By Natasha Noam Gol

“Nostalgia is the bittersweet longing for former times and spaces” (Niemeyer, 2014). Whether it’s personal nostalgia—reflecting on our own past—or collective nostalgia—remembering shared cultural, national, historical moments, or even longing for very old, unlived ages—nostalgia is a powerful emotion. It’s a universal experience, a kind of “emotional time travel” that can transport us to memories of comfort, simplicity, and connection, helping us momentarily escape the pressures of modern life. Its presence is widely felt in popular TV and films, from historical sets and fashion in shows like The Queen’s Gambit and Mad Men to “retro” soundtracks in movies like Guardians of the Galaxy. Since COVID, the world has become increasingly chaotic, driving a collective yearning for “simpler times” (and a time when you didn’t have access to every catastrophic occurrence around the globe in the palm of your hand).

Millennials and older Gen Z are particularly prone to nostalgia, having experienced life before smartphones and other wildly accessible technology. For these generations, nostalgia is almost like a “comfort blanket,” a way to revisit a time that felt less overwhelming and more grounded. Younger Gen Z, having grown up in the digital age, also embraces nostalgia, often drawn to what’s now considered “retro” fashion (since when is 2004 “retro”? I am old). 

Bridgerton epitomizes the clever use of both personal and collective nostalgia. Based on Julia Quinn’s book series, this show is set in a fictionalized early 1800s where racial equality exists. Since its debut in 2020, Bridgerton has captured audiences with its amazing sets, incredible fashion (and hair!), and iconic plots and dialogues (“I burn for you!”). Produced by Shonda Rhimes’ “Shondaland”, it now spans three seasons and a prequel spinoff called Queen Charlotte.

The brilliance of Bridgerton lies in its multi-layered nostalgia. The historical setting is immediately captivating, but the show’s cleverness is much more subtle. It echoes the popular American teenage drama Gossip Girl from 2007, appealing to a similar audience with its drama and intrigue, and the trope of a mysterious gossip journalist wreaking havoc in high society circles. This subtle nod to a beloved show from millennials’ and older Gen Z’s past is a masterstroke.

Even more fascinating is the way Bridgerton uses nostalgia to blur eras in a truly unique way. The show’s soundtrack features popular songs from the 90s, 2000s, and 2020s, played by a string quartet. This blend of classical music with hits from Whitney Houston, Beyoncé, and Ariana Grande perfectly mixes personal and collective nostalgia, resonating across generations.

As a devoted fan of Shonda Rhimes’ work (despite the latest very vanilla season of Grey’s Anatomy—please kill someone I care about already), I find Bridgerton to be a masterpiece. This show deserves scholarly attention in media studies for its adept use of nostalgia and cultural strategies that deeply connect with viewers. In fact, it’s an exceptional case study on how nostalgia, when done well, can turn a series from mere entertainment into something truly impactful, allowing audiences to escape, remember, and imagine all at once. Bridgerton is not just a hit series; it’s a brilliant example of how nostalgia can be leveraged to create something truly special.

In a streaming era filled with endless new content, nostalgia isn’t just an emotional response—it’s a smart marketing strategy. Shows like Bridgerton, Stranger Things, and even Harry Potter offer a blend of familiarity and novelty, drawing audiences back to “comfort media” in an otherwise chaotic digital landscape. Nostalgia helps these shows cut through the noise, creating connections across generations and sparking communal “memory moments” online.

However, this obsession with nostalgia has led to some interesting—and sometimes questionable—trends. Just last month, Bershka released a Twilight collection (Which I bought immediately), even though the movie franchise ended 12 years ago! It’s a clear signal that studios, brands, and streaming platforms are doubling down on nostalgia, banking on audiences’ fondness for past eras. Yet, in some cases, it’s starting to feel a bit gimmicky. Marvel, for instance, has become known for prioritizing nostalgic cameos and character throwbacks over well-developed storylines, relying on the excitement of seeing familiar faces to make up for plot weaknesses. Disney, too, seems unable to let go of the past, repeatedly churning out live-action remakes and sequels rather than investing in fresh, original stories (even though almost everyone agrees that they are the worst).

This approach to nostalgia in media isn’t just about invoking the past; it’s about reshaping it, sometimes to the detriment of creativity and originality. By heavily leaning on nostalgia, studios are often missing opportunities to tell new, relevant stories that reflect the complexities of today’s world. Instead, they’re packaging the past and selling it back to us in the hopes that we’ll cling to it as tightly as we did the first time around.