90s nostalgia: Why we love it

The other day, I was peacefully doing my shopping when a song came out of the supermarket speakers. Just three notes. And suddenly, I was 12 years old again, with a Walkman on my ears and the absolute certainty that I was going to marry Cal Cooper from Worlds Apart.

I stood rooted to the spot in front of the pasta aisle with a slightly silly smile.

And I wondered: why do the 90s have this effect on us? Why is it that all it takes is a song or the theme song of a cartoon for us to completely fall in love?

If you remember that, you're one of us.

Let's do a little test. If you check at least half of this list, welcome to the club.

• The Diddl pencil case (and the binder, and the pad of paper that we didn't dare use because it was too pretty).
• The Tamagotchi that died during math class because we weren't allowed to take it out.
• The pencil for rewinding cassettes. Yes, that was a skill.
• Recording your favorite song from the radio while praying that the presenter doesn't talk over it.
• The landline phone in the entrance hall, with the whole family listening to your conversations.
• Club Dorothée on Wednesday mornings (The Holy Grail!!)
• Butterfly hair clips and scrunchies to match the outfit.
• Buffalo shoes, those improbable shoes that made us ten centimeters taller and much cooler (well, in our heads).

And I'm not even mentioning the posters in the bedroom, the diaries with little padlocks. Not to mention the burned CDs with a compilation written in black marker.

Just writing this list makes my heart ache a little. I know it sounds ridiculous. And yet.

Why does it affect us so much?

Because it was a time when everything was a first time.

The first CD bought with pocket money. The first slow dance or the first heartbreak (which lasted three days, but was obviously the greatest tragedy in the history of humankind, yes, yes, we know, girls). Psychologists even have a name for it: the reminiscence bump. Basically, we retain much stronger memories of what we experienced between childhood and early adulthood. So naturally, the music of our 12-year-old selves holds a special place.

Because we were bored. And it was great. No phone, no endless scrolling, no notifications. When we were bored, we invented things. We stared out the window. We called a friend for two hours and said absolutely nothing. Today, I can't even remember the last time I was truly bored.

Because we were all experiencing the same thing, at the same time. The day after an episode aired, everyone in the courtyard was talking about it. We had the same references, the same songs or shows. Now, everyone has their own playlist, their own series. It's great, but we've kind of lost that collective feeling.

Because we were waiting. We waited for the song on the radio or the letter from the pen pal. And the waiting made everything more precious.

But above all, and this is my main point: what we miss isn't really the 90s. It's us, in the 90s. The carefree attitude. The fact that the biggest problems were wondering if we'd be invited to the birthday party of the most popular girl in class. No bills, no existential questions about the meaning of life at 40.

And now, the 90s are everywhere

The funny thing is, the 90s never really went away. They even came back with a vengeance.

Baggy jeans, crop tops, scrunchies, little barrettes: everything I'd packed away in a box is back in style. I see teenagers in the street dressed exactly like I was in middle school, and frankly, it gives me a weird feeling. A mix of «They have good taste» and of «Wait, have I become vintage?" ".

Cult TV series are being re-released on streaming platforms, reunion tours are selling out, disposable cameras are making a comeback, and there are even kids buying vinyl records and cassettes. Cassettes. I'm about ready to get my pencil out again.

And I think that's no coincidence. When the world becomes a little blurry, a little anxiety-inducing, we need points of reference. Things we know. The 90s are kind of our collective security blanket. An era we've idealized (let's be honest, it wasn't all sunshine and roses either), but one that reassures us.

So, shall we stop being nostalgic?

Absolutely not.

Nostalgia isn't about wanting to go back. I have no desire to go back to my braces or my disastrous blonde highlights (it's all water under the bridge, let's not talk about it anymore).

It's more a way of remembering who we were. That little girl who dreamed big, singing at the top of her lungs in her room, and who didn't yet wonder what others would think.

And perhaps the real question, deep down, is: what can we keep from that era? A bit of carefree abandon. The pleasure of waiting for something. And the right to sing off-key to an old song, at full volume, without any shame.

And you, what's the memory from the 90s that instantly melts your heart?