Why 2016 feels like a safe place to land

#2016core. (Credit: Pinterest)

For many students, the return of 2016 is not just a trend but a reflection of how overwhelming the present has become.  

Camila Baquerizo Bayona, a fourth-year student completing an honours in human rights with a double major in political science and international relations at St. Thomas University, said she was just a kid back in 2016. 

“The problems I had back then were nothing compared to what I understand now.”

Her memory of the year is shaped less by global events and more by internet culture at the time. 

“For me, 2016 was a Snapchat filter and that’s it,” she said. “The dog filter, the flower crown. That was my life.” 

Baquerizo explains that platforms like Snapchat once functioned primarily as spaces for entertainment rather than political engagement.  

“Online wasn’t about being an advocate,” she said. “It was just about being funny.”  

At the time, she was largely unaware of major political and historical events that now dominate her studies and her social media feeds.  

“I didn’t know what was happening in the world.” 

That innocence, she argues, is exactly what students are nostalgic for. Today’s digital environment is saturated with political discourse, activism and crisis-driven content. 

“Everything is political now,” Baquerizo said. “You open your phone and it’s wars, inflation, protests, outrage.”  

While she values political awareness, she acknowledges the emotional toll it takes, describing it as “exhausting.”

Baquerizo also describes social media as increasingly designed to provoke emotion rather than understanding.  

“The algorithm motivates emotions instead of logic,” she said, noting how quickly misinformation can spread when users repost content without context.  

“Advocacy is more than reposting a TikTok,” she said. “It requires research and understanding. Otherwise, you’re not helping, you’re making it worse.” 

She contrasts this with 2016, when online spaces were largely apolitical.  

While she believes it is important that people feel empowered to speak out, she also worries about performative activism and polarization.  

“There’s cause and consequence,” she said. “If we’re not careful, we create more hate instead of understanding.” 

In this context, the revival of 2016 functions as a coping mechanism. 

Baquerizo refers to her time on TikTok as “brain rot time,” a conscious escape from the constant exposure to global crises.  

“When I see 2016 content, I’m idealizing how my life was back then,” she said. “I wasn’t a university student. I wasn’t constantly exposed to suffering. I was just a kid.” 

She also connects the nostalgia to broader student burnout. With rising living costs, multiple jobs and academic pressure, many students feel they have lost the freedom that is often associated with youth. 

“A lot of students don’t feel like they’re living their twenties,” said Baquerizo. “The fun of being a student feels missing.” 

Baquerizo believes the return of 2016 reveals more about the present than the past. 

“Life didn’t feel simple because it was simple,” she said. “It felt simple because we didn’t know.”  

In an era defined by political instability and constant awareness, the dog filter and Snapchat nostalgia offer students a momentary return to innocence in a world that no longer allows it.