It's 2004 somewhere (or, time isn't real according to pop culture)

Cut to the Feeling is a monthly column by Anne T. Donahue about the art and pop culture that sparks joy, grief, nostalgia, and everything in between.

If 2024 has taught us anything, it's that time is but a myth; an illusion. Time is a bedtime story we've retold ourselves so often that despite all proof that it has never existed and never will, we still believe in the passing of days, months, weeks, and years, and mark them down as though they mean something.

The fact is, it is 2004. Or, more specifically, it is the most hellish version of an, at best, questionable year.

While everything old is inevitably new again (and I've based my whole identity on it), 2024 is an anomaly defined by the cultural legacy of its 20-year-old predecessor. Relics of the past have emerged to claim their thrones or to lead a very specific renaissance, while even Marvel-adjacent blockbusters (see: Madame Web, set in 2003) force us to remember the dawn of the ugliest era in modern history. Don't believe me? I come with receipts. Please just hold on to their physical copies since 2004 had yet to adopt digital records.

Leap year and the comeback of Justin Timberlake

In 2004, Justin Timberlake infamously remained unscathed after ripping the shirt off Janet Jackson at the Super Bowl and subsequently throwing her under the bus. His career flourished and she was condemned, but only by those who could not see past the brim of his fedoras which clearly blinded them to the truth. (See: Justin Timberlake has always been an average performer, and "Sexy Back" was what Timberland carried the song with.) 

In 2024, Justin Timberlake is threatening us all with another album and world tour, having just released a song called "Selfish" which coincides with his recent announcement that he owes an apology to nobody. This is, of course, untrue: not only should he grovel daily at the altar of Janet Jackson, but Britney Spears' 2023 memoir is evidence that Justin is a cultural (and literal) menace. Yet nevertheless he persists, continuing to appear in large venues while dancing like somebody's cousin at a large family wedding. What's worse is that unlike his 2004 catalogue, "Selfish" is boring and forgettable, proving that 2024 is the worst version of most things, but especially JT.

The Apprentice premiered

In 2004, The Apprentice premiered, and for a short moment in time, we all said "You're fired!" as though we were wielding power and wit like the horrible man who helmed the show. The joke's on all of us, though, because our commitment to watching the worst people attempt to gain favour with the worst people led to not only the travesty of 2016-2020, but to what may be a 2024 follow-up. I will curse Mark Burnett until I can curse no more, and that's all I can legally say.

Sex and the City ended, only to begin again

In 2004, Sex and the City came to a close and brought with it the end of all good storytelling about Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha. We learned Big's real name was John Preston (of course it was), that coupled-up women equated positive closure (hoo boy), and that ending any series primarily about female friendship with "You've Got the Love" will induce sweet, beautiful tears that helped justify seeing the second film in theatres, despite your best judgment.

The movies, as far as I'm concerned, do not exist. But And Just Like That … does, and in 2024, it will film its third season that will be set in a new apartment and feature a small cat. Is this a bad thing? Not in the least. But imagine if the original just ended in 2004, free of the Kim Cattrall/Sarah Jessica Parker feud, or Steve's evolution into whatever character he has become. Big would still die on a Peloton, but it would not affect any of us, ever. Glory be.

Lindsay Lohan was dragged, and then she was dragged once more

In 2004, Lindsay Lohan was tabloid fodder that kept that particular sector of the industry thriving until well into the 2010s. Arguably, she came to evoke the worst version of all of us. Drunk on the power of clicking through Perez Hilton's janky blog, we failed to see context outside of descriptions like "train wreck" and relished in photographs of her partying in Los Angeles, as though we weren't doing the Waterloo, Ontario equivalent on Saturday nights.

Fortunately in 2024, we do know better — sort of. While Lindsay Lohan's trajectory has veered from what it was 20 years ago, old cultural habits die hard. Lohan's Mean Girls cameo was accompanied by Hilton's once-favourite insult, which brings me to another point: why have we not moved on from villainizing someone who was a teenager in the naughts? Especially within the parameters of a movie based on a musical based on a movie about mean girls?

Spider-Man to Madame Web

Her web links them all (to a specific year.) 

In 2004, Spider-Man 2 was released and finally answered the eternal question, "What would Tobey Maguire's face look like if he was trying to stop a train?" Of course compared to Marvel's most recent Spider-Man incarnations, the franchise's 2004 version failed to conjure the vulnerability and earnestness that defines Tom Holland's Peter Parker (or any number of Spiderverse leads). But don't forget that at the time, we were enthralled. Alfred Molina was the perfect Dr. Octavius (Doc Oc if you're nasty). Kirsten Dunst was a compelling MJ. The soundtrack was the perfect fit (Dashboard Confessional, Yellowcard, Taking Back Sunday) for the story of an angsty spider-boy who was well into his twenties but could still pass for a high schooler.

Madame Web, on the other hand, is iconic. Less for its plot, characters, or ability to link various components of different Marvel institutions, and more for its 2003-era fashion and hairstyles, and Dakota Johnson's clear disinterest in participating in the film or the junkets supporting it. This is, after all, what 2024 is all about: complete exhaustion at the thought of another comic book-based movie. And I blame Tobey Maguire.

Low-rise pants

It is important for me to mention that similar to 2004, 2024 has ushered in a new wave of low-rise pants. None of us are safe. All of us will suffer. Pray for those you love and hold close.