After watching NationSquid’s “Why the 2000s Looked That Way”, I found myself nodding constantly—not just because the video was insightful, but because it confirmed something I’ve felt for a long time: that somewhere around the early 2000s, time got weird. I was born in 1985. That makes me an elder millennial—old enough to remember legacy rotary phones and shag carpets from a generation prior, but young enough to have grown up alongside the rise of the internet. I straddle two worlds: the analog childhood of the ’80s and early ’90s, and the digital, globalized landscape that followed. And from where I sit, the early 2000s really were the turning point—not just in technology, but in how we experience cultural time.
As a kid in the late ’90s, I always felt like the early ’90s and the ’80s were basically part of the same era. By the time we hit ’97 or ’98, anything from just six years earlier felt ancient—outdated clothes, embarrassing slang, old-school vibes. Music was maybe the only exception, and even then, only if you were certain artists like Green Day or Offspring. That mindset feels absurd now. Think about that: the same time gap that made me view 1991 as cringey in 1997 now separates us today in 2025 from 2019. Time hasn’t changed, but our perception of it has. As NationSquid puts it, “the 2000s don’t really seem all that different from today,” and that’s a major shift in how we’ve traditionally viewed decades.
By the early 2000s, fashion and aesthetics had already begun to feel modern by today’s standards. A teenager from 2001 might blend in reasonably well walking around in 2025—but drop that same teen into 1986, and they’d stand out instantly. In the late ’90s, I remember noticing this shift even as it happened. Earlier styles—from the ’80s and early ’90s—already felt old and borderline embarrassing. It was like the world collectively decided to modernize all at once. Even the loud, radical home colors of the early ’90s gave way to sleeker aesthetics: greys, whites, and minimalism. Legacy shag carpets from a generation or two earlier, earthy tones, and maximalist decor had all but vanished. It felt like everything changed almost overnight. And I would know—my parents inherited a shag carpet in the early ’90s from my grandparents. Just a few years later, that relic of a bygone era was ripped out and replaced with flooring that still wouldn’t look out of place today. You can see this cultural shift clearly in the TV show Home Improvement, which aired from 1991 to 1999. The series unintentionally documents a decade-long evolution in fashion, design, and aesthetics. Compare the first season to the last, and the transformation is unmistakable. Similar transitions are visible in other shows from that era, such as The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air or Roseanne, each reflecting the changing cultural atmosphere of the 1990s.
So what changed? I feel NationSquid nails the cause: the globalization of culture via the internet. Once style, humor, and music were no longer confined by geography or gatekeeping media outlets, the clear boundaries that defined decades began to dissolve. Before that, every decade had a vibe. The ’70s had bell-bottoms and burnt orange everything. The ’80s had neon, synthpop, and shoulder pads. The ’90s had grunge, flannel, and MTV angst. But after the dot-com boom, style became crowd-sourced. Anyone with a modem could shape trends. Culture became a remix, and the line between “in” and “out” started to fade. The video describes the early 2000s as a “watered-down version of the ’90s” in some ways—a holding pattern caused by political upheaval, post-9/11 anxiety, and the slow, creeping dominance of digital platforms.
Looking back, I realize how much my teenage mind tried to sort everything into neat little boxes—into “then” and “now,” into what was cool and what was cringe. But that kind of clarity doesn’t really exist anymore. The late ’90s and early 2000s marked a turning point in how culture ages. The internet didn’t just accelerate change—it flattened it. What used to feel like a staircase of trends, each step clearly distinct from the last, has turned into a crowded hallway. Everything from the late ’90s to today blurs together in one long, scrolling “now.” Sure, we still have trends—but increasingly, those trends aren’t defined by material style or era-specific aesthetics. They’re defined by the digital world: memes, formats, online movements, and internet-born subcultures. When I cringe at old photos of myself in JNCO jeans or with frosted tips (yes, I had both), I realize that kind of embarrassment was tied to time-stamped aesthetics. But today’s youth may not have the same experience. Instead of seeing themselves in decade-based eras, they might remember life in terms of TikTok trends, viral formats, or the rise and fall of apps. For them, cultural memory isn’t worn on a sleeve—it’s embedded in a feed.
Video:
Tags
Culture