Back to the Future vs Costume Dramas: Why Gen Z Prefers the Past Over the Future?

Forty years ago, Robert Zemeckis’s Back to the Future hit cinemas, captivating audiences with its futuristic vision of 2015 and becoming a beloved classic. Yet, despite the leaps in technology, the film’s portrayal of the future remained strikingly unchanged. In contrast, costume dramas—currently enjoying a resurgence—aim to reconcile past eras with the present. While one genre continues to resonate with younger generations, the other risks alienating them. This contrast raises an interesting question: why does Gen Z connect more with stories set in the past than those imagining the future?

The Timeless Appeal of Back to the Future

At the heart of Back to the Future lies the timeless concept of time travel, a topic still fascinating to physicists. Yet, the gap between science and fiction leaves plenty of room for imagination and escapism.

This is especially evident in the 1980s classic, with its retro-futuristic elements: flying cars, hoverboards, biometrics, self-lacing shoes, self-adjusting clothes, game consoles, flat-screen TVs, food rehydrators, retractable fruit trays, multi-channel viewing, video calls, and the absence of the internet. The film’s eccentric predictions—like a world without lawyers, eyewear, x-ray vision, the dominance of print and fax machines, weather control, and surprisingly accurate rejuvenation clinics—add to its charm. Not all of the film’s forecasts proved accurate, which may well be part of its enduring entertainment value.

A particularly appealing aspect of Back to the Future is its origin: Bob Gale was inspired by a personal curiosity about his relationship with his father. This sense of time as malleable—where even small actions can have significant consequences—adds an extra layer of intrigue. The film's catchy 1980s soundtrack, sense of the decade’s blockbuster warmth also contribute to its lasting appeal. Honorable mentions to the charismatic characters with chemistry, Doc Brown's jury-rigged inventions, and antagonist resemblance with the US president.

Costume Dramas and Gen Z: Escaping or Erasing the Past?

Meanwhile, costume dramas are growing in popularity among younger audiences. Their impeccable mise-en-scène and lighting create a sense of amusement and evoke an automatic nostalgia for an unlived past—likely the main reason behind their appeal. Recently, this has been strengthened by a focus on historical reparation and the inclusion of marginalized groups, portraying them as protagonists or complex characters. This shift is a clear positive for Generation Z.

However, this trend is a double-edged sword. To what extent might this approach serve as a subtle form of oppression, tokenism, or whitewashing—erasing authentic contributions to history and heritage, rather than genuinely casting actors from diverse backgrounds and allowing them to step into roles that reflect their own unique experiences?

Or even oversimplifying complex historical dynamics, rather than addressing the structural changes necessary to truly reconcile the past. The immersive escape into these eras, away from the stresses of modern life, seems to be the perfect formula for their success. Nostalgia is a construct—a lens through which we selectively view the past to satisfy present needs—and this can be seen as a form of nostalgia bait.

In this regard, Back to the Future taps into the costume drama convention to invoke nostalgia. Its 1950s scenes, with classic cars, diners, soda shops, and period costumes, create a visually appealing and recognizable depiction of the era. The music—doo-wop and the early sounds of rock 'n' roll—further enhances this nostalgic atmosphere.

Why the Future is Harder to Romanticize?

Nostalgia is easier to digest when the past is sugar-coated, whereas the future, in contrast, is fraught with uncertainty and often portrayed as dark and unpredictable. Dystopian narratives reflect societal anxieties and hope about what lies ahead through their aesthetic choices. It is no coincidence that some of the most successful stories, especially among younger audiences, are extraterrestrial or AI-themed—unknown territories, fertile soil for imagination, while the other evokes fear.

The future, on the other hand, is fraught with uncertainty and existential dread, often shaped by dystopian narratives that mirror the world’s ongoing crises—climate change, political instability, and economic disparities. For Gen Z, the future is not a place of opportunity, but a reminder of looming catastrophes. They were born in the middle of technological domination, environmental collapse, and systemic failure.

In contrast, the past can feel like a safer, more controllable space—one where we can learn from history and reimagine its outcomes, especially in the context of today’s struggles for social justice. Yet, there’s also a subtle longing to repeat the violent colonization of the "Age of Discovery" through space exploration narratives.

Back to the Future stands as a notable exception, offering a cool, laid-back portrayal of the future. This vibe is embodied by its protagonist, Marty McFly, whose attitude perfectly reflects the film's optimistic and carefree vision of the future. Yet, undeniably and somewhat heartbreakingly, it has aged poorly and has become unpopular with this target due to its representation.

In contrast to previous generations, Gen Z is often described as the first true digital native and politically aware generation, raised online and deeply attuned to the world’s complexities. This generation is less likely to accept simplistic portrayals of the future or the past, seeking media that reflects their values. For them, the future often feels more like a warning than an opportunity.

Back to the Future: A Future Stuck in the Past?

What do these genres reveal about our collective desire for escapism—and our underlying fears about social progress? Back to the Future falls short socially, presenting a static vision of society. The future it imagines for minorities is selective, serving only their convenience. The 1950s segment highlights harsh realities through Goldie Wilson’s experience of segregation and the limited opportunities for Black people, though he aspired to be the mayor. It also touches on the iconic “Johnny B. Goode” scene, which contributes to the whitewashing of Chuck Berry, often credited as the true father of rock 'n' roll and implies some sort of white saviour. The 1980s section includes Libyan gunmen, embodying Islamophobic stereotypes as antagonists.

The imagined 2015 future still contains racist language and situations, alongside stereotypical portrayals of Black characters. The Wilson family’s trajectory—from janitor to hovercar owner, evolving from subservience to a self-made man with a name and lines—frames their journey as progress.

 Yet, the film also depicts the decline of a suburb by replacing the McFly with a Black nameless family as the alternate 1985 timeline. The final insult lies in the third film’s treatment of Indigenous characters, relegated to unnamed, implied, or minor roles. Beyond these examples, minorities are often reduced to flat characters—nothing more than props or background figures, included merely to tick a token box. Not only that, but there are numerous problematic elements within the oedipal storyline, gender dynamics, and humour.

Do Back to the Future’s Roots Rot?

Many of these controversial representations rely on human dichotomies: past versus future, us versus them, beauty versus ugliness, good versus bad.

Our relationship with the past is often tinged with regret, softened by nostalgia’s sugar-coating.

The future, by contrast, remains unpredictable, often portrayed through a darker, dystopian lens. Back to the Future stands apart with its cool, optimistic vision of tomorrow, but over time, it has aged poorly and lost appeal with younger viewers. This contrast reveals much about our collective desire for escapism, underlying fears about social progress, and individualistic perspectives.

Back to the Future presents a future where minority characters largely exist on the margins or in stereotypical roles, reflecting—and perhaps reinforcing—the simplistic binaries that shape how society views and treats different groups.

The danger lies in audiences unconsciously absorbing these portrayals, which can reinforce these values for generations without question, normalizing exclusion and tokenism under the guise of entertainment.

This undercurrent complicates the film’s otherwise optimistic vision, revealing the limits of its social imagination. Although these dichotomies may seem superficial, they can deeply influence audience alignment by reinforcing hegemony unconsciously. Passive consumption of such narratives contributes to the perpetuation of structural and internalized prejudices. Do Back to the Future’s roots rot with prejudice?