10 things boomers did for fun that Gen Z secretly wishes they could experience

There’s something charming about the activities that shaped our parents’ weekends. They didn’t require fancy gear or a perfect aesthetic. They were ordinary, social, and a little scrappy.

As a millennial mom living in São Paulo, I can see why so many Gen Zers are chasing those vibes again. Slower. More connected. Less curated.

Before we dive in, a quick note. I’ve mentioned this book before, and I just finished reading Rudá Iandê’s newly released “Laughing in the Face of Chaos: A Politically Incorrect Shamanic Guide for Modern Life”.

His insights kept echoing through these boomer-era joys. One line in particular landed like a permission slip for embodied, imperfect fun: “The body is not something to be feared or denied, but rather a sacred tool for spiritual growth and transformation.”

The book inspired me to treat these retro activities as living rituals, not performances, and to let the messy middle be the point.

Here are ten classics that deserve a comeback, along with how I’m weaving some of them into our family life in Itaim Bibi.

1. Roller rinks and bowling nights

My mother used to tell me stories about saving up for Friday evenings at the local rink and staying until the floor lights turned purple. There is a special joy in moving your body to music with a group of people who are simply there to have fun.

No scoreboard, no algorithm, no notifications.

Bowling leagues offered the same feeling. You had a team, a ride, a ritual. That weekly repetition builds connection in a way a flurry of DMs never will. I felt it recently at a retro roller spot in São Paulo where nobody was filming and everyone wobbled a little. It was awkward and perfect.

2. Drive-in movies that felt like a tiny adventure

The magic of watching a film outside with snacks you smuggle from home is hard to beat. You make a little nest in the car, pass the popcorn, and whisper at the good parts. Sound bleeds from the speakers and the night air turns the story into a memory.

When we visit family in Santiago, my husband and I sometimes recreate the feeling with a backyard projector and a too-big blanket.

It is not the same as a drive-in, yet the spirit is there. The point is not the perfect screen. It is being together without pausing every few minutes to check something else. 

3. Vinyl listening parties and handmade mixtapes

Before playlists were infinite, you picked a record and lived inside it. Friends sat on the floor and debated which track on side A had the best groove. Someone learned how to lower the needle without scratching. You listened, you talked, you listened again.

I love how intentional that is. Music was not background noise. It set the tone for the evening and asked everyone to be present. Sherry Turkle once said in a TED talk, “We expect more from technology and less from each other.”

That still lands every time I put my phone away and truly listen with people I love. The book inspired me to trust the embodied vibe of a record night and to treat emotions as messengers instead of trying to curate the mood to perfection.

4. Potlucks and block parties where everyone brought a dish

Boomers knew how to feed a crowd without complicating it. One person handled a big pot of something cozy, another brought salad, someone else showed up with a cake that leaned sideways in the car. You did not wait for the perfect space. You used the one you had.

We do a mini version in our building. I text the neighbors, our baby toddles around with a cherry tomato in each hand, and I make a big tray of roasted vegetables with herby rice.

Half my girlfriends are vegan or vegetarian, which makes potlucks an easy win because everyone gets to contribute something they love. The food matters, but the feeling of being in it together matters more. When the inevitable hiccups happen, I hear Rudá Iandê in my head and remember that messiness is part of the magic.

5. Unstructured outdoor time until the streetlights came on

I grew up in a neighborhood where we made games out of nothing. Chalk, a jump rope, and whatever the season gave us. There was freedom in wandering and the clean tiredness you only get from climbing, running, and biking from one end of the block to the other.

Now, living in a busy city, I still try to protect a daily window for open-ended play with Emi. She pokes leaves, befriends ants, and collects sticks like treasures. When kids lead the way, they learn to trust their curiosity.

Adults need that too. The book inspired me to listen to my body’s cues in these moments, sun on the skin, steady breath, and the simple feedback that says more of this.

6. Thrifting, flea markets, and fixing what was fixable

Before the word sustainable became a marketing hook, it was just what people did. You learned to hem, patch, or shine. If you could not fix it, someone’s uncle knew how. Saturday mornings at garage sales felt like a treasure hunt, not a performance.

I apply the same mindset to my capsule wardrobe. Buy a little less, take care of it more, and enjoy the patina of age. You save money and build taste. The hidden perk is that learning a simple repair brings you into that sweet focused zone where time softens and your hands know what to do.

Psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi described flow as a state of deep involvement where nothing else seems to matter. Choose authenticity over perfection: mended clothes, made-by-me meals, and the charm of the handmade.

7. Long phone calls and face-to-face hangouts without constant buzzing

House phones forced you to be in one place and pay attention. You could not half-listen while scrolling something else. If you wanted to see someone, you showed up. Conversations feel different when they are not interrupted every two minutes.

I feel it on our weekly date nights. We set our phones to Do Not Disturb, order something good, and talk like we are discovering each other again.

It is basic, but the bar for presence is low when everyone is distracted. Show up fully and you will be surprised how much people open up. As Rudá Iandê emphasizes, meaning comes from within, not from checking every box on someone else’s perfect evening list.

8. Letter writing and faraway pen pals

Boomers wrote letters to strangers who became friends. You waited for the mail with a little flutter in your stomach. The delay made it sweeter. Words mattered because you could not just fire off a quick reply.

My relatives still send me postcards from Central Asia. The handwriting makes me pause. I keep a box of them next to our bookshelf and I plan to read them with Emi when she is older.

If you want to try this, pick one person and send a simple note. Do not overthink it. The slowness is the point. 

9. Social dancing you could do in regular clothes

Disco, swing, two-step, and line dancing. People learned a few steps and got on the floor. You did not need to be good to have a good time. The music carried you along. A shy person could follow a confident partner and feel the thrill of doing something together.

Whenever I am in a new city, I look for a casual dance night. In São Paulo, there is always a room where people are moving to something joyful. I go in flats because comfort helps me relax.

For an hour or two I remember that fun can be simple, sweaty, and human. “Laughing in the Face of Chaos” helped me reframe nerves as information, emotions as messengers, so I can laugh at the awkward bits and keep dancing.

10. Road trips that started with a paper map and no firm plan

Getting a little lost used to be part of the adventure. You took turns choosing songs, looked for the best roadside empanadas, and accepted that the scenery would slow you down.

Without a perfect itinerary, you discover detours that make the story.

When we have family help in Santiago, Matias and I sometimes do a short drive with zero reservations. We stop when the mood strikes. We return a little sunburned and very relaxed. I do not miss the pressure to document every minute.

A private memory is still a memory.

Why this old-school fun still works

Most of these activities are social at their core. They offer a rhythm you can count on, a group to belong to, and a chance to use your hands. That combination is medicine for modern overstimulation. You lower the noise, invite a little friction, and end up with stories that feel like yours.

This is exactly where Rudá Iandê’s perspective has been helpful to me. He keeps steering me back to the basics. Your body’s signals matter, emotions are guidance, and authenticity beats performative perfection.

If you want a grounded, modern lens on how to live more fully and laugh a little at the chaos, I genuinely recommend his new book, “Laughing in the Face of Chaos: A Politically Incorrect Shamanic Guide for Modern Life”.

It is not a rule book. It is an invitation to pay attention to what is real for you. The book inspired me to treat each of these boomer classics as small paths back to wholeness, with less optimization and more aliveness.

If one idea from the book could ride along while you try these, let it be this. “The body is not something to be feared or denied, but rather a sacred tool for spiritual growth and transformation.” I cannot think of a better compass for roller rinks, potlucks, mixtapes, or impromptu road trips.

What I am committing to this month

One neighborhood potluck, one roller rink date, and one letter to my grandmother. None of them need to be perfect. They just need to happen. Fun grows when it has a place on the calendar.

Because the book is fresh in my mind, I am adding one more. A phone-free, body-led walk with Emi, no destination, only curiosity.

If you bring back any of these, tell me how it goes. I will be cheering for your wobbly first lap, your slightly crooked mixtape, and your deliciously unplanned detour.

The book inspired me to keep seeking joy in the ordinary, especially when life gets loud.