Originality feels like a myth. Every campaign is a reference, every runway a revival, every trend a déjà vu. Versace puts Claudia Schiffer back on the catwalk. Balmain restages its 90s archives. TikTok edits pine for 2016 as if it were a lost golden era, though it sits less than a decade behind us. Even the aesthetics of our scrolling — grainy camcorder filters, Y2K fonts, Tumblr collages — are recycled languages of eras past.

Why can’t we sit in the present without dressing it up as something else?

Nostalgia as a Crutch

Nostalgia has become our cultural safety blanket. Brands summon the 90s supermodels — Linda, Naomi, Cindy, Christy — like talismans, as though their presence will conjure glamour by osmosis. Miu Miu is still leaning on schoolgirl skirts from the early 2000s. Meanwhile, TikTok is full of edits that claim “2014 Tumblr was the last good era,” complete with The 1975 soundtracks and low-saturation filters. We don’t even wait for decades to pass anymore; we’re already sentimental for the recent past.

Copies of Copies

When everything is a reference, nothing stands alone. A celebrity red carpet look becomes instantly side-by-side compared to a predecessor. Zendaya in archival Mugler armor wasn’t seen as new but as the reference. Sofia Richie Grainge’s “quiet luxury” moment was simply rebranded Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy minimalism. Even the cult of the Chanel jacket is really just Coco’s original 1950s idea endlessly repackaged for new decades. Innovation is risky; recognition feels safe. Maybe that’s why the present looks like a copy-paste mood board — layered, fragmented, but never whole.

The Algorithm Rewards What We Already Know

Social platforms don’t reward originality; they reward déjà vu. A new sound rarely goes viral — a recycled snippet does. The “Tom Ford era” TikToks rack up millions of views because they point back to a time we already mythologized. Fashion trends succeed if they feel familiar: ballet flats, capris, denim maxi skirts, all framed as “comebacks.” The present, by itself, rarely gets a chance.

The Fear of Now

The present is unstable — politically, socially, environmentally. To create something new is to stake a claim in a future we can’t trust will exist. So instead, we look backward. The familiar reassures us that things were good, even if they weren’t. Campaigns dressed in nostalgia don’t just sell clothes; they sell comfort. Maybe we’re not referencing the past to honor it, but to avoid admitting we don’t know what to do with where we are.

Looking Back to Move Forward?

So the question lingers: are we mining the past because it holds the keys to moving forward, or because we can’t bear to face the fragility of the present? Do we reference because it’s easier, or because originality has truly become impossible?

Maybe the problem isn’t that everything is a copy. Maybe the problem is that the present doesn’t feel strong enough to inspire anything new.