Is it any coincidence that physical media is making a comeback?
I’m talking everything from print to vinyl to Polaroid cameras.
Some will argue nostalgia is playing a role. I’d argue we’re exhausted.
Exhausted by convenience. Exhausted by unlimited access. Exhausted by endless choice.
And apparently, I’m not the only one feeling it.
“Slow living” has become a legitimate cultural movement. Across social media, countless posts celebrate slower routines, home cooking, analogue hobbies, and intentional disconnection.
And yes, the irony isn’t lost on me.
We’re using the very technology exhausting us to learn how to escape it.
But digital fatigue is real. Constant notifications, endless access, and screen saturation have made unplugging feel less like an inconvenience and more like a luxury.
While trends like this take time to build momentum, I’ve been noticing the shift in my own circle for years. People are slowing down. Looking for and prioritizing real experiences.
Maybe analogue isn’t making a comeback because we’re nostalgic for the past.
Maybe we’re exhausted by the present.
Look around and you can see versions of this everywhere.
In hospitality, listening bars, phone free restaurants, social clubs, and communal dining are putting human connection back on the menu.
In fitness, run clubs, ruck clubs, community bathhouses, and races are making the workout almost secondary to who you’re doing it with.
Instant film is finding another generation of consumers. Dating apps are wrestling with declining engagement. And wouldn’t you know it, Gen Z is now drinking.
Yes, ma’am.
Recent data suggests 74% of legal drinking age Gen Zers now consume alcohol, up from 66% three years earlier. For perspective, the national average across the entire legal drinking age population is 76%.
So despite the early headlines and all the virtue signaling around an entire generation going sober, my thesis remains unchanged. These Little Fockers are just getting older and embracing the same social lubricant humans have relied on since the dawn of time.
Maybe analogue isn’t the only thing making a comeback.
Maybe human connection is too.
Maybe we’re simply looking for more reasons to actually be together.
The first time I experienced analogue with intention was about five years ago in Pittsburgh, PA, at a Jack White concert.
I happened to be in town on business and noticed Jack White was playing at the university. Without hesitation, my partner jumped on a plane and joined me for an extended weekend in The Steel City.
When we arrived at the venue, we were met with measured resistance. All concertgoers were greeted with a bag and forced to place their devices inside, where they would remain locked until the end of the show.
Weird, but okay.
We made our way to our seats, found home base, and evaluated our view.
Imagine this. Engaging with one another while sharing in the anticipation over two tall boy PBRs. No empty stage selfies. No scrolling to pass the time. Just two humans experiencing life in tandem.
And then it happened …
The show began.
I’m willing to bet she would agree. The first 30 minutes felt awkward.
We were so used to reaching for that intimacy killer. Hardwired into our personal software was the need to catch the perfect video just to prove we were there.
The end result? We were forced to endure the actual performance.
And that show reattached us to something we may have taken for granted. The experience itself. The music and artistry, courtesy of the one and only Jack White.
The 27-song setlist extended well past three hours. He played tracks spanning his entire catalogue, including his recent solo efforts and classics from The White Stripes. We also got well known singles from his side projects, The Dead Weather and The Raconteurs, along with covers of Mazzy Star and U2.
For us, music is our thing. We see a ton of live music together, probably 10 to 20 shows per year if I had to guess. And despite how strange it felt at first, to this day that evening stands as one of the best experiences we’ve shared together.
And there isn’t a video or picture to prove we were there.
(I wonder if it even happened …)
Maybe analogue isn’t simply a format anymore.
Maybe analogue is becoming the experience.
Real experiences, especially in person experiences, require a certain level of friction.
And I’m beginning to think that’s the point.
Friction creates anticipation. It flirts with patience. It delays gratification. It isn’t something we can pause, record, replay, photograph, order, stream, or swipe our way through.
Instead, it requires us to be fully present.
Maybe that’s what we’re craving.
Presence and belonging. Rituals and nostalgia. Tangible things that carry meaning.
Less noise. More connection.
For decades, technology has been relentlessly removing friction from our lives. On demand. One click. Same day. Everything, everywhere, all the time.
Convenience has its place. But so do moments.
Maybe we’ve removed so much friction that we’ve accidentally removed some of the experience and the anticipation that comes with it.
Maybe analogue isn’t really the movement. Maybe it’s the metaphor.
Analogue isn’t exactly a rejection of technology. It’s the deliberate reintroduction of experience.
Or maybe it’s simply a visceral response to feeling disconnected.
Maybe we’re not trying to go backward.
Maybe we’re just trying to feel something again.
Brandon Cullen
In search of life’s [im]perfect soundtrack ...