•
When Friendship Looked Like Bedroom Posters, Three-Way Calls, and Bright Drinks
By
Samantha Sasso
Published on 6/23/2026 at 10:44 AM
PARTNER CONTENT FROM
When Hilary Duff announced her return to music — and the upcoming lucky me tour — the reaction in my group chats was almost immediate. Ticket links and presale screenshots overlapped with fevered “are you going?” messages. It was that familiar low-level chaos of trying to make plans with people in their mid-to-late 30s, across calendars, time zones, and competing priorities. Before long, we were doing what music uniquely manages to make us do: gather around a shared moment.
It made me think about how concerts are one of the last places that still feel slightly untouched by the way everything has changed in a post-analog world. The systems are more digital and the tickets are somehow more expensive than ever, but the ritual itself remains the same as it did then. You still experience something collectively, in real time, with strangers who know the same lyrics you do by heart. It pointed back to something I keep circling whenever early-2000s nostalgia comes up. Many of the rituals we now romanticize weren’t just aesthetic markers of the era — they were systems that created spontaneity, shared presence, and, because of that, emotional investment. Connections had a kind of built-in structure then, one that’s become easier to miss as our social lives shifted from in-person to online.
Nostalgia can have a tendency to add a rosy tint to recollections, but there are some pieces of the past still shaping how we think about connection today. They might look a little different than before, but the effect is the same.
Third Space Culture
There was always something romantic about knowing where to find your friends without ever actually needing to check their location. Like most sitcoms would imply back then, you could usually rely on running into people one way or another: if there’s someone you need to get in touch with and they’re not home, they’re probably at insert-local-bar-name-here. (For the under-21 set, this would probably look a little more like a mall food court.) These physical third spaces gave people somewhere to gather without overplanning. You had a “regular” spot, even a “regular” drink — something that nearly glowed neon — and trusted that your friends would eventually show up. As we became increasingly hyperconnected, spontaneous spaces to linger outside of home, work, and school became harder to come by. Still, people search for versions of them today, whether it’s run clubs or trivia nights. The settings may have changed, and your “regular” drink might be an Aperol Spritz instead of a fluorescent fruit-tini, but these experiences are still familiar, communal, and, if phones are actually off, rooted in presence.
Three-Way Phone Calls
Three-way calls lacked the kind of physical proximity characteristic of the time but mastered the art of connection in a new way. Before group chats, we had what were, for all intents and purposes, conference calls with our friends, which, ironically, could only happen if the computer was off. A three-way call felt immediate and participatory, but also like the initiation into an invite-only club. You couldn’t passively ignore them, unless you wanted to truly miss something. They were immersive, undistracted, and rarely casual — conversation itself became the event in our little worlds. Conversations rarely arrive this way now, but the desire to catch up after you log off lingers.
TV Theme Songs
In the era of “skip intro,” TV theme songs are largely ignored, but more people are remembering just how crucial an opening song could be in setting the tone for a series. But more than that, these songs helped create shared emotional worlds, built soundtracks to entire eras of our own lives. Even now, hearing one on shuffle instantly recalls a moment when millions of people were tuning into the same stories at the same time. It was the feeling of being at the start of something everyone else was, too. These show openers are harder to come by these days, but, like a millennial siren song, when we hear a good one, we listen.
Away Messages
Away messages weren’t just status updates — they were signal systems. Being unreachable wasn’t concerning; it meant you were out living your life. It was a simple status that let everyone on your buddy list know who was around, who was away, and, when that squeaky door hinge sound signaled, who had stepped out of the conversation. Reinvented versions of away messages are still trying to make a comeback, but the sentiment isn’t quite the same — we all know we’re online even when we say we aren’t. Even so, we still aim for the kind of distance away messages once made possible.
Popstar Bedroom Posters
Popstar bedroom culture was where identity first took shape in private. Walls became mood boards of who we were becoming, filled with posters curling at the edges and magazine clippings taped a little crooked. A plastered bedroom wall was a form of self-expression for a small audience. Walking into someone else’s bedroom and spotting the same Hilary Duff posters you had at home created an instant sense of connection — like you were building versions of yourself in tandem, even if you didn’t know it yet. The instinct to curate pieces of ourselves hasn’t disappeared — it’s migrated to a more-is-more aesthetic, living on in the personal canvases we create with sticker-covered water bottles and chunky bag charms (preferably more than one). And as print experiences a slight resurgence with zines and a renewed enthusiasm for reading, there are signs that tangible inspiration isn’t gone for good.
Maybe that's why these memories endure: not because of the technology or the trends themselves, but because of the structure that brought us together.
Credits
ILLUSTRATOR
Natalia Agatte
SENIOR GRAPHIC DESIGNER
Drew Spalding
ART DIRECTOR
Rebecca Joy
