberation. Analogue reimagine gaming consoles of the past with modern online functionality, breathing new life into the classics. These are more than throwbacks; they are launchpads into new worlds and experiences, carefully curated to align with brand strategy.

Above: Burberry’s shift back to its British core feels earned as it’s lived across their visual identity, advertising, content, and partnerships. 

But nostalgia can also backfire. By treating it as a costume – pulling a reference from the archives, slapping on a grainy filter and calling it a day, nothing constructive is produced. Once significant and purposeful subcultures are pillaged, stripped back to their shell with their edges smoothed off, losing the intent that made them matter in the first place. 

Without adding any value to the culture nostalgia steals from, the homage swallows the original.

Kylie Jenner parroting Claudia Schiffer for Kylie Cosmetics, Heavn by Marc Jacobs rehashing the Thirteen poster - all pose with no point (Heavn’s questionable decision to cast adults as teenagers is a separate can of worms). Without adding any value to the culture nostalgia steals from, the homage swallows the original. No different to AI slop, nostalgia becomes a simulacra - a representation that functions as a quick dopamine hit for younger audiences who weren’t even around to experience the moment first-hand.  

Above: Arsenal and adidas’ 25/26 third kit, which redesigns their ’08/’09 away kit, evokes a sense of nostalgia amplified by pride. 

AI-driven nostalgia is even more dangerous, showing up as a playful tool and a loaded weapon all at once. Studio Ghibli and action figure filters allowed for a seemingly harmless means of escapism. All the while, The White House and ICE used those same filters to push anti-immigrant propaganda. It works because AI can tap into a shared emotional frequency – uncanny, but effective – which is exactly why brands need to tread carefully.

AI-driven nostalgia is even more dangerous, showing up as a playful tool and a loaded weapon all at once.

Brands getting it right link their heritage to a cultural memory and then push it somewhere new, not by jumping on whatever the most popular trend is. McDonald’s revival of McDonaldland has been praised for its energy before it's even launched, modernising a world it already owns. Burberry’s shift back to its British core feels earned as it’s lived across their visual identity, advertising, content, and partnerships. 

Arsenal and adidas’ 25/26 third kit redesigns their ’08/’09 away kit, which itself was an ode to Highbury’s marble corridors - nostalgia amplified by local pride. Corteiz teaming with Boy Better Know for their 20th anniversary reignited memories of watching SBTV freestyles through my Blackberry on the back of the bus. This is nostalgia as a bridge, a committed link to the past that adds, not subtracts.