Analog media is a subject that’s been on my mind a lot the past year as I’ve explored digital minimalism, but I think the larger analog trend among Gen Z paints a picture of the younger generations’ online fatigue. We were sold absolute efficiency and convenience with the do-it-all, anytime anywhere smart phone but now there’s a realization that our attention has been commodified and perhaps we don’t want to sell our eyes and ears to the highest advertising bidder.
I read an article from WIRED magazine recently about a trend spreading in Europe for offline clubs (20 cities so far) where people will pay to ditch their phone for 2 hours and exist in the company of strangers. It’s described by one of the cohosts of the London branch as “reigniting that magic of when you’ve hung out with people for no reason and you had no sense of time passing.” The first hour is silent and people can work on their own projects or engage in provided crafts. The second hour is for conversation.
The author of the article, who attended one of these offline club meetings, described the urge to reach for our phones in moments of social discomfort as a safety net but the offline club offers no such comfort. Yes, there are lulls in conversation but it provides an opportunity to pause and reflect rather than constantly chasing the next dopamine hit of online media.
Similar to the offline clubs, there is also a recent spread of listening bars/listening cafes. These take inspiration from the Japanese jazz kissa, popularized after WWII with the import of US and European jazz as a public space for people to gather and listen together with access to high fidelity audio equipment and records they couldn’t afford at home. There’s something grounding about listening to music on vinyl–all the way through an album as the artist intended rather than a hodgepodge playlist of songs and artists that share a similar sounds.
There’s purpose and intention in the listening and an appreciation of music as an art form. A regard for curated preference and taste can take shape when the whole world’s music library isn’t available on demand. Further, vinyl record pressings are in limited quantity so there’s the added experience of possessing something rare and historic that can be passed on to the next generation. I’ve found some really unique records while digging through thrift store crates like radio shows, comedy sketches, and live recordings that I don’t think exist anywhere in a digital format.
Streaming platforms and social media have created incentives for virality over quality which hurts the whole music industry. The hook may be catchy and get stuck in your head, but the lyrics are uninspired and the beats are recycled or repetitive. The inception of AI music only furthers this decay.
What we really crave is unfiltered authenticity and offline community. The market needs to pay attention to Gen Z voices because our generations will increasingly hold voter and economic buying power.
I’m taking polaroid photos. I’m listening to vinyl records. I’m writing handwritten letters. I’m getting news and culture magazines delivered to my door. It’s crazy to experience in real time but I can feel the return to analog rewiring my brain. Altering the ways I think and move in the world. It’s a rejection of algorithmic content that strips users of choice and violates their privacy. It’s recalibrating the value of ownership and identity in a media environment that preys on our attention.
To quote the Zac Brown Band, “There’s no dollar sign on a peace of mind / this I’ve come to know. ”
If we want to move forwards as a society, we have to be able to engage offline with people and stories that are different from our own. We have to discover our identity outside of how digital media tells us to think and feel and behave. We have to make space for silence and boredom to know ourselves.
Unwind_My_Mind 