In 2016, we had an inkling of the storm that was approaching.
As social media platforms overflow with images from a decade ago, it’s clear that nostalgia doesn't carry the same weight as it once did. Each new year prompts us to look back and marvel—often with a sense of dread—at how far we’ve come. It’s almost surreal to recognize that our lives, up to this very moment, are now part of history, and we continue to push forward into the unknown future. Reflecting on our recent past often leaves us feeling alienated: was I truly that person, unaware of the tumultuous road that lay ahead? Living in a different city, loving someone else, dressed in those outfits?
As we step into 2026, many are revisiting their old photo collections, a ritual that has become almost communal thanks to social media. Everyone seems to be sharing snapshots from 2016, attempting to gain perspective on a decade that, although it may have passed quickly, felt endless during its trials. Some reminisce about their struggles during that time, others celebrate their victories, while many reflect on aspects of their identities that were just beginning to unfold.
However, there’s a significant twist in this narrative: for many, 2016 is remembered as both a catastrophic year and the last semblance of normalcy before everything changed. In the United States—and sadly, elsewhere—the election of Donald Trump, fueled by a surge of far-right extremism, set the stage for geopolitical turmoil, economic upheaval, and increasingly draconian policies that would affect generations. One Twitter user succinctly captured this sentiment, noting that a lot of the reflection on 2016 stems from the realization that things took a dramatic turn for the worse right after that year. People now share their innocent selfies, reminiscent of a person blissfully unaware of the chaos to come.
But let’s acknowledge that we weren’t entirely blind to what awaited us. During the election campaign, it became clear that regardless of the outcome, Trump’s candidacy was a troubling sign for the nation’s future. Many of us cringed when Hillary Clinton suggested we "Pokémon Go to the polls," as her struggle to engage voters made her susceptible to Trump's populist rhetoric, which he delivered with a vulgar flair. Trump was no stranger to anyone paying attention; he had been a notorious figure since the 1970s, and countless warnings about the potential implications of his presidency—from both political adversaries and some within the GOP—have proven to be chillingly accurate. While few could have anticipated the global health crisis brought on by the Covid-19 pandemic, the subsequent chaos in the White House, blatant corruption, alliances with authoritarian leaders, dismantling of federal institutions, and the deployment of armed forces against American citizens all align with the predictions made by those who foresaw doom.
What makes those photos from 2016 so emotionally charged is that even then, we felt something precious slipping away, sensing that the foundations of our world were being threatened by reckless, reactionary elements. That year was frequently dubbed “the worst year ever” by those eager to turn the page, despite an underlying fear of more suffering on the horizon. The bittersweet pangs we experience when looking at those images today serve as poignant reminders that we were already hanging by a thread.
I kicked off that pivotal year by relocating to Los Angeles, a sprawling city that was entirely new to me. Shortly thereafter, my long-term relationship fell apart, I left my stable job to work at a bookstore for a meager hourly wage, and I found myself living in a shabby shared house that was often circled by helicopters. Turning 30 was supposed to be a milestone, but instead, I felt like I was just barely treading water. Yet, because this chaos was self-inflicted, I reassured myself that I could navigate through it.
What I found much harder to cope with was witnessing the unraveling of America. I’ll never forget encountering a man wearing a Trump shirt at my beloved taco truck—this was shortly after a co-founder of Latinos for Trump had alarmed viewers by suggesting that unchecked immigration would lead to "taco trucks on every corner." In that moment, I realized I had lost my bearings. On election night, as I took an Uber home from a friend's gathering, the driver, sensing my despair, commented that the election results were irrelevant since the Rothschild banking family controlled everything anyway. This bizarre remark served as an early glimpse into the conspiratorial madness that would flourish under Trump's administration.
Perhaps it is fair to say that 2016 marked the year we finally began to lose touch with reality. It was during this time that concepts like "fake news" and viral misinformation morphed into movements such as QAnon and election denial, ultimately leading to deepfakes and state-sponsored misinformation campaigns. Looking back at our younger selves in those photographs, we can see individuals who were not yet desensitized to these issues, who still held onto the belief that consensus on basic facts was possible. They were undoubtedly anxious and fearful, yet they clung to the hope that reason would prevail. And perhaps it can, in a society that survives beyond Trump and works to remedy the significant harm he has caused.
That hope now feels frailer than ever—a flickering candle struggling to stay alight—making it painful to remember that we once relied on it daily. However, if we were also remarkably astute about the trajectory the years following 2016 would take us, then we have at least gained the insight to envision a way out of this dismal era. You can either feel pity for your former self for what they will endure, or you can draw upon their resilience. Regardless of the challenges, they managed to reach 2026.
