Of Adidas Superstars, Weightlifting Fairies, and a Little Less Existential Dread

It’s been less than two weeks into 2026 and many peers have started it on a retrospective note, rehashing what life once was 10 years ago. Some experts claim that trends experience a resurgence at a quickened pace in today’s algorithmic world, so 2016 making a comeback isn’t only timely—it’s expected.

Compared to the “nonchalant” photo dumps of today, Instagram users of 2016 prided themselves on hyper-curated flatlays painted in sepia tones. A cup of coffee here, a laptop keyboard there, an inspirational quote written somewhere, and a croissant in the middle, because why not? It was literally looking at life through rose-colored sunglasses.

2016 was also a year of bops. We had Fifth Harmony making an introduction, Britney Spears making a reintroduction, and Beyoncé just being quintessentially Queen B. This was also a time when BTS and Blackpink were considered the rookies of K-pop, as implausible as it now seems. I sometimes find it hard to believe that Ariana Grande—once a "Dangerous Woman"—is now also known as Glinda the Good (and I love both equally, I must caveat).

And then comes the #OOTDs. Every girl (and gay) was obsessed with chokers and off-shoulder tops. Skinny jeans were tucked into knee-high boots, and three stripes were everywhere as Adidas’ Superstars reigned as the kicks du jour. If you owned an embroidered Sukajan silk jacket, you were on top of the societal pyramid. No questions asked.

Looking back, 2016 was set out to be a pivotal year for people my age. I was at the tail-end of high school, reviewing for college entrance exams and making the most of my youth (whatever that meant). Fictional teenagers like Glee's Rachel Berry or Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok-joo became templates, in a way, and fueled a lot of the main character syndrome that seeped into my 20s. For the most part, I look back on this time fondly, even if for some reason, I feel like I shouldn’t.

2016 was a hard time, if you think about it. I distinctly remember plenty of Facebook statuses and tweets that exclaimed “Tama ka na, 2016!” for a variety of reasons. In hindsight, there were definitely instances that made me wish 2016 never happened, or at least didn’t unfold the way it did.

At the time, there was a lot of political unease with the shocking elections of Donald Trump in the United States and Rodrigo Duterte here in the Philippines. Health scares popped up virtually every week, which could seem like precursors to the pandemic only four years later. On top of these, a number of cultural icons passed, such as David Bowie, Prince, and Carrie Fisher, to name a few.

For a lot of people, 2016 was a “bad” year. It was a year that made crises feel normal.

Tragedy became a norm, which numbed people and reshaped their perceptions for the worse. For impressionable minds such as my 17-year-old self at the time, it made the world feel like there wasn’t much for the taking anymore.

Ten years later, and it may seem like the nostalgia for 2016 is a bit misplaced. One can question why longing persists for a time that wasn’t always “on fleek.” Collective memory seems to disregard the traumas in favor of the pastels and filters that linger on a surface level.

Yes, 2016 was not the best of times, but I could argue that it wasn’t the worst of it either. In my perspective, it prompted a series of challenging years that, comparatively, makes 2016 not look too bad. In a way, it molded and prepared us for what would eventually be considered as a recession period. Sounds bleak, but it only speaks to how we cope with the hurdles of the present.

Clay Routledge, a psychologist who’s studied the mechanisms of nostalgia, says "we tend to be especially nostalgic when the world feels like it's going through some major change.”

The young, wild, and free of 2016 are now the workforce of 2026, and coming of age in rather arduous times has made us see the past with more affection. If people were using the dog filter on Snapchat 10 years ago, they’re now using Meta AI to add canines to their photos. It’s the same technology that could potentially take over their jobs. Things were literally simpler back then. The threats to survival were farther.

"When generations are going through this kind of upheaval or challenge, they tend to look back to their youth for comfort and for inspiration, for guidance," Clay adds.

As one gets older, it’s expected of them to lose their wide-eyed view of the world. We’re stripped of our rose-tinted glasses as reality settles in. And when reality gets too close for comfort, we retreat to our digitized memories of how much easier life was 10 years ago.

And this, perhaps, showcases why the nostalgia for a “bad” year like 2016 persists: Not because it was a perfect time, but because it primed a generation for what was ahead of them. On the surface, it was all about Kylie Lip Kits and #squadgoals. But beneath that was a period of self-discovery—of learning how to stand on one’s two feet in the face of disasters. Nostalgia kicks in when we need it, and coming into 2026, maybe it’s telling us to keep our heads high.

Maybe it’s telling us that even when the worst of times arrive, it, too, shall pass.