The Tangible Aesthetic: Why Physical Media Is Back

It’s been impossible not to notice that, over this decade and especially throughout the past few years, physical media has surreptitiously slipped back into vogue. Sales of Leica film cameras increased by 900 per cent between 2015 and 2023. While these hobbies have always had a presence, albeit a niche one, our post-lockdown society has rebounded to create a bizarre game recognises game between Gen X and Gen Z, founded on an earnest appreciation of vinyl records and an incomplete understanding of what happened to Napster.

What sets this apart from a returning fashion trend, like the current Y2K revival, is its permanence. The sensibilities and context surrounding the skinny jeans and dress combo will continue to change, moving in and out of what constitutes a fashion crime. A film camera, for as long as it exists, has a form that will always follow its function.

Respect for the technology, the care required by these digital antiques and the agency they give artists have combined to catalyse a retro-lution (retro, revolution… it works, right?) across Sydney.

It would be easy to take a phone equals bad angle here, but it’s more nuanced than that. Obsolete trinkets have been reframed as digital antiques, opening pathways for rich cataloguing and bespoke artistry while creating a culture captivated by the physical. The online realm gives you the tools to find the community, information and technology itself. Hardware and software meet, leaving you satisfied.

The tangible aesthetic of pen on paper, delicate film, glossy vinyl and calibrated turntables is rich, textured and entirely in your hands, however you look at it.

Oh, so he’s writing a magazine column about his vinyl collection. Didn’t see that one coming.

It was going to happen sooner or later. I thought I’d get it out of the way early.

The Surge

Lockdown was the perfect time to dig through old boxes and find that film camera you’d forgotten how to use, or your aunt's knitting needles and wool that you might as well try to make something out of, or that crate of old VHS tapes that of course you can’t watch, because why would you, or anyone you know, have a VCR? Or maybe your dad had an old film camera he’d tinker with.

What blossoms into a real love of dated tools or digital antiques can start so simply as curiosity, even cynicism – I thought vinyls were ridiculous for the longest time, until I saw my older cousin’s. Fast-forward a few years, and now there’s a vinyl record store in every major suburb in Sydney, dedicated vinyl bars are popping up, and as of 2025, Melbourne is the vinyl record capital of the world.

The Point

In an economy driven by digital licenses and subscription-based access, physical media gives you ownership of your music, art, whatever. It pulls the photo off the screen and into the palm of your hand (it’s called a Polaroid).

It also elevates whatever the media may be (tape, CD, film, zine) beyond its function, into a piece of art in its own right. Yes, we all have cameras in our pockets now, but my eyes still light up whenever I see a digital camera snapping pics at a party.

‘I don’t read a Kindle, I read books,’ ‘I write in a notebook, not on an app, ‘I don’t buy tomatoes anymore, I grow them in the garden. It’s using your hands – gentleness, technique, a closeness with a piece of hardware, especially when that hardware’s purpose has been compressed to tapping a homogenous glass screen (again, not trying to be phone-bad, but let’s call a spade a spade). Modern luxury is in a meaningful sensory experience; intimately knowing the thought and craft behind the art that offers even more connection. It’s seeing and feeling each finely-tuned string of a grand piano before anyone even sits down to play. When the art, the power to make art, is literally in my hands, there’s a profound sense of possibility, almost a vocation, to use it. There are only so many metaphors to describe a blank canvas, but you get the idea.

There’s no wonder vinyls are a symbol of pretentiousness - you’re spending a lot of money on something that does what your phone can already do. Purists say that vinyl sounds better, film has more character, but for me, at least, it’s putting the trust back in myself. Put simply, it’s not about the destination; it’s the journey.

The Spin

Call me biased, but I think anything detractors have to say is unimportant. “Wow, that’s so cool, you spent a mint on a camera that’s way worse than my phone” “Just downloaded that vinyl on my phone for free, bro, you should try it”. Yes, I know, it would’ve saved me a lot of money to just download it. But to those people I say, if you don’t get it, you don’t get it. I actually download and stream lots of music. I know, I know, shock and awe. But why buy an athlete’s jersey when you can just get a bootleg online, or just watch the athlete wear it? Why go to the stadium when you can watch it on TV for free? Why grow tomatoes when you can buy them at Woollies?

Possessing something, actually owning it, goes beyond 1-dimensional materialism when it brings you closer to your passions. Physical media, whether used to preserve or create art, puts the process literally back into your hands. What downloading it doesn’t give me is a cool piece of memorabilia from my favourite band, something cool to give to my kids one day, and the ability to hold the album, this body of work, and see the needle slide along the grooves. It’s a closeness - not to the artist, but the music itself - that’s brought to life, made tangible, because seeing is believing. The boom of physical culture has been loud, so best get used to the noise.