I think for me the danger is almost in when you have people who are just consumed by nostalgia, and who are almost sort of defined by it. I think the real danger is that you start to actually view and experience things in the present through the lens of nostalgia, before even any time at all has passed. It’s this idea that it’s only going to be interesting to you insofar as it’s something that you can look back on and miss, or reminisce about, or make ironic jokes about. The danger there is that it almost distances us from the present moment in time. To me that’s where the danger is, and I do think that now because we’re so hyper–conscious of our need to have that experience some time in the future, we’re already anticipating it in the present.”
from this Dazed article, "The Nostalgia Effect"
this is from awhile back now, but still relevant. sometimes i notice myself and people i’m with defaulting to a lens of nostalgia. i don’t know if it bothers me because i’m so accustomed to it, it’s inbuilt to my social interactions and social media. i’ve done enough thinking about mindfulness that i recognize an importance of living in each present moment, but i’m still a junkie for snapshots and the whole vibe around looking back (i should be a pillar of salt a hundred times over, we all should). jumping between past regret, future anxieties, and present boredom is a sort of negative cycle that can evolve from that, though. everything becomes nostalgic on the internet to someone somewhere, but it is constant and immediate, so different from how people felt “nostalgic” even twenty years ago, i imagine. i sometimes feel like it’s a buzzword esp. in photography because of the nature of its processes, but then sometimes (and actually most of the times) i’m sentimental and i think i have truly felt nostalgic in some deeper sense. the broadest definition i can think of is the bittersweetness of the past falling back over you. i think the bittersweet part is important, the part that everybody knows about. (nostalgia as addictive practice in reflexivity)
might make some graphics with my favorite lines from poems just to pass the time
Growing up, I didn’t read novels by women. It’s not that I didn’t want to. It’s almost like I didn’t think that I needed to or, I guess, I didn’t know that I needed to. I was perfectly happy in a world contained by men. I adopted the posture of the brooding male as my own. I was Salinger, I was Kerouac, I was any male protagonist in a novel that one of my boyfriends recommended. I didn’t know that there was a specific female sadness so I was content with relating to a generalized one. And in a way, reading these novels was less of a way to relate and more of a way to learn how to be the type of girl that these male novelists liked. One of my first ambitions wasn’t to be a writer – it was to be a writer’s muse.”
Why is female vulnerability still only acceptable when it’s neuroticized and personal; when it feeds back on itself? Why do people still not get it when we handle vulnerability like philosophy, at some remove?”
Chris Krauss, I Love Dick pp. 207-208