Humanity, Nostalgia and AI

On 21st February 2026, in the skinniest jeans I own, surrounded by heavily foundationed second-years dancing to Calvin Harris, I realised I, too, was gripped by the desire to return to simpler times. A disco ball wasn’t needed with the amount of highlighter I had swatched on my cheeks. 2016 was back.

From the renaissance of Frutiger Aero – the futuristic design aesthetic prevalent in early 2000s tech – to the idealisation of drawn-on-finger moustaches and galaxy leggings, it seems everyone yearns for the return of an internet that was only slime videos and cat memes.

Back then, social media used to feel like a community. Instagram featured your friends’ recent activities, outfits, projects, even art. Now, their updates get trodden on in the interest of getting a hooking reel in front of you – until it’s line and sinker. The home page is just content upon content upon ads upon ads. You might not know what's going on in your friends’ lives, but you’ll sure as hell be on that screen for the next seven hours of your life.

No wonder these older communities, in which you could really see someone from across the world, are back on the rise. Their return also seems quite natural when the content that these apps are churning out doesn't even seem to feature real people at all.

Recently, one of the biggest artists on Spotify, Sienna Rose, having very quickly risen to fame in the soul and R&B music scene, has had her humanity questioned. There are videos of her online, promoting her music, where she seems to change age drastically from post to post. It's become pretty obvious that Spotify has been platforming an AI musical act. And many people have fallen for the ploy, even coming to the realisation that their top ‘artist’ this year might not be a real artist at all.

We're in an age of ‘human-vestigating’, suspicious of anything that sounds too perfect or polished.

So, what does this mean for what comes next in art? Is our only option to turn our back on the future and wish it looked like they had imagined it in the Frutiger Aero days?

Already, anti-AI trendsetters are showing that people want the dirty, messy, rotten version of things as a response to AI ‘perfection’. Consumers are gravitating towards low poly animations, half-rendered builds, the inside of the behind of the thing that's polished on its surface. There is a stream of new, decidedly human and decidedly imperfect, content, art, make-up. Some viral creators are known for overblown lip filler, messily applied glittery make-up, ripped tights, chapped lips, dark circles, bruises – things robots can't have.

This could be a short-lived pendulum swing before the new age of AI, the kind of micro-trend that dwindles just as fast as it appears. But right now, it feels like a fight. An incoming storm of protest against AI art. An age of highlighted imperfections and purposeful humanity.

And there is further hope, a brilliant example of which comes in the slightly odd picture of a flamingo. Seemingly just a pink ball on legs, the photo submitted to the 1839 Awards’ Color Photography Contest for the AI category was later revealed by the photographer to be real. What a rebuttal! A submission full of spirit and humour and irony, all of our favourite things as humans. A spectacle of life prevailing even in the computer's home turf.

Even ‘perfect’ art is made imperfect. Film grain is added to photos; people hate ‘Netflix lighting’ in films; digital art brushes are praised for having the texture of real paint. We prefer when the art is made imperfectly. We want it to be human.

Under the strobe light, in the throes of a crowd screaming Fetty Wap, something brought me comfort: averaging software could never reproduce this feeling. Hands in the air, songs we used to love, the imperfections of cakey make up and ugly jeans.

Or maybe it will. Either way, I danced my butt off and went home early.

Words and artwork by Hannah Hollenbery, she/her