Look around.
Your phone is a black rectangle. Your laptop is a slightly larger black rectangle. Your car is probably white, black, or grey and, most likely, closely resembles the one parked next to it. There is no doubt regarding the technological relevance of all of these objects. Still, they seem to have nothing to say.
This hasn’t always been the case. During the 1960s, an Italian lamp could look like an animal, or a solar eclipse; the typewriter could suddenly become pop; and a chair could challenge the very idea of how to sit. In the ‘80s, cars had bold and angular lines, quite ridiculous colours, and personalities that could be recognised miles away, just by the sound of their engines. Not all these objects were good-looking, practical, or destined to be successful and remembered. They did have, though, something that seems to be missing today: the courage to imagine a form that didn’t already exist.
In the meantime, innovation hasn’t stopped. Not at all. It has, perhaps, never been more accelerated. However, almost everything we own has the form of a black rectangle, a grey SUV, or the remake of something that already existed 20 years ago. It seems that innovation has changed location and moved to the interior, invisible to most, of the products we consume. And even when we do see it, it comes off more as a spectacle than a new vision for daily life.
Let me make this clear from the start, so there can be no misunderstanding. I do not believe in the fairytale of the good old days. Memory often preserves only the past’s masterpieces, while its failures silently fade away. Still, while acknowledging our bias is important, it isn’t equivalent to pretending that our relationship to novelty has not changed.
According to Axalta’s 2024 global report, four out of five new cars worldwide were white, black, grey, or silver. About 48% of car sales were SUVs, with the percentage exceeding 50 in advanced economies. About 55% of newly registered electric cars are SUVs. These vehicles are technological marvels, with almost every aspect, from combustion, to braking and driver’s assistance, being continuously regulated by a network of sensors and cameras. The modern car is, from many perspectives, a computer on wheels. Yet, all this internal turmoil sees no correspondence in the external designs, which have become increasingly interchangeable.
The same preference is visible in contexts far from industrial design. Many among Hollywood’s largest film productions come from already existing material. The ten highest-grossing productions in 2024 were: Inside Out 2; Deadpool & Wolverine; Wicked; Moana 2; Despicable Me 4; Beetlejuice Beetlejuice; Dune: Part 2; Twisters; Mufasa: the Lion King; and Sonic the Hedgehog 3. Not all of them are sequels in the strict sense, as Wicked, for example, is the movie adaptation of a Broadway musical. However, not one of them comes from an entirely new fictional world. It seems as though familiarity here is being used as a commercial strategy.
Fashion, too, and perhaps especially, proves that we actively seek cultural predictability, and not only consume it due to the industries that sell it to us. The RealReal, a known vintage fashion retailer, has reported on August 2026 that the demand for their clothing has increased by 432% since 2020. Specifically, searches for vintage fashion, for example for “Phoebe Philo Celine” and “Marc Jacobs Louis Vuitton”, have risen by more than 200% each. These figures should be looked at critically, as The RealReal’s interests in the matter are evident. Still, the phenomenon extends beyond this one instance. Other retail sites, such as 1stDibs, have recorded a very similar behaviour, and general internet searches, such as “Sex and The City fashion”, “Prada heels 2009”, and “Y2K fashion”, have too grown incredibly.
None of these figures, regardless of whether they are inflated or not, prove that designers have stopped creating. We have great examples of innovation and experimentation. The Cybertruck, for example, can be either hated or loved, but it still is a bold and divisive car. In fashion, there have been examples of extremely innovative projects: Iris van Herpen’s “Airo” gown, made of 15000 hand-bonded iridescent glass bubbles; Adobe and Christian Cowan’s Project Primrose dress, with 1200 liquid-crystal petals changing colour and pattern while the model walked; and Coperni’s Air Swipe bag, made of 99% air and 1% glass.
However, even though we most certainly witness great innovation, it seems to have become either invisible or exceptional. This distinction is key. Innovation has not disappeared, it has changed location. It is often buried inside the objects we use. And when experimentation does make itself visible, it is often on the edge of everyday life: runways, the Met Gala, or a concept car. The ordinary, indeed, seems to be unaffected by technological progress, at least on an aesthetic level.
The tendency to return to the past, driven perhaps by the deeply destabilising uncertainties that characterise our times, reoccurs across many trends and “aesthetics” that we see today. Whether it is conformism, nostalgia, or the love for familiarity, our times appear to be fashionably stuck at the time of the last economic boom.
It might be the case that the familiarity we so desperately seek is able to offer us reassurance. In a period like ours, with economic and geopolitical uncertainty, and rapid technological changes, the past becomes unusually easy to consume. It is known. It is legible. We know what a 2000s handbag looks like and symbolises. We recognise the characters within a sequel. We are used to the aesthetic of a SUV. Novelty asks more of us, and in an already tiring reality, we might collectively strive for some comfort. Nostalgia, the love for familiarity, and perhaps even conformism may be different expressions of our desire for change that doesn’t look too unfamiliar.
The black rectangles we are surrounded by are not evidence that we have stopped inventing. Quite the opposite: relentless innovation is happening inside of them. What has changed is our tendency to let that freshness alter the forms around us. We still want the new. But we seem increasingly drawn to what’s dressed as something we already recognise.
I study Mathematics applied to AI, and I’m curious about how technology shapes the way we live, think, and connect. Outside my studies, I’m drawn to art, music, philosophy, and questions around mental health.