The case for slower tech in a connected world

A flip phone snapping shut after a call. A slightly blown-out photograph from a digital camera that predates Instagram. An instant print sliding out of an Instax Mini at a party. Across India, people are rethinking the kind of technology they want to live with. From iPods and feature phones to digital cameras and instant film, a growing number of Gen Z and millennials are turning to older—or deliberately old-feeling—tech to counter the constant pull of the smartphone.

This shift is not simply about nostalgia. It is about fatigue: with endless notifications, algorithmic feeds, and increasingly intrusive digital features that demand attention—technology can often feel overwhelming today.

The change is visible in small but telling ways. Feature phones are being used as secondary devices or “weekend phones”, limiting users to calls and texts. Old iPods are being dusted off, repaired and modded so music can exist separately from social media and messaging apps. Instant cameras have become a staple at weddings, house parties and college campuses, producing physical photographs that bypass editing apps and online validation. Even older digital cameras—Canon Powershots, Sony Cybershots, Nikon Coolpix models—are back in circulation, prized for their flash-heavy, imperfect images and finite storage.

Hybrid devices

This desire for constraint is also shaping new product design. Devices such as the Clicks Communicator, which turns smartphones into physical-keyboard phones, and Fujifilm’s new Instax Mini Evo Cinema, blur the line between analogue and digital. For Jude de Souza, CEO of Mumbai-based The Revolver Club, this desire for slowness and tactility has been building for years. “The Revolver Club started out of a personal obsession,” he says. “I was collecting records and gear for myself, and at some point it felt obvious that there was a gap in India for people who wanted the same.” While vinyl remains central to the store, Jude sees it as part of a broader mindset. “Vinyl, turntables, even mechanical watches, they’re all things that make you slow down and engage with them in a very real way.”

Using tech thoughtfully

That emphasis on intentional use is echoed beyond music. For 21-year-old fashion student Tanay Malhotra, older technology is deeply personal. He has been using his late grandmother’s digital camera for years, long before digicams became a social media trend. “It’s both a memory, it helps me feel a lot closer to her, and a tool that’s helped me refine my process,” he says. The device’s limited storage forces him to slow down and think. “The capped storage has made me observe and think about what’s worth photographing. My outcomes feel a lot more considered. The limits of the digicam push me to be more thoughtful,” adds Malhotra.

This emotional pull is something 30-year-old Mumbai-based Simran Makhija relates to, even though she does not see herself fully returning to older devices. For her, the appeal lies in what older technology represents. “It reminds us of the good old days when we were kids but thought we were older,” she says, recalling the era of BlackBerry Messenger statuses and carefully chosen display pictures. “Back then, the only people you stayed connected with were people you personally knew. Now everything is so fast paced, we’re watching the entire world on Instagram.” Simran describes using older tech during special occasions with friends as fun and nostalgic rather than practical. “I don’t believe I can go back to using slower or limited devices,” she admits. “But documenting and experiencing events like that is exciting, especially with old friends because we experienced it all together the first time around. It just reminds you of a simpler time, and it has a nice retro aesthetic, like using a Polaroid camera.”

Objects that endure

If nostalgia explains part of the appeal, durability and tactility explain the rest. Entrepreneur and creator Aneesh Bhasin describes his attraction to analogue tools as a reaction to how technology has evolved. “I like tactile things,” he says. “Now everything is touchscreen. With audio especially, a lot has been shrunk down for convenience, not quality.” His home audio setup includes a 1978 Japanese amplifier and speakers designed to last decades. Unlike many modern gadgets, they are repairable, with manuals and parts still available. “It slows you down in a good way,” he says. “Even with espresso, I use a manual machine. It forces you to be present.”

His distinction highlights a growing divide between analogue as a lifestyle choice and analogue as a visual trend.

Alongside this revival of older devices is a quieter frustration with how technology now operates. Messaging apps suggest replies, email inboxes summarize conversations, and search engines increasingly foreground AI-generated answers that users do not always trust. For many, the fatigue is not just about screen time but about mediation, the sense that every interaction is being optimized, predicted or enhanced, whether it needs to be or not. Against this backdrop, simpler tools feel grounding. An iPod plays only the music you chose. A flip phone rings or it doesn’t. An instant camera produces a photograph, not content. The appeal lies not in rejecting technology, but in using it with intention.

Embracing friction

Why, in a world where everything is available instantly, are people embracing friction again? Perhaps because friction is the point. A flip phone limits users to calls and texts. A digicam forces decisions before the shutter is pressed. An instant camera produces a single, uneditable image. These constraints introduce pauses that digital devices have erased. They shift focus from output to experience, from speed to presence. In India, this turn towards analogue is less about surveillance or data politics and more about feeling grounded. These choices reflect a broader desire to reclaim agency over how technology shapes daily life.

Analogue today is not about going backwards. It is about recalibrating. By choosing devices that do less, users are finding ways to be more present. In a landscape dominated by algorithms, automation and artificial intelligence, these small acts of resistance—listening to offline music, taking fewer photographs, making coffee by hand—offer something increasingly rare: moments that belong entirely to the person experiencing them. As Jude puts it, “Analogue makes you pause. It forces you to engage with the moment instead of just scrolling past it.”