When Gen Z dials: The unlikely return of the landline

It is a truth universally acknowledged — though rarely admitted aloud — that the generation born with a smartphone almost fused to its palm is now, quietly and with a hint of mischief, placing a landline on its coffee table. Yes, the same landline once confined to grandparents’ homes, complete with coiled cords, dramatic rings, and the uncanny habit of dying during thunderstorms.

In 2025, this technological relic is enjoying an unlikely renaissance, embraced by Gen Z with equal parts irony and intent. When history repeats itself, it seems, it does not ask permission; it simply rings.

At the heart of this revival lies a profound fatigue with hyper-connectivity. Smartphones, once hailed as tools of freedom and empowerment, have evolved into relentless taskmasters. Notifications bark for attention, applications beg to be opened, and algorithms observe with the vigilance of an overzealous invigilator.

A 2024 Deloitte Digital Wellness Report revealed that nearly half of Gen Z respondents felt overwhelmed by constant alerts, with many actively experimenting with digital detoxes. Like the prodigal child returning home, this generation appears to be rediscovering a simple truth: when everything demands attention, silence becomes a luxury. The landline, blissfully indifferent to applications, updates, and analytics, offers exactly that.

There is something almost poetic about a device that does only one thing — and does it unapologetically. A landline rings; you answer, you speak, you hang up. There is no doom-scrolling spiral, no accidental plunge into conspiracy videos at 2 am., no fitness app quietly

judging your life choices. The physical act of replacing the receiver creates a sense of closure no touchscreen can replicate.

As one Gen Z user observed in a recent cultural feature, once the handset goes down, the world truly stops buzzing. Proverbs may evolve, but the old wisdom remains intact: too many cooks spoil the broth, and too many apps certainly spoil the mind. Naturally, Gen Z does nothing without an eye for aesthetics, and the landline revival is no exception. Pastel rotary phones, translucent plastic models from the 1990s, and sculptural retro designs now adorn minimalist apartments and artisanal cafés. Interior designers speak of a growing appetite for “retro corners”, spaces where nostalgia is staged but the yearning beneath it is sincere. These phones photograph beautifully, nestled beside houseplants and beverages whose prices could fund a small nation. What was once obsolete has become desirable the moment it stopped trying to keep up.

Yet beneath the décor lies a deeper cultural unease. The rise of artificial intelligence and algorithm-driven content has sparked quiet anxiety, with studies showing that many Gen Z students worry about unseen forces shaping their preferences. Choosing a landline, then, is more than nostalgia; it is a subtle rebellion. Being unreachable, even briefly, has become an assertion of autonomy. Sociologists read this as resistance to a world engineered for distraction. In slowing communication, the landline restores something precious: the space to breathe, to listen, and occasionally, to think. Sometimes, to move forward wisely, one must dare to dial back — quite literally.

The writer is an educator; views are personal