The 2010s: will we miss the decade that brought us flower crowns, sneakers and espresso martinis? |

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The 2010s: will we miss the decade that brought us flower crowns, sneakers and espresso martinis?

This article is more than 4 years old

There are two months left of this decade, soon the nostalgia might set in

There’s two months left of this decade, and while it will be remembered for its divisive politics and the accelerating climate crisis, what about its fashion, pop culture and trends?

What will now look like later?

Let’s pretend it’s 2042 and you’re invited to a 2010s-themed party.

Venue

The venue is an “Airbnb” decorated in white tiles with a splash of green from indoor plants hanging from crocheted slings. The wood is blonde. When they enter, guests are saged. In the “Basic zone” are Kmart prints with the words “Love, Create, Smile, Home” in curly writing. In another room there is a wall of street art and an old-timey street artist painting in the style of the Old Master, Banksy. People joke that they caught an Uber.

To drink

On arrival there is a choice of 2010s-themed alcohol: Aperol spritz, negroni, prosecco, rose, orange wine, espresso martinis and hyper-local small batch gin or craft beer.

You can also get coffee, and dotted around the party are people dressed as the beloved 2010s icon, the hipster barista – with butcher’s aprons, massive beards and sleeve tattoos. We love it that people brought “keep cups” from the era, that they found in antique stores.

For those choosing not to drink (a very late 2010s thing, assure the hosts), there’s medical marijuana or LSD microdosing available. Also: coconut water, green juice and various types of fake milks: cashew, almond, coconut, soy and macadamia.

Food

Guests are served avocado halves on a plate with a piece of toast, wedge of lemon and smear of salt. “What the hell do I do with this?” one guest is heard to say.

Later in the night salmon poke bowls are brought out by people with Deliveroo bags, but otherwise it’s mostly Mexican, cronuts, burgers, share plates and vegan food.

A small number of partygoers dressed as swole muscle bros elect to consume protein powder or food sourced in the tradition of “paleo” or combined in the tradition of “keto”. (The bulletproof coffee gets a lot of laughs.)

Clothes

Boiler suits, jumpsuits, metallics, peplum pieces, maxi dresses, bike shorts, linen, salmon pink shirts for men, short shorts, sneakers instead of stilettos, flower crowns and athleisure (of course). There is no-makeup makeup, contouring and people walk around wearing Korean face masks.

Other people wear costumes – there are dozens of Elsas from Frozen and Kardashians.

Some of the guests look strange, cartoonish almost. They wear exaggerated, stuck-on eyelashes and have painted their eyebrows three inches thick. Their faces have the alien look which we know to be a thing they used to call “fillers”, and under their clothes they’ve stuffed fake bum implants.

Photograph: Instagram

Some of the men arrive with Ned Kellys (large, but carefully maintained beards) or hair in a high topknot which they used to call a “man bun” (and we are embarrassed for the people of that era).

Some are dressed as people in professions that no longer exist: Instagram poets, social media managers and emoji designers.

Others have brought pets from the era – English bulldogs and Labradoodles were popular.

Everyone is dancing to grime, alt country and trap music as well as the massive solo stars of the decade. Rihanna, Beyoncé, Ed Sheeran and Adele are all on high rotation, along with Taylor Swift’s 1989.

Accessories

Since being banned by President Donald Trump at the end of the decade, vaping has gone underground. So in a smoky cloud of nostalgia that feels very 2017, vapers inhale a cinnamon and strawberry donut flavoured Juul.

There’s an alarming number of people seemingly aimlessly doing laps around the perimeter of the party. On closer inspection they are all wearing a strange band on their wrists called a Fitbit and measuring their steps.

“We have to get to 12,000.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, it’s just an arbitrary number we were given.”

Other guests have brought along their selfie sticks and personal drones or very old iPhones (which were enormous back then). They are taking hundreds of photos of themselves at all different angles (weird! gross! why??!!) which they jokingly say they will upload to the now defunct platform of Instagram.

“I’m an influencer!” they say to howls of laughter.

A dog dressed an Instagram influencer at a 2010s party. Photograph: Tammy Swarek / Barcroft Images

Activities

Guests are offered this thing called a “class pass” and can choose between typical 2010s-era activities – crossfit, F45, barre, SoulCycle, standup paddleboarding or power yoga.

You can have a gut health check and a (fake) faecal transplant.

In another room is a screen with astrology apps, and you can pay for your chart using old-fashioned cryptocurrency. There is a room with buckets and disinfectant for people having an experience with ayahuasca and another room for people taking something called the “ice bucket challenge” – and who are pointlessly being filmed on one of those stupid large phones while doing so.

On screens set up around the party are nonstop cooking shows. It makes you think, life must have been really shit if you didn’t stream in the 2010s.

But some grim, monotonous show called MasterChef is in a way preferable to the documentary showing earlier – Kony 2012 – which looks truly deranged, but was apparently very popular at the time.

As an alternative you can listen to a podcast via your airpods.

There are A LOT of beards at the party. Photograph: Thomas Shea/USA Today Sports

There is some darkness visible at the edges of the party – after all, it was the 2010s.

In the corner are people looking distressed and out of sorts.

“That’s the cancelled corner,” says the host. “All the people that got cancelled go there – so people that sent a racist tweet, made a rape joke or accidentally liked something posted by an alt-right account.”

There is also a dank corner for the trolls (bathed in laptop light) and another area for those who have been ghosted. The people in that area are compulsively checking their phones.

Life was cruel, we observe, glad we weren’t born then.

  • Brigid Delaney is a Guardian Australia columnist

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