FEATURE | NOSTALGIA
Written and illustrated by Tashi Donnelly (she/her) | @tashird | Feature Editor
At the risk of exposing myself as a blatant hypocrite, I think nostalgia is dangerous. I’ll be the first to admit that the past has a dear, and spacious part in my heart. Any of my friends could attest to the fact that I fawn over bygone times as frequently as I need to take a piss. How healthy it is to reminisce? Do we help or hinder ourselves when we fixate on the past? I can’t say for sure, but I often find myself reflecting on the very act of dwelling on the past.
Sentimental yearning has an allurement. Remembering the past allows the reconstruction of a memory. With a little reimagining, high school can be seen as carefree and full of fun, despite the reality of school stresses or social pressures. It’s not quite the same as rose-tinted glasses, nostalgia isn’t void of sorrow and loss. While nostalgia can be warm and comforting, it has an undercurrent of melancholy. At its most useful, introspection is involved. Pondering the passage of time between the past and the present. If you can embrace nostalgic mourning, you can support a sense of who you are and where you come from.
The word nostalgia derives from the Greek nostos, meaning 'return home,' and algos, meaning 'pain’ or ‘longing’. It was coined in the 17th century by Swiss physician Johannes Hofer to describe the extreme homesickness experienced by soldiers. He considered nostalgia a psychological illness. Over time, nostalgia has taken on a wider meaning. The word evolved and shifted from its medical usage to describe a more generalised sentimental yearning for the past. Although there hasn’t always been a specific word for it, the feeling of nostalgia can be identified throughout human history, in art, and culture. We don't just long for our personal past, we become fascinated by past eras we didn’t live in.
Artists throughout history have drawn on nostalgia as inspiration for their work. Many periods of art are lathed in nostalgia for a ‘better time’. Romanticism emerged as a reaction to the Industrial Revolution and the Enlightenment's emphasis on reason in the late 18th century. These artists idealised nature and rural life, which was declining as a result of mass migration to smoky cities. William Wordsworth’s shepherd in Michael lived a rich and simple life, uncorrupted by industrialisation. John Constable depicted the countryside as so tranquil you can almost taste the crisp, clean air. Artists at this time had a fascination with the pre-industrial and mediaeval past. Chivalry and Gothic themes showed a wish to regain a sense of mystery and grandeur they believed was lacking in the modern world. John Waterhouse’s tragic, ethereal women were painted into enchanted mediaeval settings. There was a deep sense of nostalgia in these artists for a time when humans were believed to live in harmony with the natural world. The current popularity of hand-crafts, foraging and pickling is evident we still feel that way. ‘Cottage-core’ is trending, and TikTok tutorials on how to make flower wreaths and darn your socks speak to a familiar human urge to reconnect with a ‘simpler’ past.
There’s something positive in the attempt to reconnect to nature. But nostalgia also functions as a method of avoiding painful emotions in the present by focusing on an idealised past. When I’ve spent a whole day working, hunched over my computer, I imagine my life would be easier if I moved to a little flower-rimmed cottage. If I spent my day tending to chickens and baking fresh bread, surely my serotonin and dopamine would skyrocket. The reality of that lifestyle isn’t as pretty as the honeysuckle-scented dream of skipping around a veggie patch wearing a linen pinafore.
I recently spent two weeks travelling around the English countryside.I felt like a character in a Jane Austen novel, rambling about the moors and picking flowers in fields of sheep, but it wasn’t all simplicity and joy. The weather is unpredictable. There’s no cell service or reliable shops. Midges are constantly trying to commit suicide in your mouth and nose. Wasps are hanging around any good-looking picnic spot. The countryside is beautiful, and worth admiration. But we have to remember that everything has a good and bad side.
Beyond the innocent yearning to quit your brain-numbing office job and live with your sourdough starter in the woods, nostalgia can easily be co-opted by larger ideological forces. Fascism has used nostalgia time and again. The mythologising of a ‘Golden Age’ fuels the fires of nationalism, allowing a population to idealise a time when traditional values were upheld, societal hierarchies were intact, and national identity was unquestioned. We’ve seen this happen throughout human history. Nazi Germany touted the strength of the Roman Empire and Aryan myth as models of strength and order.
The promise to "make the nation great again", was used recently in Donald Trump’s presidential campaign, during Brexit campaigns, as well as Mussolini’s vision for a renewed Roman Empire aiming to revive Italy’s past dominance. The Roman Empire itself drew heavily on nostalgic rhetoric. When the first Roman Emperor Augustus began his rule he portrayed himself as restoring the values and traditions of the old republic. He presented his reign as a return to stability and moral virtue after the chaos of civil wars. Part of his campaign was to restore mos maiorum ‘custom/ways of one’s ancestors’, using nostalgia for the republic he effectively ended when he established a monarchy.
It’s easy to look to the past and ignore the fact we had the same, unarguably worse, problems back then. When faced with present-day challenges—whether economic, social, or technological—certain sects of society seek something to blame. The group, movement or technology that doesn’t feature in their nostalgic recollection typically becomes the scapegoat. Jewish communities were frequently blamed for the spread of the plague during the Black Death. Industrialisation was blamed for the breakdown in family values. Chinese immigrants were scapegoated for economic problems in the U.S. during the recession in the 1880s. Transgender folk are currently being blamed for everything from undermining womens sports to indoctrinating children.
The problems we face today aren’t wholly new but rather echoes of challenges that have always existed in different forms. Modern concerns about rising crime rates, political polarisation, or declining ‘family values’ are often framed as symptoms of modern decay. Ironically versions of these complaints have been heard in every era. Crime, violence, and family disruption were rampant in most historical periods, from the brutal law enforcement of the Middle Ages to the social upheaval of the 1960s. What we interpret as decline is simply the ongoing cycle of societal change. The result of nostalgia-based thinking results in a skewed understanding of both the past and the present, where marginalised groups and technological advancements become convenient scapegoats for deeper, long-standing issues. By failing to account for the complexities of history, nostalgia encourages falsehood that hinders progress.
Despite these thoughts, I can’t help but feel right in my own nostalgia. I’m grateful that I grew up without a smartphone, and I blame some social issues on the proliferation of social media. Yet, in the same way, my parents worried about my use of the internet, their parents were worried about television, and my great-grandparents worried about the telephone and radio. Somewhere in my ancestral line, I’m sure a Donnelly was getting riled up about the invention of the printing press “disrupting the social order and spreading heretical ideas!” Nostalgia is a timeless cycle. While it offers a comforting escape from the complexities of modern life, it can also obscure the fact that nothing in the past was perfect.
Our longing for the past—whether it’s simpler technology or traditional values—shouldn’t blind us to the challenges of today. Nostalgia for a time when life seemed less complicated could materialise as a rise in the sale of knitting needles and wicker baskets. But I would be weary. You may lose yourself in the fantasy of homemade breadrolls and suddenly find yourself perpetuating misogynistic Christian values trad-wives. In the end, nostalgia reminds us of our shared humanity across generations. But we must ensure it doesn’t become a crutch, an excuse to avoid confronting the present, or a tool for fostering division.