Gen Z is done with optimisation. As culture collapses into content, they turn back to 2016 to romanticise awkwardness, starting with fashion
In a digital world optimised to excess, the awkwardness of 2016 has become a subtle form of resistance. Indian student Hiya Hello explored this idea, interpreting Gen Z’s growing fixation with the aesthetics of a decade ago as a response to today’s cultural fatigue. As brands increasingly make decisions to appease algorithms and reach communities through optimisation rather than intuition alone, she argues, young people are turning back to the last pre-algorithmic era, romanticising imperfection and instinctive, creativity-led choices.
Through fashion, colour and visual culture, this article traces how that shift is playing out in India—reflected in what young people wear and how they dress. Baggy silhouettes replace viral fits, emotional colour palettes take precedence over aesthetic consistency, and clothes are chosen to feel lived-in rather than pristine. From digicams and Polaroids to off-kilter layering and unpolished styling, 2016 becomes a language Gen Z is using in 2026 to push back against a status quo they understand all too well. “While we sometimes want to be naïve about systems of power, capitalism, or visibility, we know how systems work,” she writes.
Why 2016 Was the Last Pre-Algorithmic Moment in Online Culture
Ten years isn’t much in the grand sweep of history, but in Internet years it might as well be a geological era. In 2026, there’s a strange, familiar feeling creeping back in—an uncanny return to 2016. It’s a loop back to a time before feeds were fully flattened, before optimisation replaced instinct, before culture performed for algorithms rather than people.
Somewhere along the way, everything became content—and we forgot the art of living untethered.
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How Algorithms Flattened Taste and Turned Culture Into Content
By now, all of us can feel the algorithm seeping its way into our daily lives: what we wear, what we consider humorous, how we pose, even the way we converse—it’s all been moulded, predicted and polished.
That’s when reality kicks in, and the rush feels more like an addiction—one you are desperate to leave behind.
Why Gen Z Is Rejecting Optimisation and Algorithmic Taste
For nearly a decade, culture has been shaped by the invisible hand of the “recommended for you” feed. The shift was drastic: fashion became about hype, humour was flattened to templates, and branding polished itself into boredom. Everything had to perform for Instagram, for TikTok, for visibility itself.
Now, the consequences are catching up. Gen Z is tired of the gloss, the sameness, the endless stream of products engineered not for them, but for an algorithm designed to predict and monetise their attention.
From Instagram to Tumblr: The Return of Unoptimised Aesthetics
The visual language of 2026 is noticeably changing; everything feels rawer. Images are darker, grainier, sometimes oddly framed, and even captions ramble again. Things feel unfinished, yet strangely cohesive.
It’s reminiscent of early Instagram and Tumblr, when people posted out of genuine impulse—not because it “performed well.” Before every image had to be legible at a glance, before every joke had to land in three seconds.
Music took the biggest hit of all—from lush six-minute tracks that felt like an emotion in themselves, to today’s three-minute songs with one-line hooks or looping bridges holding the reins.
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Why Fashion Is Becoming a Rebellion Against Algorithmic Culture
We, Gen Zs and Gen Alphas, have found a way to romanticise this new-old aesthetic, as social media feels more human when there’s room for awkwardness—an awkwardness which turns out to be relief.
We are now acutely aware that our preferences are being predicted, fed back, and monetised. The response is a rebellion strong enough to shift aesthetics, with fashion leading the charge.
Why Baggy Silhouettes and Anti-Trend Dressing Are Replacing Viral Fashion
Silhouettes are softer, slouchier, and less engineered for virality. Instead of hyper-fitted, hyper-sexualised, or hyper-minimal trends, we’re seeing deliberate oddness.
Baggy trousers that puddle, cropped knits that feel homemade, and layers worn for comfort rather than proportion. Clothes appear worn-in, layered off-kilter, sometimes almost accidental.
What Indian Youth Fashion Reveals About Identity and Expression
In India, emerging brands are leaning into softness, memory, and imperfection. Hand-done details. Colours that feel sun-faded. Clothes crafted with love that look lived-in before ever being worn.
We see this in independent labels and student-led brands such as Perona’s, with its quiet tailoring; Kharakapas’ softness; Nicobar, with its timeless prints; and many more small brands and labels that defy trend reports. These are clothes you live in, not costumes you perform in.
There are echoes of 2016’s love for normcore, thrifted finds, and anti-fashion—however, with greater self-awareness. It’s not about rejecting style; it’s about dressing for how you feel, not for approval.
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Why Looking Back at 2016 Is Rewriting Gen Z’s Colour Palette
The 2026 palette feels borrowed from old phone cameras and early indie films. With the resurgence of digicams and Polaroids, the colours of 2026 read as emotional rather than strategic. Faded blues, sun-washed reds, mustard yellows that feel nostalgic without being retro. In contrast, we also see the return of neons, fluorescents, and pastels—often filtered through a Rio de Janeiro haze or playful Snapchat overlays.
There’s a shift from “aesthetic consistency” to “emotional inconsistency.” Collections no longer match perfectly, and feeds resemble collages rather than grids, recalling 2016’s chaotic colour logic, before taste was sanitised into brand decks.
In Indian youth culture, this appears in college fashion, zine culture, and independent styling pages where mustard sits next to teal simply because it feels right. Taste is no longer about coherence; it’s about expression.
Why the Return to 2016 Is About Cultural Fatigue, Not Nostalgia
Let’s be honest—this isn’t nostalgia for a simpler time; it’s exhaustion with the present.
2016 can be seen as the last moment before culture became hyper-aware of itself as content. 2026 borrows that freedom but brings discernment. While we may want to be naïve about systems of power, capitalism, or visibility, we know how those systems work.
In a world drained by optimisation, individuality is the new luxury. Maybe that’s why 2026 feels like 2016—not from a desire to go back, but because we’re finally choosing ourselves again.
Hiya Vasani
2nd-year Visual Design student, Mumbai