I don’t think people miss the 70s, 80s or 90s as much as they miss the feeling that came with them.
When people talk about nostalgia, they often focus on the obvious things, the colours, the wallpaper, the old toys, the retro furniture. But I think what we’re really longing for is the atmosphere that surrounded it all. The warmth. The comfort. The togetherness. For me, nostalgia lives in tiny details.
It’s microwave popcorn and a Blockbuster movie on a Saturday night. Sitting in pyjamas and funny slippers on a bean bag in front of the fire, watching television when there were only four channels and you actually had to wait all week for your favourite programme.
It’s VHS tapes stacked next to the TV, ready to hit “record” after checking the TV guide and realising a film was on too late to stay awake for. Nintendo games spread across the carpet. Polly Pockets, Care Bears, Mr Frosty and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles taking over the living room floor.
It’s the glow of Christmas lights reflected on silver tinsel while the adults talked and laughed loudly in the next room.
It’s walking the neighbourhood with my nan and grandad collecting football pools, then “helping” them count the money and check everyone’s Spot the Ball entries when we got home.
It’s squeezing myself into my grandad’s armchair every visit until one day there simply wasn’t room anymore.
It’s heavy patterned sofas you could properly sink into. Carpeted bathrooms that felt slightly soggy under your feet. Tupperware cupboards. Cheese on toast cooked under a pull-out grill. Cold winters before everyone had central heating. And somehow, all of it felt comforting.
Looking back now, I think a huge part of that comfort came from the fact that homes felt genuinely lived in. They weren’t designed for social media or styled to perfection. People didn’t worry about whether colours clashed or if their homes looked aesthetic enough. Houses were filled with personality, warmth and signs of real life happening inside them. People gathered in each other’s homes constantly.
Family members popped in unannounced. Cousins slept over. Adults sat around talking for hours while kids made up games or played outside until it started getting dark. Sometimes “going out” simply meant going to someone’s house with a bottle of wine, a bowl of crisps and whatever happened to be on Top of the Pops that night. Staying in felt exciting.
Now life feels much faster. Homes can sometimes feel more like showrooms than places to properly live in. Social media has changed the way we decorate, the way we socialise and even the way we experience our homes. We’re surrounded by polished interiors, neutral palettes and the pressure for everything to look tidy, minimal and curated.
But I think so many of us are craving something softer again. Something warmer.
A home where people put their feet up without worrying. Somewhere friends help themselves to a drink and stay longer than planned. A house full of colour, laughter and signs of life.
That’s definitely what I’m trying to recreate in our own home now. Not necessarily a perfectly “retro” house, but a feeling.
The kind of home where our daughter remembers Christmas lights glowing in the evenings. Where family and friends always feel welcome. Where there’s warmth, noise, comfort and probably too many decorations.
The kind of home that feels safe, joyful and lived in.
Because maybe nostalgia isn’t really about wanting to go backwards.
Maybe it’s about holding onto the parts of life that made us feel most connected in the first place.