When I was 12, every afternoon, more or less, my sisters and I would do our homework, gossip, play, and do everything that young girls do with the same show playing in the background. Gilmore Girls played through the worst and best times of my adolescence and followed me to college. Now and then, when I’m not swamped with essays, reading assignments, study dates, and chores, I’ll rewatch my favorite episodes and feel 12 again, bickering with my sisters, and the hundreds of miles between us doesn’t seem that far anymore.
A warm feeling wraps around me — sitting on my wooden chair, laptop open with endless open tabs — as I hear Carole Kings’ voice. Happiness consumes me, remembering the calmness and joy of those days. Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by the sense of longing, the need to be sitting on our velvety brown couch with a bowl of popcorn on my lap and unfinished homework by my side. The need to hear chatter and yells and pots and everything that’s heard in a lively home — the need to be a child again, with no overbearing responsibilities, knowing nothing. The sadness comes in, starting deep in my chest, a dull ache reaches my stomach, and, for a second I’m somewhere else, detached from my body, yearning to live that moment again.
How is it that nostalgia can feel so uncomfortable, yet beautiful at the same time? It’ll randomly hit you at times when you least expect it. Whether it’s the blue tiles in the bathroom as you brush your teeth that’ll transcend you to your grandma’s kitchen or the earthy smell after the first rainfall of a cloudy day that sends you to the town you lived in when you were six, walking home from school, hand in hand with your mother. Something as simple as watching a show mindlessly while doing homework can cause this ripple effect, starting as a soothing symptom of memory and ending with me questioning everything. But in the moments before the slight emptiness, I felt at home and everything seemed just right.
So why is this so addicting? Why do I watch this show over and over? Is it Amy Sherman Palladino’s hundreds of pop culture references? Or the small-town life quirkiness?
Or is it because it’s familiar and made me so happy at one point in my life, that I feel the need to rewatch over and over?
From a logical standpoint, we participate in repeat consumption to experience the joy it brings to us again, says Ed O’Brien with the Consumer Psychology Review. However, it’s nearly the same. Each time we watch it, it’s a different experience. We’re in a different setting, a different stage of our life, and possibly a different perspective, yet the content stays the same. As we watch things for a second, third, or sixth time, we also learn more about ourselves in the process, he explains. The process becomes equally as enjoyable.
That nostalgic feeling is the ribbon tying all of these experiences together, at least in my experience. I’m still at a loss for a complete answer to why it can have such double-sided sentimental value. However, Zachary Boren states that this feeling “can keep us grounded whilst we move forward” — an expression that everyone experiences as they grow and look back on who they were.