Scroll through TikTok or Instagram lately and it can feel like the internet has time traveled. Videos are tinted with warm, rosy filters and styled to look like throwbacks, while old photo trends and familiar poses are popping up again. A lot of it is intentionally tagged as “2016” so viewers instantly get the point. The vibe is meant to echo the era of the Snapchat dog filter, side parts, and the soft pop of “millennial pink.”
The spike is not subtle, either. According to figures shared by BBC, searches for “2016” on TikTok jumped 452 percent in a single week. The same reporting notes that more than 55 million videos have been posted using a filter named for that year. That kind of momentum turns nostalgia into a shared game, where creators chase a look that reads as instantly recognizable.
Music is doing a lot of the heavy lifting, because sound is the fastest shortcut to memory. Songs from that period are resurfacing in viral edits and playlist culture, and the throwback aesthetic follows right behind them. Makeup cues from the mid 2010s are also returning, with bolder looks and that more is more approach that dominated tutorials back then. When a familiar chorus hits, it becomes easier to dress, pose, and edit like it is “2016” again.
BBC Radio 1 Anthems host Lauren Redfern offered a simple explanation for why people keep circling back. She said the music was “naprosto odlična,” tying the era to a feeling of lighter, more carefree days. Even if someone was not thriving in 2016, the songs can still carry a personal timeline of friendships, school, first jobs, and early adulthood. In that sense, the trend is less about one calendar year and more about the version of life people associate with it.
Another part of the pull is the idea that social media felt easier then. TikTok strategist Joel Marlinarson explained to BBC that “2016” has basically become its own aesthetic on the platform, helped by a filter that gives footage a warm, pinkish, “lo-fi” look. One glance and you know exactly what the creator is referencing, even before the caption confirms it. That quick readability is a big reason trends spread so fast now.
@officialchrisrockk this is a genuine outfit I wore in 2016
♬ suono originale – Jr Stit
The comparison with today’s social platforms also matters. People often talk as if the earlier era had fewer performance pressures and less exhaustion from ever shifting recommendation systems. The article points out that there was no constant push toward short form video features like “Reels,” and some of the now standard posting formats were not as dominant. Whether or not that memory is fully accurate, the perception alone fuels the longing.
Still, 2016 was not just cute filters and upbeat playlists. The year carried real cultural weight and plenty of darker headlines that still shape how people see the world. The article notes the deaths of David Bowie, Prince, George Michael, and Alan Rickman, losses that many fans remember vividly. It also points to political shocks like Brexit and Donald Trump’s election win, events that remain divisive and emotionally charged.
So why return to that year in particular instead of any other? Psychologist Clay Routledge, who studies nostalgia, warns people not to get “zalijepiti” to one year as if it is the only one that matters. At the same time, major turning points become anchors, because they help people organize memories and search for meaning when things feel unstable. The article suggests two strong triggers right now, the reset feeling of a new year and a rising uncertainty among younger people about the job market and the impact of artificial intelligence.
There is also a simple timing effect that makes “2016” especially sticky. Ten years is far enough away to feel like a different era, yet close enough that most people still remember the clothes, the slang, the apps, and the daily routines. That distance creates the perfect nostalgia window, where the past looks curated instead of complicated. In other words, it is history that still feels personal.
To put the trend in context, nostalgia tends to arrive in cycles because culture keeps remixing itself. The 2010s were a bridge decade where smartphones, streaming, and influencer culture became everyday habits, and platforms learned how to reward constant posting. TikTok takes that old material and repackages it through filters, sounds, and templates that make it easy for anyone to participate. Once a few creators hit the right notes, the look becomes a shared language and “2016” turns into a shorthand for a whole mood rather than a strict timeline.
What do you think is really driving the rush back to 2016, the music, the aesthetics, or the need for comfort during uncertain times, and share your thoughts in the comments.
