Reference Culture: Are We in an Originality Crisis?  

Try to picture the mainstream aesthetic of the 2020s and chances are you’ll end up pulling from past decades. From Y2K fashion and 1990s VHS cameras to ’70s blowout hairstyles, the 2020s seem to be a mirror reflecting eras that came before rather than having a face of its own. Amid the constant cycle of throwbacks, remixes and nods to the past, at what point does the line between paying homage and unoriginality start to blur? When does referencing the past start to feel more like repetition, or even plagiarism? 

Of course, borrowing from what came before is nothing new. All art has been influenced by the art that came before it. Renaissance painters reinterpreted classical myths and plunderphonics (sampling) has become a music genre of its own. But today’s aesthetic culture operates differently, not just because of new creative tools, but because of the speed and scale at which content moves. The internet has turned the past into a vast, instantly searchable archive — one where past styles, sounds and trends are ubiquitous and readily available to be repurposed. The past is no longer distant. In this landscape, nostalgia isn’t just a feeling — it’s a strategy. Creating something new can feel riskier and less profitable than simply reworking what already resonates. 

But why do we like returning to the past so much, anyway? For one, it’s safe to say the 2020s have been defined by uncertainty: pandemics, climate and political anxieties, job insecurity. In that context, nostalgia offers comfort. Familiar visuals, sounds and styles act like cultural security blankets. They anchor us to something stable in a world that feels anything but. 

There’s also a particular kind of cultural admiration reserved for references and recreations. When a celebrity morphs into someone else, whether through prosthetics for a role, mimicking a voice or recreating previously well-known images, it’s often met with awe. 

British visual artist Nadia Lee Cohen has built much of her reputation on this dynamic. Her hyper-stylized editorials often feature celebrities meticulously re-creating vintage magazine covers, old Hollywood promo shots or forgotten advertising aesthetics. These works walk a fine line between parody, tribute and social commentary, but much of their power comes from a viewer’s recognition of the reference. Or lack of it.  

American singer-songwriter Halsey transformed into a series of other famous musicians as part of the visual campaign for her most recent album, The Great Impersonator. Meanwhile, HAIM’s latest single covers are a riff on seemingly niche paparazzi photos, like this one of actors Keira Knightley and Jamie Dornan strolling down a London street in 2004 or Nicole Kidman after her divorce from Tom Cruise — deep cuts for those in the know. From editorial spreads to album campaigns, the list goes on and on. Images are designed not only to imitate, but to gain reward for recognition. 

It increasingly seems that the more faithfully something mirrors an existing cultural moment, the more it’s celebrated — not just for what it is, but for what it reminds us of.