The Analogue Trend: Nostalgia or Overconsumption?
By Tina Wolf
One of the current trends on social media is definitely the ”analogue bag.” What on earth is this, you ask? Well, the analogue bag—sometimes also referred to as the “stop scrolling bag”— is a tote bag or handbag, or alternatively a basket next to the sofa, filled with screen-free, hands-on activities. It is meant to give the user a digital reset, a tactile antidote to doomscrolling. In times of a near-constant barrage of shocking news, it feeds into the nostalgic of longing for earlier, simpler times and the fear of too much screen time and AI slop. But is the analogue trend merely a late-stage capitalist sign of yet more overconsumption, or a valid reaction to a chronically online life? Is filling a bag with knitting supplies, a book, maybe a camera or colouring materials an honest attempt to get off our phones and spend time in the real world, or just capitalism’s latest trick to get us to buy more stuff we don’t need, don’t have the space for, and cannot afford?
The idea behind analogue bags is real and extremely relatable, even for someone like me who regards influencer culture with deep disdain. Reading a book, writing your thoughts into a paper notebook, taking pictures with an analogue camera, listening to music on the old iPod you found at the bottom of a drawer, instead of reaching for your phone: all these activities address something genuine. Screen fatigue, shortened attention spans, and the low-grade anxiety of being perpetually available are valid 21st century concerns.
The trend has been heavily aestheticized on the very platforms it supposedly rejects. As I mentioned before, I’m not exactly a fan of influencers. It all seems a bit performative for this jaded Millennial: a teen-aged “life coach” is telling me in an Instagram reel I should be unplugging from my devices before giving me a list of affiliate links for the tools (or should that be “props”?) of unplugging. Just another ploy to invite us to spend our hard-earned cash then. How unsurprising.
Once a lifestyle or subculture becomes a product category, its anti-consumerist energy is lost. I mean: when does an interest change from being a hobby to just buying things for said hobby? There’s a saying in the book community that “reading books and buying books are two completely different hobbies”, often said with a guilty look at the “to be read” piles of new books on the shelf. Hands up if you’ve got dozens of unused notebooks! I know I am certainly guilty of this. The same goes for crafting hobbies, such as knitting or sewing, or colouring books. Rooms stacked to the rafters with knitting supplies and drawers full of fancy stationery can testify to that. The “return to analogue“ trend as a social media aesthetic almost inevitably turns into a shopping trip and the people who benefit least are those who buy a whole new “analogue kit” to perform the retreat from consumption. Owning things or wearing a certain, recognisable outfit fulfil a need by making us feel part of a community, be that the crafting community online, BookTok or one of the myriad internet aesthetics that have gained popularity since the pandemic. Who doesn’t remember the cottagecore and dark academia trends of 2021/22, when our Instagram feeds were full of moody images of college campuses and women in floaty dresses having whimsical picnics on a meadow?
But it’s not all doom and gloom. The impulse to get off our phones and reclaim our free time is certainly commendable. I know I definitely spend way too much time on my phone, something I need to work on. Furthermore, creative hobbies feed into a desire to get away from fast fashion, poorly made products, as some people such as Canadian blacksmith and farrier Anna Weare, known on TikTok as AnvilAnna, have found out: “People, now more than ever, are realizing that things made in factories or mass produced, they wear out so quickly”, she said. Not only is the waitlist for her products incredibly long, but she also notices an increased interest in blacksmithing with her customers, who might be tempted to try it out for themselves. Personally, I love the style of the 1960s and 70s and finding well-made vintage pieces online or at flea markets gives me immense joy.
Then there is the understandable desire to take back control over what we own. I take great satisfaction from my physical books, DVDs, and my growing record collection. Unless these media are destroyed or stolen, they are mine to keep, unlike music or movies on a streaming platform or books on an e-reader: once the provider decides to remove these items from their platform, they’re gone. This is not just something that I, as a curmudgeonly elder Millennial, is worried about. People half my age are discussing this online, too.
I must admit, my first reaction to the trend was one of cynicism and disdain: here we go, yet another influencer trend, yet another Gen Z kid that has “discovered” something people have been doing for ages, repackaged with a fancy new name to create yet another microtrend for social media. Sigh. However, the more I looked into it, the more valid it became. The idea behind the trend is solid; we could all benefit from getting off our phones. It’s just the nature of the capitalist hellscape we live in that any innovative idea someone has eventually turns into a push to get everyone to consume rather than create. If we can resist this urge to shop and use the things we already own, this return to a more analogue life would be fantastic. So, crack open that unused journal, break out the fancy stationery, put on a record, make a cup of tea (insert beverage of choice here), and get creative!
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