I probably think too much, and my mind often takes the things in front of me and connects them to other ideas in really odd ways. And sometimes, I think I “discover” patterns. Lately, I’ve been pondering if this is a recurring theme in my own life and among friends. It seems like we’re drawn to entertainment, experiences, and even products that tap into a deep sense of nostalgia. Whether it’s revisiting an old video game (8-bit is oddly satisfying), watching a reboot of a show (I just talked to a friend who rewatched DragonBall Z), or attending a themed event that feels like a throwback to childhood (so many kids’ birthday parties feel like repeats of childhood!), it seems like there’s a longing for something familiar.
But here’s what makes this trend interesting to me: it’s not just nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. It’s almost like we’re incapable of reproducing the old thing exactly. It’s nostalgia with a twist—a reimagining of the old in a way that feels fresh and new.
Take my wife’s company, Coyotas, for example. They make an incredible four-ingredient cassava flour tortilla—a fresh take that’s both healthy and rooted in tradition. Their tagline, “Dignify the tortilla,” speaks to their mission. The founders grew up eating handmade, authentic tortillas in their home country but became frustrated with the mass-produced versions—essentially the Wonder Bread of tortillas. So they decided to upgrade it. Their motivation is nostalgia, but their product is modern.
It may seem silly, but my brain is always asking the question why? Why is this happening now? Maybe, after a season of upheaval and uncertainty, we’re craving the comfort of the familiar but don’t want to stagnate. We want to remember, but also move forward. The American vision of unfettered progress means we’re constantly seeking improvement and novelty, yet one of the weaknesses of the modern American experience is a lack of rootedness—to a people, a place, a shared history. That’s a way of describing the American esprit de corps.
At the same time, we’re feeling increasingly isolated and individualistic. I’ve described this shift as a move from the individual autonomous self to a radical freedom of self-expression. American individualism is evolving—from how we think about ourselves to how we feel about ourselves. We’ve long prized freedom of thought, but now we’re pushing into freedom of feeling, and that feels like progress.
And maybe that’s why nostalgic novelty is so compelling right now. It bridges the tension between progress and rootedness, between the desire to move forward and the longing to hold on to something meaningful. We don’t just want the past—we want it reinterpreted, reimagined in a way that fits our present reality. It’s not about rejecting progress but about grounding it in something familiar, something that reminds us of who we are—or maybe even who we were.
Consumerism thrives on understanding appeal and sentiment, and nostalgic novelty is a way of describing a theme of what people might naturally want. And if this theory holds, I think we’ll see it increasingly reflected in expressions of the church. People are craving the old forms—there’s a noticeable movement toward liturgical traditions, toward rhythms and rituals that feel ancient and enduring. At the same time, there’s still a pull toward the new—church planting, growth, innovation, impact. The tension between past and future isn’t just shaping our entertainment or products; it’s shaping how people engage faith and community.
Have you noticed this trend in your own life? Whether in entertainment, faith, or everyday experiences, where do you see nostalgic novelty at play?
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