Why be a throwback when you can throw up?

There’s some pretty weird advice going around. When I saw it, I dismissed it on sight. I heard it too, luckily ignoring it on sound. Now when I smelled it, the aroma was much too much to bear, sticking to the walls of my apartment. I should really do something about that. But I might want to wait until the weather improves more steadily. It’s not yet the time to open your windows and let that crisp city air pour inside. Soon, very soon. Nonetheless, there’s this idea that we should go back, way back, to a simpler, gentler time.  

I read it somewhere important by someone important who deemed it quite important. We should look to the past to conquer the future. If that means adopting handlebar mustaches and topcoats I don’t know what else to say. That’s precisely the sort of behavior that scares me. Gives me goosebumps at a time when geese are making the trip home from wintering in Florida. We’ve made so much progress since the days when three-piece suits were the normal ballgame attire. I’d hate to see us throw out the sweatpants with the bathwater. Because we’re comfortable now, quite comfortable indeed. 

The contrarians among us will argue that adopting a retro lifestyle isn’t the end of the world. It’s pure aesthetics, they say. That’s all. Gaze upon the credenza, would you please? Isn’t it shiny and spacious with the mid-century charm of Jack Benny? That’s certainly possible, yes. But these so-called aesthetic choices have real world consequences beyond the plush living rooms of mild-mannered aesthetes. So let’s play it out and see. 

Why stop with furniture, clothing and art? Surely there’s more we could learn from the past. You might have a thing for due process and rule of law, but what’s more retro than Mr. Hammurabi and his code. Too old? Go with the Inquisition then, it’s a surefire crowd-pleaser. Putting a tub of leeches in a doctor’s office tones down the stuffiness of the medical establishment, replacing it with vintage appeal. And those white coats are obscenely bland. Ever heard of paisley? We could do this all day and most of the night. But there’s no use looking backwards to fetishize everything from A-Bombs and 8-tracks to dial-up modems and mustard gas.  

We have to move forward. We've simply got to. It’s why I’ve never understood the idea of doing laps. They are regressive activities perpetuated by the perpetually confused. The brainchild of a waterlogged mind. Swimming ought to be about something and help you go somewhere. The other side of the pool doesn't classify as somewhere. Step out of the pool and into reality. Mammals did this already. They walked up the shoreline and never looked back. Yet here we are swimming like there's no tomorrow (which if we keep it up, there might not be). Swimming ought to cease upon exiting the womb. 

Our brave ancestors went on land for a reason. And it wasn't so we could spend hours under the harsh fluorescent glow of a local Y either.