Paranoia Hypnosis: Nostalgia and the Youthfication of Conspiratorial Thinking

The Sweet Surrender: Youthification and the Aesthetics of Conspiracy

Conspiratorial thinking in contemporary American culture has transformed into a broader audience. With its online presence becoming influential, the conspiratorial thinking pattern is increasingly targeted and shaped by younger generations. This phenomenon, which I term “youthfication” here, reflects how youth consume conspiracy theories and how they are adapted to their cultural idioms, anxieties, and digital realities. Through this lens, youth‑oriented conspiratorial thinking emerges as a unique interplay of agency/body panic in the new age, identity crisis, marginalization in youth groups, and digital capitalism—a re‑imagination of generational ideologies and cultural anxieties within contemporary narratives.

First, I must define “youthfication” and its association with conspiratorial thinking. Youthfication does not mean that participatory conspiratorial thinking is turning a shift to the youth since statistical collection is not the key of this paper. The term “youthfication” I use here describes the process of how conspiracy theories become appealing to younger demographics at both the conscious and unconscious levels. It also encapsulates how younger generations reinterpret conspiratorial frameworks to align with mind‑builds, particularly their socio‑political, cultural, and identity concerns. I intentionally do not use the term “conspiracy theory” but instead “conspiratorial thinking” since it contains broader relevancy to not only theorizing conspiracy but also taking the cultural by‑product of mindset from conspiracy theories, which may come into trends, aesthetics, or communication methods that sometimes do not require direct participation in the whole belief or the wholesome epistemology of theorizing conspiracy. It underscores how conspiracy theories are consumed, reproduced, and adaptively proliferate as collective thinking patterns that gain traction within ecosystems of the youth. Moreover, “conspiratorial thinking” denotes the communicative function of what Hito Steyerl calls “pattern recognition” and is further associated with information‑driven content consumption.

After COVID‑19, youth engagement in conspiracy theories has come to the public eye. The #Plandemic tag on TikTok garnered over 1 billion views as of 2024, with a significant proportion of engagement, approximately 70%, coming from users aged 16–24. According to a survey conducted by the News Literacy Project, eight in ten American teenagers say they see conspiracy theories on social media at least once a week. Some of the most frequent narratives cited include the 2020 election being rigged or stolen, the COVID‑19 vaccine being dangerous, and the Earth being flat. Of those teens who reported seeing conspiracy theories, 81% say they believe at least one of them. Almost half of teens (45%) think the press does more to harm democracy than protect it. Eight in ten say information from news organizations is no more impartial than other content creators online.

Given these empirical facts, even though we cannot conclude that youth today are more engaged in conspiratorial thinking than before, we can still tell that youth engagement and the growing doubt in “truthiness” is considerable. It may seem paradoxical that the younger generation contributes significantly to the proliferation of conspiracy theories. On one hand, society often imagines them as a critical force searching for independence, a quality that might distance them from the conservative conventions often embedded in conspiracy theories. The classic account of “self versus society” (Melley, 21) shares the familiar sense of individual struggle against a collectivity that resembles the challenges young people usually face. On the other hand, they are frequently characterized as “easy to be influenced” and deeply skeptical of existing systems, caught in a tension that mirrors broader societal contradictions.

In the post‑COVID‑19 era, isolation—both physical and mental—and the system’s abrupt turbulence may compound this struggle through the search for belonging and self‑identity. The commodification of mis‑ and disinformation, waiting to be discovered in social media streams, can significantly amplify young people’s exposure to conspiratorial thinking by making it more accessible and easily adopted through memes and infographics.

The challenge of navigating the overflow of information and the ever‑shifting political landscape intensifies this tension, necessitating a cognitive pattern recognition through which to interpret these complexities. According to Tom Melley, the term conspiracy “signifies a broader way of social controls,” inseparable from the work of large organisations, technology, or systems. Conspiratorial explanations often emerge in this context, serving as outlets for unexplained anxieties and frameworks for youth who feel “orphaned” by society. Disconnected from previous generational norms, they face new challenges rooted in drastic ideological shifts surrounding identity definition—which can be traced to Melley’s argument of “agency panic” as a phenomenon taking shape within the age of identity politics and the crises accompanying it. He defines “agency panic” as “intense anxiety about an apparent loss of autonomy or self‑control” (Melley, 3).

In the contemporary landscape of identity politics, where the expectation of freedom of self‑expression in sexuality and race is built but does not always match a functional, supportive reality, this dynamic takes on additional layers of complexity. Youth—particularly those within marginalised or intersectional communities—can experience heightened agency panic as they attempt to assert individuality while contending with systemic structures that dictate the terms of their representation. The convergence of identity politics creates what Melley calls “a dialectic of control and resistance” (Melley, 21), whereby individuals strive to reclaim agency through alternative narratives where they can grasp a sense of control within a constructed narration that addresses problems as conspiratorial origins. Such narratives offer the illusion of agency by framing systemic issues as conspiratorial machinations, thus providing a sense of empowerment in a world perceived as increasingly ungovernable.

By examining these dynamics, we can better understand how conspiracy theories appeal to youthful anxieties about autonomy and control, particularly in an age where what I call communicative urges amplify these tensions through content dissemination. Conspiratorial thinking among youth, in this case, manifests not only as a coping mechanism to epistemologise the feeling of loss of agency but also as a collective reaction to the complexities of identity formation across different groups in which shared (pseudo‑)knowledge can function in a way Susan Lepselter describes as a stirring “gathering effect” (2023, 176). Cultural artefacts—in this paper, I use the film I Saw the TV Glow (dir. Jane Schoenbrun, 2024)—provide vivid examples to encode and reflect the tensions between identity reorganisation and communicative urges among younger generations.

These works deal with the intersections of identity, agency, and generational ideological conflict in the context of youth‑oriented conspiratorial thinking and, interestingly, integrate them into a retrospective aesthetic form that can be almost tender and subtle. This interplay between notification and nostalgic aesthetics is rooted in the cultural longing for stability and coherence amid chaotic information flows and the gap of generational detachment. The retrospective aesthetic—marked by analog visuals, retro soundscapes, or even narrative structures evocative of past media forms—functions as a grounding mechanism, evoking a sense of safety and authenticity for a generation often overwhelmed by the complexity of (mis‑)information.

These aesthetic choices heighten the emotional resonance of conspiratorial narratives and position them as critiques of contemporary alienation, offering an imagined retreat into an idealised past. In I Saw the TV Glow (2024), this paradoxical aesthetic that is both soothing and uncanny is central to its storytelling. Often described as “dream‑core,” it incorporates elements of urban legends, analogue subculture, and nostalgic media such as videotapes and DVDs, evoking the collective memory of a generation while referencing counter‑narratives and creating what Jamie Baron refers to as “archive effect” (Baron, 49). Its focus on queer identity, regarded as highly empathetic, stirs discussion about the theme of media consumption as a form of escapism or resistance.

Through the shimmering suburban lights, we can feel something alien, something unfamiliar in mundane familiarity. Something has changed, but is it a threat or an outlet?

The Detachment in Suburbia and the Gathering Effect of Conspiratorial Discourse

From The Stepford Wives (dir. Bryan Forbes, 1975) to Get Out (dir. Jordan Peele, 2017), the enclosed structure of suburbia is often set as the ideal background for the conspiracy narrative: it is isolated from the outside world, and holds a sense of totality that is hostile to “outsiders.” In both films, the suburbs are picture‑perfect, delivering a harsh contrast with the underlying cruelty, and highlighting the conspiratorial thinking basis of “nothing is as it seems” (Barkun, 4).

In I Saw the TV Glow (2024), however, the suburban environment functions not merely as a backdrop for plotting but as a moodscape—an aesthetic rendering of dislocation and unease. This version is hollowed out, eerily serene, and slightly melancholic. The camera lingers on the figure of the protagonist, Owen (played by Justice Smith), rarely with other people in the frame in medium shots. The longer takes fit into a slow rhythm, and some takes are almost still, stretching moments into minutes, encouraging the viewer to notice how silence and stillness permeate the landscape.

Instead of dynamic movement or the hum of daily life, we get mise‑en‑scène compositions that resemble still photographs: empty parking lots bathed in neon glow, deserted arcades flickering with faint analogue life, and local theatres that stand as relics of a past era, now nearly strange. These places—arcades, theatres, football fields—once offered communal gathering points. In a generation that increasingly turns inward, these spaces have lost meaning, becoming semiotic markers of disconnection.

This sense of detachment underscores identity formation, particularly for queer teenagers and young adults like Owen, who face severe societal challenges to “grow up.” Traditional notions of “home” or “community” appear elusive here. In the film, Owen’s father thinks The Pink Opaque is “for girls” and ignores his emotional struggles, blocking him from his feelings and identity. The generational detachment manifests as the strange feeling in the town, where there is no direct plotting, but instead, conspiracy becomes the atmosphere: the mysterious disappearance of a girl, the weird TV show that no one knows who distributed it, the uncanny doodle on the road.

The protagonists wander these suburban spaces as if moving through a fever dream. The empty halls in the school, the vacant seats in the cinema, and the absence of familiar faces evoke a profound alienation. The environment does not confirm who they are; it has to feel like something is against them, be thought of conspiratorially, and be considered “wrong.” Instead, it offers only a vague impression of what once might have been a supportive cultural infrastructure.

For those questioning their sexuality, gender identity, or general place in the world, this hollowness exacerbates internal confusion. They traverse an environment that acknowledges neither their difference nor their presence—which results in heightened feelings of alienation and mental health struggles, particularly among queer youth navigating non‑affirmative spaces (Meyer 2003).

As Susan Lepselter argues, uncanny narratives often emerge from marginalised positions, reflecting a pervasive sense of trauma and disconnection (Lepselter 2016). The suburban setting, once a haven of stability, now mirrors the generational detachment and socio‑economic shifts that dismantle traditional communal structures. This detachment creates fertile ground for conspiratorial thinking, as fragmented identities latch onto narratives that offer coherence.

In I Saw the TV Glow (2024), the appeal of The Pink Opaque lies in its ability to shape reality through the characters’ perception, suggesting that conspiracy is less about external manipulation and more about the internal reconciliation of a disenchanted present. As Lepselter notes, these conspiracies do not necessarily articulate clear connections but thrive on a resonant aesthetic that amplifies hidden power dynamics and marginalised trauma. The protagonists’ turn inward—to curated nostalgia and false memories—is a survival strategy in an environment offering no cultural anchor.

They seek coherence in paranoia, where the obscure becomes meaningful, and isolation transforms into a shared, albeit fictional, narrative of resistance. The suburban setting feels like a vestige of a past generation’s ideals, now stripped of functional meaning. The reality they dwell in, illuminated with unnaturally colourful lights, is clearly “wrong” and feels “cut off” both to the spectator and the protagonists. And for Maddy (played by Brigette Lundy‑Paine) and Owen, the gay club on the edge of town “is the only space that will be safe for us to talk there.”

It becomes more apparent why the false memory of The Pink Opaque grows so appealing. It is not reality that possibly carries the conspiracy; it is what they make you think about the fact, and eventually, what you think about reality becomes the conspiracy. It is the obscurity—half self‑awarded, half forced—that convinces the protagonists to adopt conspiratorial thinking, where they can emerge into the world of “creepypasta” with an apparent perpetrator (in this film, Mr. Melancholy) and projected identities being plotted against (Isabella and Tara) as a “gathering effect” where they sense belonging.

As Isabella tells Tara, “You are like me; you are special.” This is the sense this shared epistemology (despite building on pseudo‑memory) brings to youth. Conspiratorial thinking can be a spontaneous choice. Lacking a recognisable social fabric or cultural anchor, the protagonists turn inward, preferring the curated nostalgia of a fictional show to the baffling emptiness around them. The show provides a sense of narrative continuity and emotional resonance missing in the real world. In this way, the suburban milieu’s detachment and emptiness drive the characters to choose what I call paranoia hypnosis and delve into mis‑ and disinformation.

Paranoia Hypnosis: Conspiratorial as Escapism

In I Saw the TV Glow (2024), Maddy longs to return to the fictional world of the television show The Pink Opaque, which reductively and romantically epitomises nostalgia as both a sanctuary and trap within a conspiratorial narration. The ultimate antagonist of the show is “Mr. Melancholy,” whose figure refers to the moon in A Trip to the Moon (dir. Georges Méliès, 1902), which becomes a symbol of both nostalgic past and uncertainty.

Despite fully recognising that the show is not a tangible reality—no more than a series of choreographed scenes, a simulated, reductive environment curated by unknown creators—Maddy craves it with an intensity that suggests this “false memory” has become more meaningful than the world she physically inhabits. Here, nostalgia operates as a kind of conspiracy against the self: it encourages a seduction by illusions, a surrender to a past that never truly existed.

Maddy’s retreat into the fictional world of The Pink Opaque is portrayed as a negotiation with a reality in which “the self is rendered a function of larger, impersonal forces” (Melley, 12). As an individual, Maddy adopts it as a coping strategy with a certain level of self‑consciousness. The film negotiates between reality and fantasy, leaving the audience the option to decide if Maddy is conveying her feelings of obscured reality or if there is a surrealistic cause here.

However, Maddy’s line, “You can’t trust anybody in your life. They’re all working for him… Mr. Melancholy,” states her mindset of what Michael Barkun phrases as a “conspiracy belief that an organisation made up of individuals or groups was or is acting covertly to achieve some malevolent end” (Barkun, 6). The conspiratorial thinking pattern, half‑aware compulsive belief, and imaginative romanticisation together form the state of paranoia hypnosis: one engages in paranoid thinking as self‑hypnosis to detach from reality.

The draw of The Pink Opaque for Maddy lies in its predictable contours and stable emotional tenor. In real life, she struggles with interpersonal relationships, loneliness, sexuality, and an environment that feels increasingly alien. But everything is reductive within the show, to “the bad” versus “the good.” The fiction grants her a fleeting sense of belonging in the soft glow of rich and soothing colours and the unbreakable interactions between the two teenage girls.

Her wish to be “buried alive” comes into play as Maddy willingly immerses herself in this mental space, sinking deeper into a memory she knows is constructed. She is metaphorically interred beneath layers of nostalgic yearning, willingly confined in a psychological tomb of certainty, choosing comforting disinformation over the chaotic fluidity of real life.

This tension reveals the complexity of how we treat nostalgia: it seems harmless and far away from what we consider conspiracy. However, there is a self‑awareness of paranoia hypnosis. In Maddy’s case, it escalates into a desperate and deliberate retreat, a conspiracy against her own being (“time feels wrong”) and acceptance of the present.

The projection becomes her reality, where she believes she is in danger of being buried alive, fed with poisoned “luna juice,” as an allegory of being forced to accept what she does not want in life. She adopts the conspiratorial thinking where the antagonist “...always [is] messing with time and reality. He wants to rule the world, to trap Isabel and Tara in the Midnight Realm.”

It is not merely remembering a kinder past; it is insisting that the past—however illusory—can outperform the present regarding emotional resonance. The constructed archive effect of manipulated nostalgia presents what Baron calls “the lure of foundness” when viewers decide what is “real” and what is not, and determine meaning (Baron, 71). In this sense, the conspiracy of nostalgic content is a psychological feedback loop: the more Maddy yearns for the show, the more she believes she was happier then, and the more significant the false memory becomes.

Thus, her ultimate return to take the conspiratorial narration of the “Midnight Realm” in the show as refuge underscores the power of constructed conspiratorial thinking to shape and, at times, distort our understanding of reality and selfhood.

Queer Bodies as Marginalised Sites for Conspiratorial Thinking

The name of the show in the film, The Pink Opaque, originally refers to non‑translucent body tissues in X‑ray. The confusion of the queer body becomes a trigger for embracing conspiratorial thinking as paranoia hypnosis, reaching beyond disappointing reality and embracing a constructed world where youth can become the hero of their own story and fight the “big, bad melancholy.”

Several scenes in I Saw the TV Glow (2024) directly relate to unease about bodies. One is when Owen dresses in pink as Isabella, one of the female leads in The Pink Opaque. Through transforming themself into the fictional figure “being plotted against,” they also gather enough courage to be their authentic self and actively gesture against norms—for the first and only time for Owen in this film. Yet this attempt is inadequate and conducted in an escapist essence: to accept being buried alive as a metaphor for surrendering to paranoia hypnosis.

Another scene is more surreal: Owen cuts open their chest with a box opener and the snow‑flaked TV glow leaks from within as they tear their skin.

The escapist tendencies inherent in conspiratorial thinking are deeply tied to the need for agency and identity reclamation. In I Saw the TV Glow (2024), the protagonists’ retreat into the fabricated nostalgia of The Pink Opaque mirrors a collective queer desire to find solace in a space untouched by societal judgment. The fictional world of the show is romanticised and adapted into a reductive pattern where powerful, beautiful protagonists fight against an antagonist, resonating with the conspiratorial thinking pattern in which “the very fantastic character of [conspiracy theories’] conclusions leads to heroic strivings for ‘evidence’ to prove that the unbelievable is the only thing that can be believed” (Hofstadter, 36).

It provides stability and identity coherence absent from the chaotic and often hostile external reality. The queer body, often a locus of societal anxiety and symbolic struggle, embodies a dual tension: systemic marginalisation and the imaginative labour required for agency. Owen says, “It feels like someone… took a shovel and dug out all my insides. And I know there’s nothing in there.”

Peter Knight argues that American culture is rife with “traces of body panic,” where “fears of contamination, invasion, and deviance intersect with anxieties about maintaining cultural norms” (Knight, 168). For queer individuals, these dynamics are further amplified as societal fears project onto their bodies, framing them as both a site of deviance and a potential contagion. In the current generation—offered “freedom” yet still facing conservative forces and generational gaps—marginalised communities develop anticipatory modes of interpretation to navigate systemic inequities.

When conspiracy theories operate as “a battle over facts, knowledge, and who has the right to know” (Dean, 147), these frameworks resonate deeply. Historical patterns of exclusion, such as phobia, violent crime, or medical gatekeeping, underscore a lived experience of systemic treatment. Sometimes, conspiratorial narratives are part of their realities. These frameworks articulate genuine fears and experiences. As Clare Birchall notes in the context of the COVID‑19 “Plandemic” panic, while the factual claims of conspiracy theories may be exaggerated, their narratives often reflect “genuine and legitimate concerns” about systemic abuses of power and surveillance (Birchall, 4).

The phenomenon of younger generations half‑consciously immersing themselves in conspiratorial narratives is a significant aspect of contemporary cultural and political landscapes. Youth engage in performative skepticism—a form of participation that intertwines playfulness with genuine mistrust of institutions (Birchall and Knight, 27). This performative aspect reflects a dialectic tension between belief and disbelief, enabling younger generations to explore conspiratorial thinking as a cultural practice rather than mere ideological adherence.

For characters like Owen and Maddy, the allure of conspiratorial narratives arises from their struggle to navigate feelings of marginalisation and disconnection. These narratives provide an illusion of agency and belonging, offering a framework to make sense of their alienation and project a sense of purpose onto an otherwise indifferent reality.

There is a need to address liberalised individuals who transcend any single ideology and allow themselves to question traditional values while embracing alternative, albeit nostalgic, frameworks of belonging. The convergence of far‑left liberation of the body and far‑right ideas of control within the framework of diagonalism further heightens this appeal. Such narratives blur the ideological boundaries of confused identity politics, allowing youth to grapple with their disconnection from traditional societal norms while embracing a counter‑cultural critique that feels both subversive and inclusive.

The Conspiratorial Mediation of Media: From the “New Flesh” to the “Big Bad Melancholy”

The ever‑present clue that carries paranoia hypnosis in I Saw the TV Glow (2024) is the evolution of media: videotapes, DVDs, and wired TVs witness the emotional exchange between the protagonists and the bizarre world of The Pink Opaque. The most known scene in this movie is when Owen’s head is absorbed by the television, taken as an homage to Videodrome (dir. David Cronenberg, 1983).

When placed in conversation with Videodrome (1983), I Saw the TV Glow (2024) illuminates a shift in how media infiltrates and intermediates conspiratorial thinking. In Videodrome, media encroachment into human consciousness (and body) is violent, unsettling, and met with resistance. It is an era when television still holds novelty and power, its signals threatening to rewire the psyche of viewers who see the power of the emission of provoking ideas. Characters grapple with the tension between personal agency and imposed illusions, often devolving into paranoia as horror when they attempt to regain control of their minds and bodies.

This earlier narrative frames media as a viral entity that must be guarded against: an external force imposing distortions on the sense of self and world.

In contrast, I Saw the TV Glow (2024) approaches similar themes from a place of resignation or even preference. The characters no longer fight against the notion that someone—or something—is reshaping their reality. Instead, they welcome the false memory, the nostalgic aura, as an alternative to the barren emotional landscape surrounding them. Rather than resisting the influence of media, they turn to it willingly, craving a distorted past that never truly existed.

This is a signifier of generational change: the medium, once captivatingly fresh in the 1980s, now appears as a cultural relic, a curious artefact of obscurity. The TV set is a totem of lost promise in this layered vision. The protagonists are not fearful of losing their grasp on reality; they are sceptical about reality’s value in the first place.

This transition from violent intrusion to gentle allure—or even yearning—points to a cognitive shift towards media. While in Videodrome the protagonist takes media’s intrusion as extreme violence, I Saw the TV Glow (2024) has its protagonists embrace it as a soft allure. The violence and provocation in Cronenberg’s film have given way to a quieter, dreamlike tenderness, where the boundaries between authentic and artificial are blurred so thoroughly that the question of authenticity becomes moot.

Reality is not being hijacked; it is being abandoned. Maddy and Owen prefer to drift into the televisual memory‑scape rather than confront the harshness of their physical surroundings and their disbelief in the societal promise of “adulting.” In this sense, I Saw the TV Glow (2024) extends the conversation begun by Videodrome (1983) into a world where scepticism and nihilism reign and where the desire to be overtaken by a constructed reality has become part of the logic of survival.

In the film’s final minutes, Owen purchases a large, high‑definition monitor and finds The Pink Opaque on streaming media, revealed as a disappointing kids’ show. It exposes awareness that The Pink Opaque is a made‑up fantasy, suggesting that adoption of paranoia hypnosis can be self‑aware. The claims of clarity by media evolution dispel the nostalgic aura.

Paradoxically, the yearning to go back is often catalysed by algorithm‑driven (mis‑)information turbulence. Youthful engagement with conspiratorial thinking reflects deeper anxieties of the “post‑truth era,” where everyone can make their own truth claims and “truthiness” is overloaded (Birchall, 28). The resurgence of nostalgic counter‑narratives becomes a significant feature of narrative ecologies in the post‑COVID era. It harks back to a golden age of stability by suggesting a distorted, rose‑tinted version of the past, displaying a resistance to empirical falsification that intersects with conspiracy theories and cross‑fertilises them (Gabriel, 13).

The notification of conspiratorial thinking reflects transitional challenges younger generations face, accompanied by media evolution—generational gaps, identity crises, information overload, and emotional detachment. These difficulties are amplified by the societal and digital structures that shape their realities. Conspiratorial narratives, wrapped in consumable and nostalgic aesthetics, provide an illusion of coherence and agency. They act as coping mechanisms for youth navigating an era where traditional cultural anchors are eroding.

While these narratives resonate with feelings of marginalisation and alienation, they also exploit vulnerabilities. Echo chambers within communicative capitalism capitalise on youth anxieties by amplifying such narratives for profit. By presenting conspiracies as solutions to existential disconnection, these frameworks often deter youth from meaningful engagement with their personal and societal realities, impeding their psychological maturation and integration into true functional adulthood.

Moreover, the “memefication” of existential crises trivialises these struggles and reframes them as entertainment or immaturity instead of addressing the systemic and personal changes needed. Romanticising counter‑narratives as identity or escapist ideology risks misleading the younger generation and entrenches their disconnection from structures necessary for growth and agency.

Understanding and sympathising with the struggles of youth in this information‑saturated era is vital. However, these counter‑narratives, while offering momentary solace, can also reinforce alienation and hinder the pursuit of authentic selfhood. “Nostalgia is powerful” (Chloe Heiden, Seminar, Fall 2024), and we should be more careful with it.