As artificial intelligence weaves itself deeper into the fabric of daily existence, a counter-movement is gaining unexpected traction. From smart speakers that anticipate our needs to algorithms that draft our emails, the digital revolution has reached a tipping point where many are asking: what happens when we want to take back control? The answer appears to be a deliberate, thoughtful retreat toward what’s being called the analog lifestyle—a sustained shift rather than a temporary detox.
This isn’t simply about turning off notifications for a weekend. The analog lifestyle represents a fundamental rethinking of how we interact with technology, prioritizing tangible experiences over digital convenience. It’s about choosing to knit a scarf rather than scroll through feeds, writing letters instead of texts, and listening to vinyl rather than algorithmic playlists. The movement is rooted in a desire to reclaim agency over our time and attention in an era where generative AI increasingly thinks and creates on our behalf.
The numbers tell a compelling story. Major retailers are witnessing unprecedented demand for offline activities. Michael’s, the arts and crafts giant with over 1,300 North American locations, reports that searches for “analog hobbies” on its platform surged 136% in just six months. Sales of guided craft kits jumped 86% in 2025, with projections suggesting another 30-40% increase this year. Perhaps most strikingly, searches for yarn kits—often dismissed as a pastime for previous generations—skyrocketed by 1,200% in 2025.
Stacey Shively, Michael’s chief merchandising officer, sees this as more than a passing fad. “I do think it’s this really big cultural shift happening right now,” she explains. The company is responding by dedicating more floor space to knitting materials and traditional craft supplies. Shively notes that customers increasingly view crafting as a mental health intervention, a way to escape the anxiety of doomscrolling that intensified during the Covid-19 pandemic and never truly subsided.
To understand this phenomenon firsthand, I decided to immerse myself in it. For 48 hours, I would live as if the digital revolution had never reached its current peak. That meant abandoning my three iPhones, MacBook, dual monitors, Kindle, and Alexa devices. More challenging would be suppressing the instinctive Gen-Z impulse to swipe, scroll, and switch between screens.
Before beginning, I sought guidance from those already committed to this path. Shaughnessy Barker, a 25-year-old resident of Penticton, British Columbia, has become something of an accidental ambassador for the analog life. Reaching her requires dialing a landline—an artifact many under 30 have never used.
Barker’s journey began like many millennials and Gen-Zers: on “stan Twitter” in the early 2010s, obsessing over pop culture. But as platforms evolved, she grew disillusioned. “Everything is meant for profit (on the internet) and nothing is meant to just be for enjoyment anymore,” she reflects. This sentiment echoes throughout the movement—a feeling that digital spaces have become monetized to the point of losing their authentic human connection.
Describing herself as an “AI hater to my core,” Barker’s transition to analog living felt natural. She grew up with radio and vinyl records, and now maintains an extensive collection of cassettes, DVDs, and VHS tapes. Her social life revolves around tech-free craft nights and wine gatherings. She writes physical notes and strictly limits her computer time.
The most significant leap came when she installed a landline at home and downloaded a “dumb phone” app for when she’s out. She informed friends that if they wanted to reach her, they’d need to call or write a letter. The gesture was both practical and philosophical—a line in the sand against the always-on culture.
Yet even Barker acknowledges the paradox. Her job at a vintage shop and her “snail mail club” require online outreach. She laughs at the contradiction: “I’m a walking oxymoron being like, ‘I want to get off my phone and I’m going to make TikToks about it.’” This tension lies at the heart of the modern analog movement. Complete disconnection is nearly impossible—and perhaps not even desirable—in contemporary society. Instead, practitioners seek intentional boundaries.
My own 48-hour experiment revealed both liberation and frustration. Without GPS, I got lost in my own city, discovering neighborhoods I’d never noticed while staring at screens. Without streaming services, I rediscovered the joy of browsing physical books and the anticipation of radio songs. Meals were eaten without the distraction of notifications. Conversations felt more present.
But challenges emerged quickly. Work communications piled up. Coordinating with friends required advance planning. Simple questions went unanswered without Google. The experience highlighted that the goal isn’t total elimination of digital tools, but rather a healthier relationship with them.
The analog lifestyle movement reflects deeper cultural currents. It’s a response to AI fatigue—the exhaustion of having machines mediate every experience. It’s a mental health strategy, combating the anxiety and depression linked to constant connectivity. And it’s a search for authenticity in an increasingly synthetic world.
What makes this different from previous back-to-basics trends is its timing. As generative AI becomes capable of writing, designing, and even conversing with human-like fluency, the value of human-created, physical experiences actually increases. Knitting an imperfect scarf or writing a letter with your actual handwriting becomes a radical act of authenticity.
The movement also recognizes that technology itself isn’t the enemy. Barker still uses the internet for her vintage shop and club. Michael’s sells its craft kits online. The distinction is about intentionality—using digital tools when they serve human purposes, rather than letting them use us.
Looking ahead, this trend suggests a future where digital and analog coexist more thoughtfully. We might see more businesses offering offline options, more social events explicitly banning devices, and perhaps even tech companies designing products that encourage breaks rather than endless engagement.
For now, the analog lifestyle remains a choice—a way to carve out space for slowness, creativity, and genuine connection. It’s a reminder that progress doesn’t always mean more technology. Sometimes, it means knowing when to put it down and pick up something real.