Is Nostalgia Bad?

Nostalgia is defined as a longing for a time or place that no longer exists. This melancholia can manifest itself as a desire to own items from a specific time, or a need to promote and defend elements of that period as 'better than now'. Does that make nostalgia unhealthy, or is it merely a side effect of getting old?


I haven't always been afflicted with nostalgia. Like lactose intolerance, it only really began affecting my daily life in my late twenties. Prior to that, I considered myself a film buff and collector of pop culture paraphernalia. But even more than a collector, I used to define myself (without any trace of irony), as an Artist and World Traveller. And I was highly attuned to the distinction between a 'tourist' and a 'traveller'. I avoided organised tours, I stayed in filthy hostels and booked nothing in advance, and for months at a time I literally lived out of a backpack like some kind of dirty hippy. I was one of those disaffected Gen Xs you might find at the turn of the century lamenting the commercialism and overwhelming number of skinny white tourists at Koh Phangan's Full Moon Party, while personally adding to the overwhelming number of skinny white tourists at Koh Phangan's Full Moon Party.

After one such travelling stint, I returned to find my family home was being sold. All of my childhood books and toys needed to be moved. Having rejected the notion of materialism and owning nothing except the contents of a small bag for an entire year, I had no qualms selling boxes and boxes of my stuff at a garage sale. What would I, a windswept World Traveller, possibly need G.I. Joes or Masters of the Universe or Transformers or M.A.S.K action figures for? Centurions and Space Lego and Mego superheroes could never be considered valuable, right? So I sold it all for a pittance, only holding on to a handful of movie related items (much of which can be seen here). It took about five years for me to realise what a ridiculous decision that was, and it has been a constant source of regret ever since - causing me to break out into a cold sweat whenever I log onto eBay, and find something I used to own being sold for a ridiculously high amount.

Now, in my forties, I rarely concern myself with the monetary value and potential lost investment of that stuff. Instead, I trawl flea markets, pop culture stores and websites looking to reclaim the lost artefacts from my youth. I photograph and document these items for fear of one day losing them again. And why? Nostalgia. Trying to recapture that feeling I once had as a kid; the sense of adventure and inherent potential of an unboxed plastic model of a man, a soldier, a superhero. I rewatch the movies I loved as a kid and obsess over minute details, picking them apart in a futile attempt to find what it is that makes them so special. I immerse myself in the past and see nothing of value in the present. The future, too, appears bleak in comparison.

Nostalgia then, is not 'bad' but instead a symptom of something larger - dissatisfaction. That dissatisfaction stems from a feeling of powerlessness and a life that is lacking true substance. We are not in control of our relationships or, more importantly, our jobs. It's no coincidence that nostalgia strikes in our thirties. Traditionally, this is when we are settling down in relationships, starting families, consolidating careers. Our lives are no longer our own and the responsibilities of adulthood force us into working in emotionally unsatisfying jobs.

We long for a time when we had no responsibilities; whether that was our pre-teens (back when we were naive enough to believe we were special and destined for greatness), or our early twenties (when we were fearless and, retrospectively, reckless). This, at its most sincere core, is what nostalgia is - wanting to feel like we used to feel when life was exciting and had limitless potential. The Baby Boomers had a different name for nostalgia. They called it a mid-life crisis.

David Fincher's 1999 adaptation of Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club dealt with similar issues of nostalgia, albeit via themes of masculinity and a rejection of modern materialism. Edward Norton, the Narrator, is in his thirties and trapped in the endless routine of an uncreative job. I mention the fact that his job is uncreative because, I believe, creativity is an important factor in maintaining a satisfying career and emotional well-being. The importance of creativity is briefly touched upon in the film; first, in the false semblance of creative input the Narrator's boss has when he requests to change a web icon's colour to cornflower blue, and secondly, when Tyler asks two members of Project Mayhem what they wish they'd accomplish before they die. Neither mentions careers or relationships. Instead their answers are both creatively motivated.

The Narrator's alter-ego is Tyler Durden, an idealised version of himself. Tyler is highly creative, applying accumulated knowledge to create and market his own line of soap. He also builds an army and a barracks to house it. Project Mayhem's ultimate goal is not to wreak havoc, but instead, it's purpose is to inspire others to live successful, fulfilling lives - as evidenced by their wall of 'human sacrifices'. Out of deep feelings of nostalgia, The Narrator creates the Fight Club - a place where middle aged men can forgo the shackles of responsibility and consequences, and participate in acts of recklessness. In other words, act like they did when they were teenagers.

Without a creative outlet, our lives become monotonous. We count the hours till the weekend, then, when it rolls around, we spend it staring at screens. We comfort ourselves in the past and reminisce, not about a time when life held meaning, but a time when it didn't matter that life held no meaning. Nostalgia is the by-product of our lonely, unproductive lives... but that 1981 Kenner MOC Indiana Jones action figure might just make us forget that fact for a minute or two.