Reject Modernity, Embrace Tradition
Ramblings on the Renaissance of Physical Media
My Millennial friends look at me skeptically when I tell them I miss the era of mix CDs and cassette tapes. “Were you even alive then?” they ask. As a 2000s baby, I understand the skepticism, but like them, I grew up checking out “books on tape” from the library to listen to while my mom drove us to school, and my small but mighty CD collection got me through many years of bluetooth-less driving.
In eighth grade, I made a collection of mix CDs for my friend group. Each person chose one song and I dutifully found each one on YouTube, pasted the links into a sketchy website, and burned all of the songs onto blank discs. It was a labor of love in a way that making a Spotify playlist for someone just can’t compete with.
I had a collection of CDs made that way, definitely illegal, and a little bit trashy, but I still love and cherish each mix. With limited space on each disc, I was much more intentional about those discs than I ever have been with my Spotify playlists. From pirating the music to decorating the jewel-toned CD cases, the mixes were mine.
Sure, there was a novelty to it, even back then. I wasn’t making the mixes because it was the only way to listen to the music I wanted, but because it was a way to listen to the music I wanted in a meaningful and intentional way. I want these songs, not whatever comes up on Pandora while I’m waiting for Fuck You by Lily Allen, or Two Birds by Regina Spektor, or whatever song I started the radio station for in the first place.
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In an increasingly digital age, with consumerism becoming rampant on many (if not every) social media platforms, we’re finally hitting a turning point where the oversaturation of mindless consumerism on social media is beginning to shift people’s attitudes towards consumerism in their own lives, as evidenced by the controversial “underconsumption core” trend earlier this year. With our innate need to categorize and justify our actions, people are starting to differentiate between “good” or ethical consumerism vs. “bad” or unethical consumerism.
Cultural awareness has shifted to a point where most people are aware of the moral issues concerning fast fashion or cheap plastic garbage from drop shipping sites. But that doesn’t stop people from still craving the gratification of consumerism.
The declaration of overconsumption as “bad,” has pushed many people to look for more ethical and sustainable ways to continue to consume and stay up to date with trends. Searches for “ethical consumption” and “ethical fashion” have peaked in a post-pandemic world. We don’t want to be seen as the bad, immoral overconsumers, and yet we still want to participate in a world that relies heavily on consumption.
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On an internet that’s becoming increasingly untrustworthy and unreliable (see Google’s AI-integrated search results) it makes sense to turn back towards the ol’ reliable; forms of media that can’t transform into digital garbage right under your nose. A physical book can’t be updated or altered with the latest rollout of software updates. If the information in printed text is incorrect, it’s human error, not machine. The internet, once touted for the miraculous ability to bring infinite information directly to your fingertips, is now becoming littered with virtual garbage, like the floating mountains of trash in the Pacific Ocean.
It can feel like both of these issues are only getting worse, virtual trash and physical trash piling up and poisoning our oceans and our brain waves. Dead internet theory speculates that 90% of content on the internet could be synthetically generated by 2026 (source), a speculation that’s equally creepy and depressing.
So, where does that leave us? We are human, after all. Art and media and connection and consumption bring meaning to our lives. Art is a reflection of our humanness; a mirror and a window, all at once.
Searches for physical media have been increasing over time, hitting their highest peak to date in February 2024 (source). Why is this? Why do people suddenly care about the format that their media takes? The first, and most obvious answer is that in 2004 (as far back as the search data goes) there wasn’t as much of a need to distinguish between digital and physical media. The internet existed, but it had yet to become so entangled in the world of arts and culture. Books were books, music existed on the radio and on CDs, and art was something you saw in museums.
In 2004, no one picked up their paperback copy of The Notebook and said “I’m engaging with physical media.” They were just reading a book. As the digital world becomes increasingly influential in arts and culture, the distinction between digital and physical media is one of necessity. But has it become one of morality too? Touting your goodness by showing your allegiance to human artists? Does that still hold when it comes to media like mix CDs, which typically rely on pirated music?
To purchase physical media is to support the artists, authors, and creatives who breathe life into the songs, books, and movies we love. A way of sending support directly to the creators (with a cut going towards the publishers, labels, etc.). To stream digital media is to support corporations, stakeholders, and the bottom line at Netflix and Spotify. Obviously, this is an extreme over-simplification, but it begins to scratch the surface of the reasoning behind the physical media renaissance.
Another major motivator for the physical media renaissance is ownership. When you buy a book, or a CD, or a VHS tape for that matter, that object, that physical piece of media and culture is yours until you decide to get rid of it. When you watch something on streaming, it might be off to a new platform by the next week. Or, worse yet, it may not end up anywhere else at all (source). In an increasingly digital age, owning a physical copy of something is a declaration of its importance to you. It is a statement. It says “I will not let this disappear.”
And people aren’t just buying physical media, they’re creating it too. Searches for “commonplace book,” are also on the rise (source), (though not as much as “physical media.”) A commonplace book is a centralized physical location for information, quotes, anecdotes, and more deemed important by the keeper of the commonplace book. A way to hold onto information even after you’ve returned your book to the library, or lost the YouTube tutorial you’re watching to the endless sea of content.
“Commonplacing” was most popular during the Renaissance and 19th century (source), so it makes sense that the practice is making a comeback, even with a small niche group, during our current era of information overload. Commonplacing is another way of saying, “This is important to me. I don’t want to lose this.” A means of recording information that has more sticking power than liking or saving content you find online.
I’m not advocating for buying hardcover copies of every single book you read. But I do believe that reading every single book on a Kindle (or, god forbid, an iPhone) sucks the joy out of the process. Digital media can be a great grazing board or open buffet of content, but it should be regarded as such. Use the internet to find your favorite movies, music, and books. And then support the creators and empower yourself to revisit the content whenever you want with a physical copy.
But you know what’s also a great way to sample media without making the lifelong commitment of ownership of it? The public library. Before the internet, bookshelves and CD shelves were less curated. If you wanted to read a book or listen to a band’s new album, it made sense to pick up a copy for yourself. But consumption was never the only way to engage with art.
As art became more online, and therefore more accessible, (not a bad thing, by any means) the way people spent their disposable income shifted. Consumer spending on books (including digital books) had been on the decline since 2007 (source). Purchases of CDs have been generally on the decline since the 1990s (source) while spending on music streaming has been on the rise. Interestingly though, CD sales recently started increasing again, with their 2023 rates rivaling those of the early 2000s (source).
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The signs are there: people care about art and culture. They always have and they always will. The way we engage with it; the mediums by which we consume it, are ever-evolving, but many of us remain steadfast in the belief that art requires a human touch. AI will never replace a human artist. We want the signs of life breathed into the work we engage with. ChatGPT and MidJourney will never compete with the human artists they steal from.
Whether you’re picking up a book because you like the weight of the pages in your hand, or because you’re supporting your local indie bookstore (for the love of god, please don’t buy books on Amazon), or because you want a memento; a physical reminder of your favorite stories, I wish you a bookshelf overladen with stories of what it means to be human. I wish you CDs and records and cassettes filled with music that compels you; songs that make you want to dance and songs that make you want to cry. I wish you a life surrounded by the art that moves you.