Summary of “The Problem With Nostalgia”

One familiar nostalgia exercise happens when people – whether they were alive back then or not – lazily compare the best of the past with the worst of the present.
New York City in the late 1970s is largely remembered as a time when the legendary disco Studio 54 attracted a glamorous crowd who danced and partied with abandon.
The era of dazzling club “Celebutantes” was also a time of yuppies, gentrification, ’round the clock networking, and Madonna’s relentless, take-no-prisoners drive to make it big – an act of tunnel vision I witnessed up close.
The big-haired era brought some deafeningly bombing movies and possibly the four worst sitcoms of all time: Punky Brewster, Small Wonder, ALF, and She’s The Sheriff In music, Phil Collins’ droning “Sussudio” was a low point, along with Bobby McFerrin’s chirpy “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” and the fraudulent schlock of Milli Vanilli, the pop duo who were as dubbed as Lina Lamont in Singin’ in the Rain.
Today, the people who complain that New York has lost its edge generally either live in high-rise co-ops or moved to far-away cities where you get a terrace and a garage.
The old edge wasn’t all fabulous and the new edge isn’t all gone, but it’s easier for some to reduce all that to a nostalgic yelp of “I love the ’80s!”. * * *. Nineties nostalgia is all the rage right now, with sitcom reboots, musicals based on movies from Pretty Woman to Clueless, and various small-screen crime reenactments.
It’ll be time for the inevitable aughts revival – followed, of course, by the teens – when we’ll have parades in the street to commemorate the rise of important cultural icon Paris Hilton, as well as the emergence of the scintillating Kardashian clan, when in actuality they steal whatever brain cells are left in us after mind-crushing days spent reading Facebook posts about Adam Levine’s tattoos and Roseanne’s meltdowns.
Michael Musto is a weekly columnist for NewNowNext.com and a freelance writer for outlets from the New York Times Styles section to the Daily Beast.

The orginal article.