The Business of Remembering the ‘70s

The New York Times reports that Ricky Cobb has built a mini-empire by bottling 1970s nostalgia and selling it back to a world that can’t quite decide whether it’s homesick or just tired.

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The Business of Remembering the ‘70s

The New York Times was out with a report that Ricky Cobb has built a mini-empire by bottling up 1970s nostalgia and selling it back to a world that can’t quite decide whether it’s homesick or just tired.

The Times’ piece lays out how Cobb—better known online for a steady stream of shag-carpet-era vibes—has turned a particular kind of throwback into a real, working business. Not just a social feed full of old songs and TV clips, but a brand with gravity: audiences, partnerships, and the kind of repeat attention most creators spend their whole lives chasing. The story frames him as part curator, part entertainer, part marketer—someone who understands that “remember when” isn’t just a feeling anymore; it’s an economy.

What comes through is that Cobb isn’t simply reposting the past. He’s packaging it with a point of view—making the ‘70s feel less like a history lesson and more like a place you can step into for a few minutes when the present starts to buzz too loudly. The Times treats that as the key: in a media world flooded with noise, he offers something warmer and steadier, and plenty of people are lining up for it.

Read the full story at The New York Times.

✍ My Take: I read stories like this and I think about the way my dad talked about inflation back in 1979—like it was a weather system you had to respect. He’d stand at the kitchen counter, unfold the newspaper, and shake his head at the grocery prices the way a farmer watches the sky. Back then, nostalgia wasn’t a product; it was just what you felt when you drove past the old neighborhood and the barbershop was still there, the hardware store still had a bell on the door, and you recognized the fellow behind the counter. Now, so much of Main Street has been paved over—first by big-box stores, then by the internet—and folks are left trying to buy back the sense of familiarity any way they can. That’s why Cobb’s success matters. It isn’t only about the ‘70s. It’s about the hunger for a world that feels legible. The past, at least in our memory, has rules: a slower pace, clearer expectations, a little more patience built into the day. The present asks us to process a thousand things at once, to be angry on schedule, to keep up with technology that updates faster than a person can. When someone can offer a reliable “place” to rest your mind—even if it’s made of old jingles and wood-paneled basements—people will show up. The tricky part is what happens next. Nostalgia can be a comfort, but it can also become a substitute for building anything new. The best kind of remembering, in my view, isn’t about running backward—it’s about carrying forward what worked: neighborliness, craftsmanship, the idea that communities should have real centers, not just shipping addresses. If Cobb’s little empire does anything worthwhile beyond entertaining us, I hope it reminds people that the things we miss aren’t just aesthetics. They’re habits and values. And those can still be rebuilt, one storefront and one front porch at a time, if we decide they’re worth the trouble.

Read the full story at The New York Times →

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Until tomorrow, keep the coffee hot and the good memories closer—but leave a little room at the table for new ones.

— Jack Reynolds