In the new year 2026, a decade has passed since our hypereuphoric era of 2016. The early 2010s trends of bright neon typography, Snapchat filters, and Vine still in existence feels like ancient relics of another lifetime. Although Gen Z remembers this time fondly, it often feels like a secondhand story told by millennials (it was their peak optimism of possibility, not ours). It felt like we never fully got to inherit the same hopeful feeling as millennials did before everything changed. So what even happened in 2016? And why does this year in particular feel so intensely personal?
How 2026 Personally Mirrors 2016
2016 had its crimes and tragedies, but culturally, it was rebellious, loud, and saturated with expression. Today, as nostalgia for that same expression surges, it feels more like a coping mechanism for 2016’s peak expansion socially, digitally, and emotionally. For instance, music in 2016 wasn’t just popular, it was immersive EDM-adjacent pop that boomed in every shopping mall center. I think it is arguably the last full year of mainstream music and media feeling communal, before the internet fractured into an algorithm-driven content powerhouse. I specifically remember a day where Pokémon Go had people literally outside and communally playing in public parks. It indicated how 2016 memes was a mask for people to collectively process the tension and the state of the world through humor and cultural absurdity.
The tension lies within the 2016 U.S. presidential election with Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton, reshaping global discourse and altering the emotional atmosphere—sound familiar?. But for Gen Z, this marks where many of whom were just becoming politically aware, and it emphasized the beginning of instability in the world. This perception alters the cultural tone of 2016, to something more fully accurate in today’s standards of 2026.Â
So, is Gen Z Really recreating 2016 to cope?Â
My answer: Yes, because that’s what humans do. Just as we had romanticized the 70s and 80s in the early 2000s, these psychological returns move in a cycle. 2016 was the emotional hinge between two cultural eras. It was the last year many people remember feeling culturally saturated before the weight of politics settled in and exploded, much like today. But it isn’t like the world ended in 2016. We stand here, in 2026, a decade later, still yearning for the same optimism, because if we believe that history truly moves in patterns, then we know that contraction will eventually become expansion. And maybe that’s why we long for 2016 so much, we’re waiting for the next euphoric era to be freed.
After 2016 came rising political tensions, a global pandemic, and economic instability. Historically, periods of bright consumer culture and expressive freedom often precede downturns. But Millennials remember the hope of 2016 where they had pre-pandemic, digitally expressive, and socially alive media. Meanwhile, Gen Z went straight to learning about social media as misinformation and burnout before learning about stability. The difference is psychological inheritance. This nostalgia for Gen Z isn’t really about the year itself, but rather about who everyone was in that year. 2016 feels aspirational, a golden age we glimpse through in old Instagram screenshots and “2016-core” playlists. Yes 2016 wasn’t perfect, but when economic or social pressure builds, culture responds with maximalism. We are now living in a reflective and anxious era that makes the chaos of 2016 feel close and far away at the same time.Â
