Kiki C. Marshall
Social Media Manager
Part of this renaissance is deeply emotional. We’re not just remembering the media. We’re remembering who we were when we first watched it.
Before everything became digital and on-demand, there was a time when experiencing media felt more intentional. You didn’t just stumble across a movie. You went to get it. You picked it up, turned it over in your hands, and made a choice. And in that small act, something meaningful happened: a connection formed.
For me, that connection was forged in the aisles of Blockbuster and Hollywood Video. I was a Hollywood Video kid at heart. Maybe it was the layout. Maybe I just loved the vibe of the store. Maybe it was just the quiet excitement of walking in with my dad and knowing I had the whole store to explore. We’d scan the shelves like they were treasure maps, looking for the perfect pick for the weekend. These weren’t just errands. They were our weekly rituals.
I remember how the home library started to grow. How the spines of VHS tapes and DVDs lined up on the shelf like old friends. I can still picture the bright orange Rugrats tapes and the Barney VHS I practically wore out from constant rewatches. I loved them. I rewinded them. I protected them like they were gold.
Back then, it wasn’t just about watching something. It was about owning it. About holding onto a piece of media that made you feel something. And now, years later, I’m seeing more and more people return to that feeling. In a world that moves faster than ever, there’s comfort in choosing something tangible. Something that doesn’t just live in the cloud. Something that lives on your shelf, in your hands, in your memory.
The Comeback of the Tangible
As technology pushes us toward convenience, culture is slowly inching back toward comfort. Streaming services promise us everything, everywhere, all at once. But we’re realizing that sometimes, what we want is something simpler. Vinyl records are selling like it’s the hottest new medium. Bookstores are bustling. People are buying DVDs again. This isn’t just about collecting. It’s about connecting and ownership.
We’re connecting to a time when things felt slower, more intentional, more tactile. We’re craving the ability to hold a piece of something we love in our hands — to pull it off the shelf, press play, and experience it on our terms. Not because an algorithm said to, or because it was trending, but because we chose it.
This trend doesn’t surprise me. More and more, people are taking intentional breaks from their phones and social media. They’re logging off for a weekend, setting app limits, and stepping away from the endless scroll. Physical media offers a way to still enjoy stories, music, and entertainment without relying on an app, a password, or a notification. It’s one of the few ways we can connect with something we love without needing a phone in our hand or a laptop in front of us. There’s no buffering, no algorithm, and no pressure to multitask. Just you, your favorite movie, your favorite album, your favorite book, and the space to be fully present with it.
We’re in an age of impermanence. Subscriptions increase monthly, and you could spend years curating your favorite shows and songs, only to wake up one day and find they’re gone. And even though we’re paying for access, we’re rarely paying for ownership. You can subscribe to a service like Prime Video, but still be asked to rent or buy the exact movie you were hoping to watch. You can pay for a streaming platform, then be interrupted by ads unless you pay an additional, more premium fee. The lines between access and ownership are blurry, and the result is often frustration. With physical media, you don’t have to wonder if something will be pulled, pay extra to finish a movie without commercials, or hope the title you love is still available. You own it. It’s yours to keep, revisit, and experience on your terms.
One of the most frustrating realities of this digital age is the rise of lost media. Content gets scrubbed from streaming platforms, never released physically, and becomes nearly impossible to find. It’s not just obscure shows or short films either. Major titles, beloved series, and documentaries have vanished overnight because companies decide they’re not “worth” the storage or residual payouts. Unless someone, somewhere, burned it to a DVD or uploaded a bootleg, it’s gone. Erased. This erasure isn’t just inconvenient; it’s a form of cultural memory loss. When everything is hosted in a cloud we don’t control, we risk losing pieces of ourselves, our stories, and our shared media history. Ownership, once again, becomes power.
Media Theory, Memory, and Meaning
It’s not just what we’re watching. It’s how we’re watching it. And that “how” changes everything.
Uses and Gratifications Theory expands on this idea. It suggests that people seek out media with the intention of it meeting certain needs, such as entertainment, education, identity, or connection. In a world where media is infinite but ownership is scarce, physical media gives us something deeper. It satisfies our need for control, nostalgia, and grounding.
But I also believe the medium itself plays a role in fulfilling those needs. The way we watch, listen, and read matters. Just like someone might choose to go see a movie in IMAX or 70mm film because it offers a richer, more immersive experience, the decision to watch something on physical media, on a bigger screen, with a different aspect ratio, or even just without distractions can elevate how we emotionally process and connect with it. People go out of their way to seek out specific formats because the medium changes the meaning. It adds texture, scale, and intention to the experience.
Along with that, owning something —whether a movie, a book, or a record —becomes an act of self-expression. It says, “This matters to me. This is part of who I am.” That’s why people are posting their home libraries on TikTok and curating DVD shelves on Instagram. That’s why we’re seeing YouTube channels dedicated to VHS hauls and niche collections. It’s not just nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. It’s a reclamation of identity in a media landscape that often treats us like passive consumers instead of participants.
Remembering the Inner Child
Part of this renaissance is deeply emotional. We’re not just remembering the media. We’re remembering who we were when we first watched it.
Millennials, Zillennials, and even younger Gen X grew up during dynamic technological shifts in history. We remember the before and the after. There’s a certain ache that comes with that duality. We’re constantly balancing innovation with memory. We’re adapting, but we’re also longing.
That’s why social media accounts dedicated to ‘90s and early 2000s nostalgia are booming. Pages like Nostalgic 90s (@90s.talgic) are filled with people trying to remember the exact brand of TV they had growing up, or what the McDonald’s Happy Meal toys looked like in 1998. Those memories aren’t just about stuff. They’re about feeling seen.
The New Luxury Is Intention
In an age where everything is bigger, better, faster, and stronger, there’s something beautifully subversive about slowing down.
The new luxury isn’t speed. It’s intention. It’s watching a movie from start to finish, not while you scroll, but while you watch. It’s re-reading a slightly worn book that I love. It’s pressing play and feeling present. And that’s the thing about nostalgia. It isn’t always about going back. Sometimes, it’s about bringing the best parts forward.
I don’t think I’ll ever fully abandon the ease of streaming or the convenience of subscriptions. But there’s a reason I still keep my favorite DVDs. There’s a reason I buy physical copies of my favorite books. There’s a reason I feel calm when I look through my record collection and hear the light scratch of the needle dropping on the record. Because in a world that feels increasingly borrowed, I want to hold on to what’s mine.