Living Like It’s 1985: I Gave Up Modern Life for a Week—Here’s What Surprised Me Most

Julie Ann - June 28, 2025

When I set out to live as if it were 1985, I traded my smartphone, streaming services, and constant notifications for a week of intentional simplicity. Life instantly slowed down. There was no compulsion to respond to messages, scroll through feeds, or juggle endless tabs. My daily routine shifted: I lingered over breakfast, finished books uninterrupted, and found leisure in activities that didn’t require a screen. Compared to today’s constant multitasking and the pressure to always be “on,” the slower rhythm of 1985 felt both liberating and surprisingly productive.

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Rediscovering Analog Entertainment

Without a digital library at my fingertips, I turned to board games, VHS movies, FM radio, and stacks of paperbacks for entertainment. There’s a special charm in shuffling cards or hearing the hiss of a cassette tape starting up. These analog activities demanded more focus and patience—no skipping scenes or fast-forwarding through commercials. I noticed I became more deeply engaged, whether strategizing in Monopoly or getting lost in a novel. Yet, I also felt the limitations: choices were fewer, and spontaneous entertainment was harder to come by.

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The Challenge of Communication

Communicating like it’s 1985 meant relying on landline phones, handwritten letters, and in-person visits. Gone was the instant gratification of texts or emails; instead, I had to wait—sometimes days—for replies. This slower pace brought a surprising sense of anticipation and made each conversation feel more meaningful. I found myself listening more intently during calls and cherishing the rare letters that arrived. While it was less convenient, the quality and depth of my connections often felt richer—reminding me what we’ve lost to convenience.

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Embracing Simpler Meals

Cooking like it was 1985 meant no food delivery apps or endless convenience foods. Instead, I dusted off retro cookbooks, planned grocery trips with handwritten lists, and spent more time in the kitchen. I experimented with classic recipes—think tuna casserole, homemade bread, and simple vegetable sides. Meals were less processed and surprisingly satisfying. Without the lure of takeout or microwave dinners, I found myself appreciating the flavors of scratch cooking and the rituals of meal prep. It was a reminder that food, too, can slow life down.

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No GPS, Just Paper Maps

Navigating without a smartphone was both daunting and oddly rewarding. I relied on fold-out maps and scribbled directions, often pulling over to double-check my route. There were moments of frustration—one wrong turn led to a winding detour—but there was also genuine satisfaction in figuring things out myself. Getting lost became part of the adventure, and I discovered parts of my own city I’d never noticed. Without GPS, each successful arrival felt like a small victory, made sweeter by the effort involved.

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The Absence of Social Media

Living without social media meant no scrolling, no likes, no constant updates to check. The mental space this opened up was remarkable—my thoughts felt clearer, and I noticed a significant drop in anxiety. I wasn’t comparing myself to others or feeling compelled to document every moment. However, staying informed and connected proved more challenging. Without digital platforms, I relied on newspapers, phone calls, and word of mouth. While I missed the ease of online connection, the peace and focus I gained was a refreshing surprise.

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Physical Photos—and Film Cameras

Capturing memories with a film camera brought a sense of anticipation I’d forgotten. Each shot required thought—no endless retakes or instant previews. After finishing a roll, I waited days to see the developed prints, making each photo feel more precious and intentional. Holding physical pictures in my hands, I realized how fleeting digital images can be. The whole process—from framing a shot to picking up the prints—made me value the tangible, lasting nature of analog photography.

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Listening to Music—One Album at a Time

Music in 1985 was a deliberate affair. I listened to cassettes, spun vinyl records, and tuned in to the radio, embracing each medium’s quirks. There was no skipping tracks with a tap—I played albums from start to finish and let radio DJs guide my experience. This approach demanded more patience and attention, but it also deepened my appreciation for full albums and the art of sequencing. Each listen felt like an event, not just background noise.

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Shopping Without the Internet

Shopping like it was 1985 meant visiting brick-and-mortar stores, flipping through paper catalogs, and making decisions without instant reviews or price comparison apps. Each purchase was more intentional and often took more time—browsing aisles, chatting with staff, and sometimes leaving empty-handed if an item was out of stock. While it demanded patience, there was genuine joy in the tactile experience of shopping, from feeling fabrics to discovering unexpected finds. The process turned routine errands into enjoyable outings.

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News from TV and Newspapers

Staying up to date meant tuning in to scheduled TV news broadcasts or reading the morning paper—no refreshing apps for minute-by-minute updates. News came at a set pace, and I found myself savoring the depth and reliability of well-researched stories instead of reacting to a constant stream of headlines. The slower spread of information had its downsides—I sometimes learned about events hours after everyone else—but it also reduced the feeling of being overwhelmed by breaking news. Information felt more curated and trustworthy.

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Fitness Without Apps or Trackers

Exercising like it was 1985 meant no step counters, fitness apps, or motivational notifications. I laced up for jogs around the neighborhood, popped in aerobics VHS tapes, and joined a local pickup basketball game. Without digital reminders, motivation came from within—or from friends eager to join. Accountability was about showing up, not checking off a streak. While it required more self-discipline, I found joy in the social side of fitness and the freedom from constant self-monitoring.

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Banking and Money Management

Managing money in 1985 style meant balancing a checkbook, using cash, and making regular trips to the bank to deposit checks or withdraw funds. Without budgeting apps or online statements, I had to plan ahead—jotting down expenses, saving receipts, and mailing in bill payments. The process was slower, but it made me far more aware of where every dollar went. Handling physical money brought a sense of tangibility to finances that digital banking often lacks. Every transaction felt more real and deliberate.

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Waiting as a Daily Norm

Life in 1985 demanded patience. I waited in line at the post office, anticipated handwritten replies, and scheduled my evenings around when a favorite TV show would air. Waiting wasn’t just common—it was expected, and sometimes surprisingly rewarding. The build-up to an event or message made the end result feel more significant. This slower pace taught me to savor moments of anticipation, turning what once felt like inconvenience into a quiet source of satisfaction.

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Privacy Felt Different

Living in 1985, there was a noticeable sense of privacy. Without smartphones tracking my location or social networks cataloging my life, personal moments stayed truly personal. My boundaries felt more secure—conversations weren’t recorded, and secrets were easier to keep. I realized how much of modern life is shared, often unintentionally, with the wider world. This analog existence made it easier to control what I revealed and to whom, offering a refreshing layer of freedom that’s hard to replicate today.

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A New Appreciation for the Present

Stepping back into the rhythms of 1985 gave me a deeper sense of presence in daily life. Without digital distractions, I noticed I was more attentive—conversations felt richer, meals more enjoyable, and even simple activities seemed meaningful. This analog pause helped me see the value in slowing down and being truly present with others. While I appreciate the convenience of modern technology, I now recognize the importance of setting boundaries and savoring moments. The past week offered a balanced perspective on what’s worth keeping from both eras.

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Wrapping Up: Nostalgia and Lessons Learned

My week of living like it was 1985 was filled with unexpected joys and a few frustrations. I was most surprised by the depth of engagement analog life offered—whether in conversations, hobbies, or even simple routines. Patience, presence, and privacy stood out as the biggest takeaways. While I’m grateful for today’s conveniences, I plan to carry forward slower meals, dedicated screen-free time, and handwritten notes. Nostalgia isn’t about rejecting progress—it’s about choosing which parts of the past deserve a place in our future. Maybe we all need a little 1985 in our lives. Why not try unplugging for a day and see what you rediscover?

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