At times, being in New York in 2025 feels like arriving at a party as it’s about to end. There’s a sparseness to the air, a sense that the lights will turn on soon. It’s the economic uncertainty, the political uncertainty, the feelings of cultural stagnation and moral rot that feel inescapable at times. References to prior golden eras abound — people fondly remember long-gone restaurants and bars, reflect on the indie sleaze era, even if they only ever consumed it through the internet.
When I talk to my friends about it, they all agree with the sentiment, and we think about ways to cope. We all moved here for a reason: to experience a more interesting life, to fill up with culture, fashion, or excitement. And even as we do our best to do everything we wanted, there are nagging moments of discomfort with the atmosphere, with the energy we feel. Is there something we’re missing here? Are the best days of this city behind us?
Despite how specific this feeling is, I know it can’t be new, and I go looking for how people have thought about it in the past. If people have grappled with this before, perhaps they will know why or how to deal with it.
I stumble upon the work of the late, great cultural critic Mark Fisher. In his 2014 essay collection Ghosts of My Life, he wrote, “The feeling of belatedness, of living after the gold rush, is as omnipresent as it is disavowed.” He wrote this in reference to the concept of “the slow cancellation of the future,” alluding to the 21st century’s lack of a vision—or a new vision—of the future, in stark contrast to the 20th century’s constant reinvention of culture. He continues:
While 20th-century experimental culture was seized by a recombinatorial delirium, which made it feel as if newness was infinitely available, the 21st century is oppressed by a crushing sense of finitude and exhaustion. It doesn’t feel like the future. Or, alternatively, it doesn’t feel as if the 21st century has started yet. We remain trapped in the 20th century.
He offers two suggestions for why we arrived at this state of incessant retrospection. First, there is how consumption has changed — that we’ve become so worn out and overstimulated by our work culture and digital consumption that we seek the comfort of the familiar past. Then there’s the way that production has shifted. It’s more expensive now to have the time or the mental space to form innovative art scenes; art must match consumer expectations to make money, and we are all now so deeply connected that it’s impossible to do the type of withdrawal from the world that inventing something new requires.
In the decade since the book was published, these things have only become more true in our increasingly chaotic world. Is this why the present feels so bleak? We both face a present of uncertainty while engaging in a culture that cannot imagine a future that doesn’t look like a departed past.
Fisher’s words were illuminating but depressing. What were we supposed to do, knowing that we were living in a particularly dark time culturally? Was there room to imagine a different version of decline — a way to reach back for what was once great? Among these questions, I discovered some of the letters of The Lord of the Rings author, J.R.R. Tolkien.
Decades ago, he wrote much about his understanding of the world. He believed that all of civilization, ever since the Fall of Man, had always been in a permanent state of decline, evoking what he once called “the heart-racking sense of the vanished past.” Rather than let this sort of belief collapse him into any sense of hopelessness, Tolkien believed that myths and mythmaking were a means to recover the virtue that man once had:
The creation or, more correctly, the sub-creation of stories or myths is merely a reflection of the image of the Creator in us. As such, although “myths may be misguided... they steer however shakily towards the true harbour, whereas materialistic ‘progress’ leads only to the abyss and to the power of evil.”
In Tolkien’s eyes, regardless of the nature of the times, the creation of art (myths in this case) serves as a correcting force, guiding us back toward the divine path. Even if we’ve stagnated, even if we only grow more wretched over time, the endeavor of creation is worthwhile.
Tolkien’s words make me feel better, but I wonder how well they apply to today. When I talk to my friends, they echo similar sentiments. Emily talks about leaving social media, sick of how boring and derivative the work she sees is. She resolves to make her own essays, videos, and electronic music mixes that are better. Paul talks about finding ways to feel like a child again — like hiking and crushing orange leaves beneath his feet, creating art in a way that you lose yourself in the process.
And I, after consulting the experts (my friends) and the experts, want to talk about how things feel less desolate when we talk about them together and how we seem to sit up straighter when we agree about these feelings. I want to withdraw in the ways that are necessary — like Fisher said has become difficult. I want to move toward Tolkien’s true harbor. I want to make things that are less derivative. And I want to feel like a child again.
After mulling on these feelings for weeks, talking about them reconnected me to these friends. After feeling alone, I grew closer to these lovely and creative people, grew more inspired to create instead of mindlessly staying connected, untangled my brain from social media apps. My mind vibrates with ideas for projects and events. I think about writing a myth of my own: a creative community of collaborators and peers that keeps making new things, regardless of what the world demands. There are new essays and films and paintings and novels and poems. A giant, golden banner stretches across a star-filled sky announcing, “The Party That Never Ends.”
💧 Drops of the Week 💧
PLAYLIST - “Z29vZCB2aWJleiBob3VzZSBtaXg6RA==” by 111loggedin - this artist shares really great playlists on YouTube but all of the titles are encoded in base64
POEM - “The Sick Rose” by William Blake - The invisible worm, / That flies in the night
References:
Great note from the Culturist that put me onto some of the Tolkien quotes