Why Australian teenagers are rejecting technology and living offline
IN In 15-year-old Olive Berlach’s Central Coast bedroom, ornaments from distant eras are strewn across every surface and wall. A. Dirty Dance vinyl, CD stacks, one Vogue magazine collection, jars filled with sea glass and shells, Luke’s Diner coasters Gilmore Girls, a lamp with colorful scarves sewn into it and posters of teenage heartthrobs (young Johnny Depp and Australian singer Ruel).
Olive wants to live “like it’s the 90s.” The front cover of his first self-published magazine, Olivehe says it’s “for young people who want to live offline.”
Inside is a kaleidoscope of ideas and topics. There’s a pancake recipe you can cook at your “best friend’s house”, a profile of Allana Ferguson (Olive’s favorite rugby player) as well as a profile of Su-Elise Nash from 2000s girl group Mis-Teeq, ’90s fashion tips, a guide to the perfect screen-free day (and how to “Seriously let it go”), a skincare edit, and an interview with her mom, Emily.
With the dream of working one day VogueOlive spent two months producing its first issue, which retailed for $20 and cost about $8 to print. A week later, Olive sold its first 100 issues and was halfway through the second issue, called The Cozy Issue.
“This weekend I’m doing a photoshoot with my friends for the cover of the next issue. I interviewed Eleanor Pendleton. I’m doing an exhibition with Luke Shadbolt’s photography. He was like the bodyboard photographers from earlier in the night,” he says.
Olive, who doesn’t have a smartphone but uses a computer to produce her magazine, says many of her peers are “really addicted to their phones”.
“They’ll be like texting their boyfriends, scrolling through TikTok while we’re hanging out, and I don’t think that’s very fun, and I think in the ’90s, there was a lot more freedom when you were with your friends and not having a lot of other people’s opinions pinging you.
“I just thought I’d try to bring back living in the moment.”
Young people like Olive have never known a world without social networks such as Instagram, TikTok, YouTube and the phones that host them. They are true digital natives in every respect, although the Australian government is trying to change this by imposing a world-first social media ban. England looks ready to follow the same path).
In the six months since Australia’s social media ban came into force, nearly 70 per cent of children have kept social media accounts; This was mostly because the platforms did not ask them to verify their age.
Despite this digital education – or maybe Because Generation Z (ages 14 to 29 today) is increasingly rejecting technology and embracing analog culture.
They document the world through film and digital cameras, rejecting CD and DVD streaming services and hand-written letters. Many of these are wonders of an age they have never known.
A. last work The study, conducted by music video platform Vevo of 1,800 young people evenly split across Australia, the US and the UK, found that 65 per cent of Gen Z felt nostalgic for a time when they were not alive or too young to notice (referred to as “borrowed nostalgia”), while a third felt they were “born in the wrong generation”.
And some emerging research suggests that, despite what others might think, they are the generation most wary of AI.
According to a Gallup survey in AprilFor example, Gen Z’s adoption of AI has continued steadily over the past year, but interest in it is waning and skepticism is increasing.
For some young people, access to creative environments remains a barrier.
Charmonix Vaatuitui, a 16-year-old from Liverpool, applied the finishing touches to his first short film, titled, at a workshop at the University of Technology Sydney. Plastic.
He created this through a university-run incentive; This means every student from Western Sydney who completes the week-long creative course is guaranteed entry after completing the HSC. They can choose from filmmaking, animation, photography and music production, all using the university’s equipment.
“My film was just about how connected I feel to my family. [Samoan and Tongan] culture; But I don’t speak my own language and I’m called plastic which is basically [challenging the stereotype when people say]’Oh, you can’t speak your own language or you can’t speak in a way that suits your culture,’ and you’re just embarrassed because you can’t work on it,’ says Charmonix, who is in grade 11.
“Putting all my thoughts and footage of myself into a video opened my eyes.”
The experience of learning a trade with his peers, socializing every day, and having a reason to stay away from his phone has been a standout for Charmonix, who wants to continue filmmaking but sees himself in the media industry.
“Not only being here with my head directly on my phone, leaving home early, going home late, but also making new friends as if I were on the road, helps my personal identity,” he says.
“I didn’t do it because I was forced to do it… I actually wanted to make a movie about myself.”
She has since made another short film based on her and her boyfriend.
While Charmonix begins learning how to create a popular setting, 17-year-old Arlo Temple spends hours every Saturday afternoon honing a centuries-old craft.
The Year 11 student is learning the art of cordmaking – bespoke shoemaking done entirely by hand – albeit with a modern twist, at the Sydney Shoe School in Leichhardt.
Arlo started working on lanyard making when he was 14 and has since made three pairs (each taking about nine months from sketchbook to finished product).
“I was always interested in shoes, especially sneakers. I already had a collection,” he says, adding that he has had experience in leather working since school.
Arlo says he likes sneakers because they are more complex to design and make than a traditional shoe like a brogue.
“Shoemaking is a dying art and it’s great that it’s being passed on to younger generations. Otherwise this knowledge will probably be lost,” he says.
Darren Bischoff, founder of Sydney Shoe School, has been keeping the art of cordmaking alive for 17 years. There is an extensive fabric library that provides a rich source of inspiration for Arlo.
That’s how it started, a pair of black striped lace high boots made for school textiles judging.
“It’s a really contrasting shoe, because it contrasts a pretty rigid silhouette of a work boot with a pretty delicate fabric,” he explains, adding, “it scored pretty well in my textiles class.”
“When I design, I usually think about form and the dynamism between forms. I like to think about repeating patterns and fluid movements. I think very sculpturally.”
In recent years, Bischoff has seen “an increase in young students who are pretty disinterested in surfing social media. Some are even deleting their accounts and coming here and learning to do things with their hands,” he says.
“They get really excited about it, and next thing you know they’re back making the second, third pair of shoes.”
This imprint visits the school on Saturday afternoon; Arlo is one of four young students, each honing their own craft.
One of them is Manus Senn, 24, who started attending classes four years ago and hopes to pursue a career in theater production and costume design. He works in retail at a local shoe store.
“It’s fun to do something different every time. I reset my brain every time I come… no two weeks are the same,” he says.
While many of Bischoff’s students have gone on to successful careers in the industry, he admits it’s a dying profession.
“As soon as I come in, I tell them there is no job in shoemaking unless you make it yourself,” he says.
Arlo hopes to transfer the skills he has acquired into a career in design. Although he is still unsure of what the future will bring, he is turning to furniture making.
But for some young people, it’s not just about channeling their creativity through analog, it’s about living it.
Olive Berlach, who grew up with limited technology, communicates with the outside world using her Nokia flip phone.
Young Sydneysiders are starting to make the old-school phone cool again, but Olive and her offline siblings aren’t convinced by the rather degrading method of communication their parents are imposing.
“They hate it when we call them out on this,” says mom Emily, looking at her three slightly glaring teenagers. “I kind of try to hide it,” Olive adds.
Her dream is to interview her famous crush, contemporary Australian singer Ruel, who is smiling above us and plastered on her wall. “I really like your music and it doesn’t look bad at all,” Olive admits.
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