Inside 2016-core
- Kelly Doyle
- Oct 6
- 3 min read
The younger half of Gen Z is dressing like it’s 2016, paying homage to the Mannequin Challenge, and treating the Snapchat dog filter as a vintage trend. Why is a year that’s not even a decade old already nostalgic?
Nostalgia cycles typically take 20 to 30 years to develop. But lately, Gen Z has been pining for a moment in time from less than a decade ago — from matte lips and cut creases to the “Damn Daniel” meme.
Yearning for Better Days
Part of Gen Z’s fixation with 2016 stems from the sense of simplicity it represented. Many of us were finishing middle or high school—or just starting college—during a pre-COVID era when the world still felt wide open.
Club culture was thriving, influencers hadn’t yet taken over, and life seemed to move at a slower, more genuine pace. Looking back, there was a real appreciation for the little things. It’s only natural that we’d romanticize that time with a nostalgic, “those were the days” kind of feeling.
Additionally, there was a sense of authenticity and personality when it came to style. In today's world, people are leaning towards matching athletisure sets, the "clean girl aesthetic" and minimal makeup. Back then, we saw wigs, extensions, colorful outfits, and full glam faces.
2016 Landmarks
The yearning for 2016 is also tied to landmarks that defined the era. The Paul Smith Pink Wall on Melrose Avenue in Beverly Hills has stood since 2005, but around 2016, it became a pilgrimage site for the perfect Instagram backdrop. The Pink Wall’s popularity coincided with the rise of selfies, as Twitter had declared “The Year of the Selfie” two years earlier.
Nine years later, the Pink Wall still has the ability to transport visitors back to 2016. For New Zealand tourist Chloe Seelen, it was a must-stop on her first trip to America.
“L.A…it’s just 2016,” Seelen said.
Palm trees, Melrose, and Instagrammable walls are frozen in cultural memory as the backdrop for when “Work” by Rihanna featuring Drake was on repeat.
Seelen, who was 13 in 2016, said social media shaped her longing to belong to that time.
“Visiting America for the first time kind of brought back that era for me. I obviously never got to experience it,” she said. “Going to L.A., seeing it for the first time, it made 13-year-old me happy.”
Some posts on #2016core have drawn comments from the proto-Gen Z viewers, who marvel at — and sometimes critique — the conflation of aesthetics across different years in the 2010s.
(For the record, jean jackets and Dr. Martens are #2014core.)
What Came After 2016 Shaped The Era
Pop culture historian Jennifer Keishin Armstrong said nostalgia cycles are accelerating. 2016 feels like a decisive moment — pre-Trump presidency, pre-pandemic, and pre-TikTok.
“Quicker changes in technology might speed up nostalgia,” Armstrong said. “If you look back at 2016 already, things felt different then.”
TikTok itself accelerates trends, Armstrong said, making cultural eras feel distinct. Social media’s resurfacing features, such as Snapchat’s “a year ago today,” also keep us hyper-aware of cultural timestamps in real time.
For Armstrong, the appeal of 2016 lies partly in what came after. The Trump presidency, the pandemic, and Trump’s ongoing political presence created a feeling of being caught in a cycle.
Nostalgia always sneaks up on us, Armstrong added.
“It’ll be like, ‘Oh God, Chappell Roan,’” she said, imagining how people in 2034 might look back on 2025.
2016 may only be nine years behind us — but online, it’s already a lifetime away.
(Proof I was there)
