The nostalgia industry
Why the increasing commodification of nostalgia is politically dangerous, especially now.

Directed by Woody Allen and set in Paris, the 2011 film Midnight in Paris follows a writer named Gil as he travels back in time through a series of surrealist moments. Subconsciously dissatisfied with how modernity has affected art and his relationships, the seemingly plotless film is sprinkled with moments of surrealism as Gil travels back in time to 1920’s Paris. 

Dancing in dimly-lit Parisian nightclubs with the literary greats of the time, sipping coffee with Hemingway, and discussing art with Salvador Dali are just a few of the activities that push Gil to realize what he’s missing in his real life and relationship. 

Nostalgia has always decorated the human experience: we are a species uniquely aware, perhaps excruciatingly so, of the passage of time. But it’s a mistake to think that if we could simply travel back in time to an era devoid of iPhones and other technological conveniences, or that if our jobs and democracies weren’t subject to AI or the whim of billionaire decision-making, that we’d be any happier.  

A testament to the past or something more sinister: nostalgia and politics

Gil realizes the timelessness and inescapability—and if I’m being honest, the foolishness—of nostalgia. As he slips in and out of aimless conversations with the eccentric personalities he meets, he sees that the people of the 1920s mirror the same dissatisfaction and cultural stifling that he feels. They yearn for the 1890s, just like how our parents in the ’90s yearned for the ’60s. And I don’t know about you, but the ’90s and early ’00s sound fucking fantastic to me. 

The nostalgia industry is a term I give to the emphasis and effort our modern society places into culturally reproducing the past. The marketing motto of this industry promises that consuming its goods will elicit a “feeling” of the past that we were robbed of, a sense of comfort based on shared experience. In River Quintana’s essay The Cult of Yesterday, the author claims that, “capitalism, it seems, can’t let go of the past. Like a necromance, it reanimates the corpses of bygone trends, ideologies, and aesthetics.” 

The use of nostalgia as a tool to drive consumption is not simply limited to commodities to be held, worn, or watched. Our ache for the past creeps into the arena of politics, and politicians exploit nostalgic desires of the masses to idealize a nation by constantly referencing the country’s “prime.” 

What instantly comes to mind is Donald Trump’s infamous slogan “Make America Great Again,” or “Let’s Take Back Control,” a motto which draws on right-wing sentimentalities of a period in western Europe before the region was “overtaken” by immigrants, particularly from Muslim countries. Nostalgia is not so innocent in politics: in my humble opinion, it’s no surprise that manufactured consent and the demand for the past converges with the rise of right-wing extremism and conservatism, especially among, but not limited to, youth. 

This yearning motivates our political chants and trends, and stems from using immigrants as scapegoats for governmental or institutional failures. For people that are even slightly aware of history, this political abuse of nostalgia is fostered through an anti-revisionist and biased narrative of history. 

Sure, these chants and right-wing ideologies refer to a glorified past that did exist, but for whom did they exist? When Trump promises to make America great again, he’s referring to an era in American history where dominant narratives and the status quo clearly and unequivocally served the ruling class (not that this still isn’t true); a time where the access to any type of autonomy and power was something marginalized people could only dream of.

These are still aspects of the status quo we struggle with today, but it’s clear from my end that rising class consciousness hurts the fragile echo chamber of right-wing radicals by critiquing how the ruling class profits from turning a blind eye to the world they risk destroying. 

Disenchantment and political imagination: a way forward?

The usage of nostalgia to fuel right-wing populist thinking and propaganda has been all over the news, and has left people divided, confused, and disillusioned. With more disillusionment comes more nostalgia. 

But what about us? 

Why are we (myself included) susceptible to this type of nostalgia, which clearly doesn’t serve me beyond the slight respite in dread I feel? I draw from personal experiences and the slew of Instagram comments I stay up reading all night when I say that regressing back to the past, at least for Gen Z, is a coping mechanism to deal with the state of the current world. The vision nostalgia serves isn’t real, but the world it aims to distract us from is: and that world, whether like it or not, will shape our future. Nostalgia’s sinister power lies in the fact that, in consuming and regurgitating the past, we forget that the present shapes the future. 

The failures of our political leaders, the loss of community we experience when our lives transition into the digital, and the current information diet of constant climate emergencies, genocidal happenings, and systemic abuses of power have caught up to me. How do I grieve all this, and more importantly, glean a path forward for myself in an ever-complex and uncertain world? Nostalgia seems the only option for any sense of warmth, closure, and certainty. 

If enough people commit to this fallacy disguised as a harmless interest in the past’s aesthetics, ideologies, and activities, what happens to the present and future? By embracing and leaning into the nostalgia industry, not only are we giving more steam to the engine but, in the process, we are also stifling the power of political imagination to shape the world we want to live in.   

I have no major solutions here. However, I think that, as young people, we can’t fall victim to nostalgia’s allure, especially in the political sense. Building resistance against the doomerism that nostalgia—and increasingly, our leaders—capitalize upon is not an easy feat, but I think it starts with realizing that wielding our political power comes in many forms; not just voting for elections. 

I try to be politically active, but it doesn’t look like what you’d expect. I don’t enthusiastically head to the polls every time an election comes along. I teach myself about the world, invest in local initiatives and movements, and support my local libraries, businesses, and independent newspapers. I join causes that are dear to me, such as the Spring, which puts socialist ideas into practice in the Greater Hamilton and Toronto Area. My feeling of power comes from the fact that I build my future, something that nostalgia can’t easily steal.

There’s a quote from Midnight in Paris that I love, and perhaps it can help us when thinking about how we can work towards a better future: “the artist’s job is not to succumb to despair, but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.”