These 8 boomer hobbies are suddenly cool again, says Gen Z

I’ve been watching a quiet culture flip: the hobbies my parents and their friends loved are suddenly the same ones my Gen Z cousins won’t shut up about.

Not as a nostalgic throwback, but as a smarter, calmer way to live.

Here’s why these “boomer” pastimes are having a moment—and how they help us build focus, joy, and resilience in a chaotic, always-on world.

1. Vinyl records

The first time I dropped a needle on a record at a friend’s apartment in Echo Park, a table of 20-somethings fell silent like we were starting a ritual.

That’s the point. Vinyl forces presence. You listen to an album in order. You get up to flip it. You notice the artwork. You don’t half-listen while doomscrolling.

I use vinyl as a micro-sabbath. It anchors a 30-minute window where I’m not multitasking. My attention gets to be single-threaded, and I come away less jangly.

For self-development, that’s gold. Training attention—on sound, not screens—builds the same muscle you use for deep work. If you’ve struggled to make mindfulness stick, try a listening practice: one record, no phone, sit with the music.

2. Film photography

Film isn’t about the aesthetic (though, yes, the grain is gorgeous). It’s about constraint.

Twelve or thirty-six shots mean you have to slow down, compose, and decide. There’s no spray-and-pray and fix-it-later. You wait to see results, which makes the eventual reveal feel earned.

When I’m traveling, a single film camera changes how I move. I look for light, angles, and quiet moments. I notice. That habit of noticing spills into everything else—conversations, meals, even emails.

In a world that rewards speed, film teaches deliberateness. It asks: can you commit to a frame without infinite undo? That’s not just photography; that’s life.

3. Thrifting

Thrifting used to be the Saturday chore your aunt did because “why pay full price?” Now it’s a treasure hunt and a values statement: less waste, more originality.

What I love most is the mindset. You walk in without guarantees. You scan, you stay open, you pair unlikely pieces, you define your style rather than letting a mannequin define it for you. That improvisational energy is creative training.

I’ve mentioned this before but constraints are rocket fuel. Thrifting gives you constraints with upside. You flex discernment, patience, and taste—all useful far beyond your closet.

Bonus: wearing something with a past makes you a walking conversation starter, which is social ease for free.

4. Gardening

My neighbor swears his Gen Z kid started growing herbs because “it looks great on Reels.” He stayed because basil you grew yourself tastes like a small victory.

Gardening is deliberate slowness. You learn cycles. You accept that you don’t control weather, pests, or timing. You show up anyway—water, prune, wait.

There’s a quiet confidence that comes from eating something you nurtured. For me, it turned weeknight cooking into a ritual.

A handful of homegrown mint in a chickpea salad changes the tone of dinner from “fuel” to “care.”

If you don’t have a yard, a window box is enough. The skill isn’t acreage; it’s daily attention. That attention rewires how you relate to progress—less instant, more steady. That’s a growth mindset in dirt-stained form.

5. Home cooking

Cue the cast-iron pan. What used to be “Mom’s lasagna night” is now a flex across TikTok: pantry pastas, fermentation, sheet-pan wizardry, even throwback casseroles—with plant-based twists that would make your boomer uncle do a double take.

Cooking is the original life design tool. You choose inputs that match your values (for me: more plants, less fuss). You practice mise en place, which is really just time management with onions. You iterate. You taste and adjust.

When I went fully plant-forward, I stopped seeing recipes as rules and started seeing them as maps. The confidence you earn making dinner from what you have—beans, greens, grains—translates to everything from budgeting to creative projects. You realize: I can build good outcomes from simple parts.

Pro tip: pick one “house meal” and master it. Tacos, grain bowls, soups—something you can riff on without thinking.

You’ll save money, lower stress, and eat food that aligns with how you want to feel.

6. Birdwatching

Birding sounds like the most “boomer” entry on this list until you try it. Then it becomes a gamified meditation.

You step outside, open your ears, and start noticing patterns: calls, silhouettes, flight paths. The world goes from background noise to a living index. Ten minutes later you’ve met your concentration quota and lowered your shoulders by two inches.

I resisted at first. Then a friend handed me a cheap pair of binoculars and pointed out a black-crowned night heron perched like a patient old monk. I was hooked.

Birding sharpens three skills you want in almost any domain: observation (what’s actually here?), patience (can I wait to see more?), and humility (I might be wrong about that ID).

It also gets you moving without turning it into a grind. A walk becomes a quest.

Start with your local park at dawn or dusk. Count three species. Name what you can. Let curiosity, not expertise, lead.

7. Knitting

Knitting sits in the same family as journaling: repetitive, tactile, and calming. It gives your hands a job so your mind can settle.

I learned on a cross-country train because my phone battery died somewhere near Albuquerque. A stranger showed me how to cast on, and within an hour, the clack of needles drowned out travel noise. That simple rhythm was deeply regulating.

For anxious brains, a portable craft is a superpower. You can bring it to meetings, flights, or living rooms full of small talk. You get something to show for your time—a scarf, a beanie, a gift. More importantly, you practice moving from “tangled” to “made,” a metaphor you can wear.

If knitting isn’t your thing, crochet or quilting scratches the same itch. The magic is in the loop-by-loop progress that teaches you to love process, not just product.

8. Book clubs

Book clubs were never uncool; they were just less visible. Now they’re everywhere—IRL circles, Discord groups, even pop-up meetups at indie bookstores.

The power isn’t in finishing more books. It’s in reading socially. You absorb perspectives you wouldn’t generate alone, and you get gentle accountability to finish the thing you said you’d finish.

Personally, I like rotating formats: one novel, one memoir, one practical nonfiction.

Pairing a behavioral science pick with a memoir keeps my brain from getting stuck in one groove. The discussion forces me to articulate half-formed intuitions, which is sneaky practice for clearer thinking at work.

If you’re starting from zero, keep it low-friction. Short reads, generous deadlines, snacks. Make it about conversation, not literary performance.

Final thoughts

So why is Gen Z making these boomer hobbies cool again? Because they deliver what our tech-burdened lives lack: slowness, texture, agency, and community.

They put your senses back in the driver’s seat. They make time feel wider.

Most importantly, they’re not just “stuff to do.” They’re training. Vinyl teaches attention. Film teaches commitment. Thrifting teaches taste. Gardening teaches patience. Cooking teaches agency. Birding teaches presence. Knitting teaches calm. Book clubs teach dialogue.

Also, maybe it's time you told your parents they were onto something.