Humans have a desire, concealed by daily routines and eclipsed by the pressure of the future, to revitalize a past version of ourselves. Nostalgia fills tedious ceremonies like graduation with verbose speeches tangled in youth ful memories. While listening to these speeches, I cannot prevent nostalgia from seeping through my own memories and controlling my mind.
Many moments possess an innocence I can never retrieve again: the first day of Kindergarten, filled with such excitement that I tripped on the sidewalk and knocked out my two front teeth; my first communion, when I never doubted the words of adults; and the first time I received a bad grade, when I naively presumed that it would be the last time I would disappoint myself. These experiences extend beyond myself and to society in general. Looking back prevents us from moving forward.
Nostalgia propels society, particularly pop culture, through its irresistible grip on its audience. Released twenty years after the premiere of its predecessor, The Devil Wears Prada sequel epitomizes a nostalgia-based campaign. The casting of the original actors further suggests the movie would be nearly the same as the last, a piece of the past embedded in the future.
Specific to our community, nostalgia feeds off of tradition and infects our attendance of events. The front-page article on the May 15 edition of The Milton Measure noted that 162 Milton Academy juniors and 62 guests attended Boat Dance. Yet, the Student Activities Association and other clubs struggle to gain traction for newer events. Movie nights, kimchi making, and craft bars lack the same “fear of missing out” aspect as annual traditions.
Every Tuesday and Thursday, we all receive a flood of club emails to our inbox, each message more “clickbaity” than the last. Programming Club Head Felix Stuart ’27 even resorted to a cringeworthy pickup line—“Because every time I see you, I forget everything that came before. Come learn how Quants print money in AMC 006 with Programming Club!”—as an inorganic means to motivate members to attend meetings. Attending an event simply because of its future reminiscent ability undermines small, “insignificant” events that may have a greater impact.
Overwhelmed by nostalgia’s omnipresence, I discussed its role with some friends. International student Nini Lu ’29 observed that DoorDashing her “favorite food, Biang biang noodles,” quenched her longing for her cultural food and “seeing old friends at away games” quenched her homesickness; but these replacements will never be the same as living at home.
However, these experiences could pass as a part of growing up instead of pure nostalgia, so I searched for a younger interviewee. Annabel Fleiss ’34 stated that, especially after switching schools, she frequently missed her teachers. When questioned how this feeling affects her, she shrugged and said, “Missing them isn’t a productive path forward. I just miss them!” I found it difficult to find fault with her argument. It is so simple to waste time reminiscing on people, food, experiences—memories of things we once had and no longer do.
Not until my final interview did I find a resolution. Figure skating international medalist and four-time national team qualifier Hitonari Tani ’29 told me that his athletic career had plateaued recently. He craved the “feeling of joy after giving a good performance,” but his reminiscence hindered his ability to progress. He found success by reframing the past not as something to mourn, but as motivation “to work harder, reward[ing] [his] future self.”
Society pressures us to progress, yet in our communities, we regress to the indulgence of nostalgia. Whether its trap appears in pop culture marketing or event attendance, nostalgia presents itself as a charming advertisement, innocent but inescapable. We should take the risk of visiting the past only if we are continuing to move forward.