Today, I came across an article on Forbes declaring that 2026 is the year humanity goes analog. The phrase that stopped me cold was analog movement, described, very trendily, as the act of writing with a utensil.

A utensil.

I learned to write in kindergarten, which means I’ve been practicing analog movement for roughly fifty-some-odd years. Does that make me an expert? Or at least grandfathered in? (Grandmothered, technically.)

In third grade, we were taught cursive. Then, somewhere between my childhood and my oldest son’s second-grade classroom, a group of educational innovators decided cursive was unnecessary and replaced it with something called the sunburst method. That experiment lasted about as long as a cafeteria milk carton left unrefrigerated. A few years later, cursive came roaring back like a scolded aunt, and by sixth grade, we girls were no longer just writing; we were branding.

We invented flourishes. Loops. Custom capital letters. I designed my own version of a capital A, which I still use when I sign my name. These weren’t stylistic choices; they were trademarks. Our handwriting became a secret language. CIA-level identity concealment. When you passed a note in class, you never signed your name. You didn’t have to. The way you crossed a T or closed an E told everyone exactly who it came from.

Analog was never a lifestyle choice. It was just life.

I’ve always been an analog girl. I never stopped using a pen-and-paper daily planner. Every September, I customize my preferred layout and order my spiral-bound planner. I have always journaled by hand. I write letters. I hand-sign birthday cards. I take notes with an actual pen and highlight physical books with a real highlighter, an act now apparently considered rebellious.

Forbes says 2026 is the year of analog living. The idea caught fire online, which feels a little like announcing a juice cleanse at a donut convention, but here we are. People are backing away from constant screens, AI everything, and the pressure to be endlessly efficient. We are exhausted by AI, by constant updates, by the idea that everything, including creativity, should be fast, optimized, and measurable.

 So they’re slowing things down on purpose, choosing physical media and hands-on habits that take time and don’t pretend to be efficient. Writing things down, making stuff, reading real books, and doing activities that don’t come with notifications or metrics.

 Phone-addicted students are attempting tech fasts. Readers want real newspapers. Writers want ink on fingers again.

I read this and thought: So… we’re circling back to being human?

The article makes it clear that the move toward analog living didn’t come out of nowhere. It’s the predictable swing of a pendulum that’s gone too far in one direction. Industries didn’t just adopt new technology; they overused it. Everything had to be faster, smarter, automated, optimized. No pause. No thought. Just momentum.

Anjela Freyja, a creative director and designer who focuses on cultural trends at the intersection of fashion, beauty, and branding, cuts through the noise: many companies weren’t using AI because it served a purpose. They were using it because it was the next thing. That’s how this always goes. A new tool appears, everyone panics, everyone adopts it badly, and then everyone acts surprised when people lose interest.

What’s happening now isn’t a rebellion, it’s a correction. People have seen this cycle before. New becomes normal. Normal becomes exhausting. And suddenly, the old way starts to look reasonable again.

The analog shift isn’t about nostalgia or rejecting technology outright. It’s about fatigue. About wanting things that don’t require updates or explanations. Things that work because they always have. People aren’t chasing innovation anymore; they’re gravitating toward what feels stable, familiar, and human.

That’s not trendiness. It’s the moment where we all agree to call something “new” that clearly isn’t.
This works the same way every time.

And that’s why it feels bigger than marketing. It’s a cultural shift, not a branding one.

We’ve spent years being told faster is better, smarter is superior, and automated is inevitable. Now we’re exhausted. People are craving texture again, paper, community, experiences that don’t disappear when the battery dies.

WGSN is a global trend forecasting and consumer-insights company that predicts what’s coming next in fashion, retail, lifestyle, technology, and culture, often years in advance. Brands, retailers, and manufacturers pay a lot of money to access their reports so they can plan products, marketing, and strategy before a trend shows up in the real world. They claim that the emerging consumer group known as the gleamers isn’t chasing traditional milestones. They’re celebrating small, tangible pleasures. Minor joys. Minor victories. Minor moments that still feel real.

This isn’t nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. It’s fatigue.

And here’s the thing: analog doesn’t mean anti-technology. It means intentional technology. Even Freyja is clear on that. AI has its place in research, brainstorming, and editing. But when a brand, or a person, claims its values are rooted in human emotion, then human connection has to lead.

Which brings me back to handwriting.

Writing by hand is inefficient. Slower. Messier. You can’t backspace your way out of a bad sentence. You have to sit with it. Cross it out. Rewrite it. That friction is the point. It forces thought. Memory. Ownership.

So if 2026 wants to crown analog living as a movement, fine. I’ll accept the title quietly, with my pen in hand. But let’s be honest: this isn’t a trend. It’s a return. And some of us never left.

We were just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.