As technology distracts, polarizes and automates, people are still finding refuge on analog islands in the digital sea.
The holdouts span the generation gaps, uniting elderly and middle-aged enclaves born in the pre-internet times with the digital natives raised in the era of online ubiquity.
They are setting down their devices to paint, color, knit and play board games. Others carve out time to mail birthday cards and salutations written in their own hand. Some drive cars with manual transmissions while surrounded by automobiles increasingly able to drive themselves. And a widening audience is turning to vinyl albums, resuscitating an analog format that was on its deathbed 20 years ago.
The analog havens provide a nostalgic escape from tumultuous times for generations born from 1946 through 1980, says Martin Bispels, 57, a former QVC executive who recently started Retroactv, a company that sells rock music merchandise dating to the 1960s and 1970s.
“The past gives comfort. The past is knowable,” Bispels says. “And you can define it because you can remember it the way you want.”
But analog escapes also beckon to the members of the millennials and Generation Z, those born from 1981 through 2012 — younger people immersed in a digital culture that has put instant information and entertainment at their fingertips.
Despite that convenience and instant gratification, even younger people growing up on technology’s cutting edge are yearning for more tactile, deliberate and personal activities that don’t evaporate in the digital ephemera, says Pamela Paul, author of “100 Things We’ve Lost To The Internet.”
“Younger generations have an almost longing wistfulness because because so little of their life feels tangible,” Paul says. “They are starting to recognize how the internet has changed their lives, and they are trying to revive these in-person, low-tech environments that older generations took for granted.”
Here are some glimpses into how the old ways are new again.
Keeping those cards coming
People have been exchanging cards for centuries. It’s a ritual in danger of being obliterated by the tsunami of texting and social media posts. Besides being quicker and more convenient, digital communication has become more economical as the cost of a first-class U.S. postage stamp has soared from 33 to 78 cents during the past 25 years.
But tradition is hanging on thanks to people like Megan Evans, who started the Facebook group called “Random Acts of Cardness” a decade ago when she was just 21 in hopes of fostering and maintaining more human connections in an increasingly impersonal world.
“Anybody can send a text message that says ‘Happy Birthday!’ But sending a card is a much more intentional way of telling somebody that you care,” says Evans, who lives in Wickliff, Ohio. “It’s something that the sender has touched with their own hand, and that you are going to hold in your own hand.”
More than 15,000 people are now part of Evans’ Facebook group, including Billy-Jo Dieter, who sends at least 100 cards per month commemorating birthdays, holidays and other milestones. “A dying art,” she calls it.
“My goal has been to try to make at least one person smile each day,” says Dieter, 48, who lives in Ellsworth, Maine. “When you sit down and you put the pen to the paper, it becomes something that’s even more just for that person.”
The singularity of a stick shift
Before technology futurist Ray Kurzweil came up with a concept that he dubbed the “Singularity” to describe his vision of computers melding with humanity, the roads were crammed with stick-shift cars working in concert with people.
But automobiles with manual transmission appear to be on a road to oblivion as technology transforms cars into computers on wheels. Fewer than 1% of the new vehicles sold in the U.S. have manual transmission, down from 35% in 1980, according to an analysis by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.
But there remain stick-shift diehards like Prabh and Divjeev Sohi, brothers who drive cars with manual transmissions to their classes at San Jose State University along Silicon Valley roads clogged with Teslas. They became enamored with stick shifts while virtually driving cars in video games as kids and riding in manual transmission vehicles operated by their father and grandfather.
So when they were old enough to drive, Prabh, 22, and Divjeev, 19, were determined to learn a skill few people their age even bother to attempt: mastering the nuances of a clutch that controls a manual transmission, a process that resulted in their 1994 Jeep Wrangler coming to a complete stop while frustrated drivers got stuck behind them.
“He stalled like five times his first time on the road,” Prabh recalls.
Even though the experience still causes Divjeev to shudder, he feels it led him to a better place.
“You are more in the moment when you are driving a car with a stick. Basically you are just there to drive and you aren’t doing anything else,” Divjeev says. “You understand the car, and if you don’t handle it correctly, that car isn’t going to move.”
Rediscovering vinyl’s virtues
Vinyl’s obsolescence seemed inevitable in the 1980s when compact discs emerged. That introduction triggered an evisceration of analog recordings that hit bottom in 2006 when 900,000 vinyl albums were sold, according to the Recording Industry Association of America. That was a death rattle for a format that peaked in 1977, when 344 million vinyl albums were sold.
But the slump unexpectedly reversed, and vinyl albums are now a growth niche. In each of the past two years, about 43 million vinyl albums have been sold, despite the widespread popularity of music streaming services that make it possible to play virtually any song by any artist at any time.
Baby boomers expanding upon their decades-old album collections aren’t the only catalyst. Younger generations are embracing the lusher sound of vinyl, too.
“I really love listening to an album on vinyl from start to finish. It feels like I am sitting with the artist,” says 24-year-old Carson Bispels. “Vinyl just adds this permanence that makes the music feel more genuine. It’s just you and the music, the way it should be.”
Carson is the son of Martin Bispels, the former QVC executive. A few years ago, Martin gave a few of his vinyl records to Carson, including Bob Marley’s “Taklin’ Blues,” an album already played so much that it sometimes cracks and pops with the scratches in it.
“I still listen to it because every time I do, I think of my dad,” says Carson, who lives in Nashville, Tennessee.
After starting off with about 10 vinyl albums from his dad, Carson now has about 100 and plans to keep expanding.
“The current digital age of music is fantastic, too, but there’s nothing like the personal aspect of going into the record store and thumbing through a bunch of albums while making small talk with some of the other patrons to find out what they’re listening to,” Carson says.
Paul, the author of the book about analog activities that have been devoured by the internet, says the vinyl music’s comeback story has her mulling a potential sequel. “A return to humanity,” she says, “could turn out to be another book.”
