Attack of the Nostalgia Whore.

I was flicking through the first issue of Monocle Meditteraneo, a broadsheet-format edition of the eponymous magazine targeting bronzed loafers-without-socks Med types, when I came across a most vexing article. Some pompous Luddite took it upon himself to chastise his friends who send him thoughtful text messages whilst abroad for being lazy. Apparently a nice “Wish you were in Portofino with us” popping up on a Blackberry screen doesn’t quite do it for this fellow. He suggests his friends man-up and make the effort of purchasing postcards, finding a pen to scribble an equivalent message, find a postbox and stamps in a foreign land and set the piece of flimsy cardboard with a picture of a cheesy tourist trap on its way through the world’s decrepit postal system.

Last year I received a postcard from Ipanema from a dear friend who was travelling around the world, and it was probably one of the most charming analogue experiences you could think of. There was something slightly surreal about receiving a message that had been smudged with tanning oil and sand. A piece of cardboard that had made it’s way half way around the world, from sunny shores all the way to my letter box on a grey drizzly London Monday morning. The fact my friend was in New York by that time only heightened the coolness of it all. But I don’t expect that on a regular basis.

Quite the contrary, I think technology has made us much better friends. Sending photos from abroad from smartphone to smartphone has the same effect as receiving a postcard. You know the person at the other end of the line is in a strange and exotic land, yet they have taken the time to think of you. They have thought of you at the very instant in time. What can be more touching than that? An immediate, intercontinental expression of friendship or love or jealousy or hate.

Granted the author of the article at the source of my frustration was writing in a magazine that prides itself on nostalgic ponciness. Its editor, Tyler Brule, heralded the Mediterraneo edition as an antidote to a world full of iPads and Kindles, stating that people didn’t want to sit by the beach with electronic devices. I don’t know, man. I’d much rather be chillin’ with an iPad than sit there struggling with a broadsheet flapping in the seaside breeze. Nostalgia is a mysterious thing. I don’t miss my Walkman, my Discman, my VHS tapes. I don’t miss having to send answers on postcards to enter competitions. I don’t miss having to go to the bank to check what’s going on with my account. I don’t miss having to go to a store to browse through CDs.

I love technology. I love that my iPad contains all the music I love, and the books I want to read, and the newspapers I learn the most from. Plus I get to throw in a few neat games and feel like I’m 13 again. Who wouldn’t want to have all that at their disposal everywhere they go? Nostalgic reactionaries probably think their pursuit of the quaint and antiquated proves some sort of intellectual depth and superiority. Fiddle sticks. People will always read physical books, always keep CDs and LPs. People will always want to hug each other and punch each other. You’ll always get a meaningful postcard from a friend. But these become cherished objects and punctual events, rendered all the more poignant for it. But I’m happy we have easy means of communication like Blackberry Messenger and Facebook and whatnot. I would have lost touch with half my friends in far-flung corners if it weren’t for these technologies.  As it stands, some of the people who influence me most on a daily basis live thousands of miles away, but they exist in my pocket and on my screen and I couldn’t live without them.

So while Mr Poncy-Nostaligic-I-Write-In-A-Fancy-Broadsheet-Slash-Design-Magazine waits for his battered postcard, I’ll be letting my friends know I care by sending them photos and thoughtful texts from the coolest technology 2010 has to offer.