Wait—are Duran Duran becoming… nostalgic?

(And would it be such a bad thing?)

From the early new romantic days up to the present moment, Duran Duran pride themselves on having never done the same thing twice.

Their aesthetic changes with every album. Frilly shirts and leather pants for Duran Duran. Tailored suits for Rio. Biker jackets for Paper Gods.

Musically, they have moved with the times while maintaining the tenets of their signature style (although I would argue that they ceased to be a “new wave” band with their first album and moved straight into sophisticated, contemporary pop).

They never liked nostalgia. Most of all, they never wanted to be known as “a legacy band.”

And frankly, I dislike the stigma of that term.

It connotes a band forever capitalizing on their greatest hits, with a fandom disinterested in moving forward with them.

“The Best of the ’80s” cruises. Retro Futura tours. Festivals.

But is that really the case? And if so, what’s so bad about it? Did anyone scoff when Brian Wilson went on tour performing Pet Sounds in its entirety?

(OK, maybe that’s not a fair example. Pet Sounds is a musical masterpiece.)

And yet, too much nostalgia can impede change. The Beach Boys’ Mike Love was content to write, record, and perform surf music for the rest of his career. In fact, he was adamant about doing so.

And had Brian Wilson given in to that, there might not have been a Pet Sounds, and the Beach Boys might have fallen into obscurity along with most of the other surf bands of its time.

Howard Jones, on the other hand, seems to genuinely delight in playing his greatest hits forty years later in smaller venues. And, let’s face it—those songs are so damn good they’re timeless.

For him, it doesn’t seem to be about nostalgia as much as it is about joy.

For Shaun Cassidy, touring for the first time since the late 1970s had nothing to do with the good ol’ days (“I hated being famous,” he said) and everything to do with a much deeper connection to music as well as to us.

Duran Duran released a new single on April 23, 2026, yet another collaboration with disco-funk hitmaker Nile Rodgers.

The song, “Free to Love,” is an upbeat dance tune. Its title—and its message—speaks for itself. And it’s a very Duran Duran message.

The video is a mashup of Top of the Pops, Soul Train, and Studio 54, complete with dancers, the band in glittery animal print costumes, and a disco ball.

Definitely retro.

But is it nostalgia?

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Nostalgia (n): a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations; something done or presented in order to evoke feelings of nostalgia

Retro (adj): imitative of a style, fashion, or design from the recent past;

(n) clothes or music whose style or design is imitative of those of the recent past

Duran Duran’s song “Anniversary” from the Future Past album (already five years old; insert mind-blown emoji), was less the definition of “a sentimental longing or wistful affection” and more “something done or presented in order to evoke feelings”—part love letter, part thank-you card to their fans.

Around the same time, they were nominated for—and inducted into—the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

An honor they’d previously shrugged off as inconsequential until it happened.

And something shifted.

The nostalgia Duran Duran seems to be embracing today is an acceptance that they played a role in the cultural zeitgeist of the time, in the formative years of fans like myself, and will forever be identified and best known as one of the pioneers and pinnacles of early 1980s music, fashion, and pop culture.

They were teen idols, and so much more.

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Earlier this year, a content creator on TikTok named Kevin Yee reflected on his life and questioned whether his best days were behind him. He surmised that they were, and accepting that freed him from the need to replicate or exceed them.

That video, and his reflection, have stayed with me.

I think the midlife crisis is born from fear rather than acceptance of What if my best days are behind me, and there’s no going back?

If one only looked at record sales, concert attendance, and Billboard charts, one would say that artists like Duran Duran, Howard Jones, and Shaun Cassidy’s best days are behind them.

I could say the same about me in terms of book sales, publishing contracts, and media attention as one of the early adopters of Kindle/publish-on-demand.

(And I don’t even come close to megastars like Stephen King or Stephenie Meyers or Jennifer Weiner.)

Ditto for a slimmer body size and thicker hair and the ability to walk five miles with relative ease. And being grossly in love, feeling like a power couple.

In other words, my early forties were the best freaking years of my life.

And throughout my fifties, I not only mourned their loss but also lamented the likelihood that my best years were behind me.

If that were the case, then what could I look forward to?

I surmise that Duran Duran might have experienced this well before midlife—the late ’80s were not kind to them, commercially speaking. New trends took over. Success led to excess. They never quite recovered from splitting into two separate musical projects (Power Station and Arcadia, for those not in the know). And the turn of the century marked the shift in music consumption and sales, which affected their bottom line.

But I imagine that they made peace by embracing the same thing Kevin Yee did: they freed themselves from the need to replicate their best years. To be that successful that way. To be and do all the things that brought them to the top.

And yet, in the last five years, they’ve also freed themselves not to be wistful, but to pay tribute to those glory days.

Free to love them.

(Yeah, I went there.)

Or maybe it’s that they’ve made peace with their fans’ nostalgic tendencies and desires to remember them as they were while still loving them now.

They sell merch with the old band logos, for instance.

Gave a handful of songs from their catalog— “Nightboat,” “Love Voodoo,” “New Moon on Monday”—a modern makeover.

And for the “Anniversary” video, actors were hired to make an appearance as the younger versions of Simon, John, Nick, and Roger. (Because he’s no longer with the band, Andy wasn’t included.)

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I still love watching reels of TV commercials from the ’70s and ’80s. Still love reminiscing with my twin brother about our favorite toys. Still delight in the very same Duran Duran poster hanging in my office that was once stapled to my bedroom wall in 1984.

I still love Swatch watches and rubber bracelets. Want to start wearing scrunchy socks with cuffed jeans and oversized blazers again. Seriously.

I’m writing again, and I’m more in love with it than I have been in a long time.

What I’m done with, however, is lamenting.

I’m no longer trying to be the author I was in 2010—the Kindle “superstar,” selling 10,000 e-books out of the gate.

I’m no longer trying to be a size 8.

I’m no longer trying to be the 45-year-old woman my husband fell in love with.

I’m no longer missing those versions of me.

I’m setting myself free.

Free to love the writer I am now. Free to love the body I live in now. Free to love the woman I am now.

Free to be nostalgic and retro while also starting over with a blank page.

After all, what did Duran Duran say five years ago? It’s all a future past.

And ain’t that just a little bit nostalgic?