If you’ve opened your Instagram recently and noticed that everyone is posting elaborate cut creases, heavy fringes, and black and white squares, it isn’t a glitch — it’s just the 2016 trend.
Since the start of this year, all things 2016 have taken over social media, as users post throwback pictures, and reflect on a decade since one of the most pivotal years in recent history.
According to TikTok, searches for ‘2016’ surged by 452% in the first week of January, with users nostalgic for what some described as the peak of digital culture; 2016 was all about Snapchat filters, Kylie Lip Kits, the mannequin challenge, and Pokemon Go.
For some people, the trend is a fun way to look back at their style from a decade ago and reflect on how much has changed in the last ten years.
Afterall, who doesn’t love an excuse to dig out old, slightly embarrassing pictures and reminisce about the way things used to be?
But for queer people, this kind of nostalgia can be bittersweet.
For many of us, reflecting on the past ten years may involve realising how much time was lost to being closeted, or digging up pre-transition pictures.
In 2016, I graduated from university and was newly embarking on my first queer relationship. .
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While I’d been out as bi for several years prior, it was my first experience of moving through the world in a way that was more visibility queer. I noticed the looks (and occasionally catcalls) my then-girlfriend and I would receive if we held hands in the street.
I caught myself sometimes stuttering to say ‘my girlfriend’ in conversation with new people, despite considering myself to be openly and proudly bi.
Ten years later, I’ve only been in queer relationships since. I talk about my girlfriend whenever I can, without hesitation (if you met her, you’d understand why), and I’ve grown much more confident in my queer identity.
In 2016, I hadn’t yet come out as genderfluid, and was still trying to live up to a beauty standard that felt like a prison. Looking back at pictures of myself where I look so feminine, I can see a sadness in myself that I didn’t recognise at the time.
As proud as I am at how much I’ve grown into myself, it’s painful to think of how much time I spent trying to be someone else.
It’s a phenomenon that Shae Harmon, who is queer, and a qualified sex and relationship therapist called ‘queer grief’.
‘Specifically, this is the queer experience of loss, sadness and anger,’ Shae tells Metro. ‘It’s feeling like we have lost time and opportunity due to not recognising we were queer earlier or coming out sooner.
‘Thinking about, and seeing images of ourselves, as someone so unrecognisable to who we are now is a reminder of what we didn’t have at the time – space to explore and find ourselves, acceptance from our family and friends, gender affirming support and health care, and opportunities to find communities.’
For content creator Charmeé, who makes videos about bisexuality for her 41,000 followers on Instagram under the handle @bi_astrology, the trend felt like an opportunity to reflect on how much the world has changed for queer people, for better and worse.
‘For me, 2016 feels like a fever dream that I’m reliving, with the influx of nostalgia for a time that was traumatic for me as a bi person,’ she says.
Charmeé says she finally started to see herself reflected in the media in 2016, with the advent of the streaming era bringing us shows like Orange is the New Black and Black Mirror’s San Junipero episode.
In fact, LGBTQ advocacy organisation GLAAD noted in their We Are On TV report for 2016, that the year saw ‘the highest percentage of LGBTQ series regulars GLAAD has ever found.’
But that representation felt complicated for Charmeé, given that the majority of characters were white and often portrayed bisexuality in an unnuanced way. Ten years later, she’s now taking matters into her own hands, by creating videos and embarking on writing a script featuring a Black bisexual lead.
‘I feel very proud of how far I’ve come, especially without a road map or guidance. Living through 2016 taught me that I can, in fact, be the person that I never had,’ she says.
It was also a pivotal year for Imy Brighly Potts, who identifies as a lesbian, as it’s when she first started to recognise that she might have an issue with alcohol.
Looking back at pictures from 2016 made her realise how unhappy she was trying to fit in with social expectations. ‘Ten years ago, I was very feminine, had boyfriends, existed in the world as a thin, blonde, feminine, straight woman.
‘While all those things are generally the most socially acceptable things one can be, looking at those photos, I can’t believe how unhappy I was,’ she says.
‘The 2016 me wouldn’t recognise me now: masculine, an out lesbian, sober, fatter than I would’ve hoped, more muscular than I would’ve expected, far happier than I ever thought I would be,’ she adds.
Nic Crosara, came out as non-binary and started their transition in 2016. Looking back at that year also meant looking back at a version of themselves they didn’t recognise. While they wanted to take part in the trend, they did so with caution: ‘While many [cisgender heterosexual] folks showed off their past selves to their grids, I struggled to navigate what was too dysphoric to share. I opted for a 24-hour story.’
Nic says that to other people, the biggest visible difference from the start to the end of that year was that they cut off their hair, but for them, it meant so much more.
‘At the start of 2016, my eyes were either vacant, any smiles were fake or uncomfortable. Fast forward to the end of the year, and my light is starting to reappear,’ they explains.
Despite some complicated feelings, their overall perception of the trend is positive. ‘[It] made me appreciate my queer journey and how life-affirming it’s been,’ they add.
A lot has changed for the LGBTQ+ community in the past decade. Same-sex marriage had only been legalised three years earlier. It was in 2016 that the Turing Law was introduced, which came into effect a year later, pardoning historic convictions of homosexuality.
But, it was also a turning point for LGBTQ+ rights and acceptance: the Pulse Nightclub attack, in which 49 people lost their lives (50, including the attacker) happened in June.
It was also the year Trump first took office, with both his administrations overseeing a rollback on LGBTQ+, but particularly trans, rights and liberties. Hate crimes have been rising in the UK since 2016, and the UK has dropped significantly in ILGA-Europe’s annual ranking of LGBTI rights.
There’s work to be done if we want a ‘2026 trend’ to be defined by celebrating how much better things have gotten for the queer community.
But for now, Shae suggests giving yourself compassion as you look back on how far you’ve come.
‘The difference many of us see is a reminder that we persevered, and the change is palpable. What’s important is what we know now and what we do with it, not what we didn’t know then,’ they say.
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