The Millennium Tour Gave Us More Than Nostalgia—It Was A Reset

Say what you want about millennials that we’re obsessed with nostalgia, stuck in the early 2000s or whatever but the Millennium Tour reminded me exactly why we hold on so tight. The music, the dancing, the Baby Phat jeans. It wasn’t just a concert. It was a reset.

We’ve been catching heat from Boomers and Gen Z for a while now. Boomers think we’re entitled. Gen Z thinks we’re lacking authenticity and holding onto an identity crisis while being stuck in a ‘90s fantasy.

Call me a typical millennial, then. I loved growing up in the ‘90s and early 2000s. Saturday nights meant packed skating rinks in Akron, Ohio. People might’ve chilled by the tables, but once B2K or Lil’ Bow Wow came on, the rink turned into a dance floor. Later, I graduated to house parties and teen clubs — before bottle service ruined the vibe—dancing to the radio version of “Wait (The Whisper Song)” by the Ying Yang Twins and Bobby Valentino’s “Tell Me.” If your hair wasn’t sweated out by the end of the night, did you even go?

My only regret? Not going to a single Scream Tour. No band tee. No shared stories. That regret was solidified early because I couldn’t come to school with the iconic B2K or Bow Wow paraphernalia. I don’t know if my parents missed the memo or just refused to sit through a concert full of screaming teens, but it’s an experience I had to sit out and could never connect with friends about —until now.

One of my friends gave me the chance to go to The Millennium Tour at Wintrust Arena in Chicago. This was my redemption arc. I was finally going to make my teenage self proud. And there was no way I was missing out (again) on artists who shaped one of the best eras of my life.

Look, I didn’t love showing up before the 8 p.m. start time (millennials are aunties now, but that doesn’t mean we roll up early). But my friend insisted, mainly for merch and drinks, and I’m glad she did because the moment I got that band tee (20 years late), the nostalgia hit hard. It also gave me a chance to witness the full millennial collective experience through fashion. All around me were women in jersey dresses, velour Juicy Couture tracksuits, airbrushed tees and braids with bandana scarves. The “twisties in the front, curls in the back” generation had entered the building.

I was already impressed by the crowd before the music even started. 

Nivea kicked things off and instantly took me back to my burned CD playlist era. She sang “Laundromat” and “Don’t Mess With My Man” like no time had passed. The Ying Yang Twins followed, and once they started performing “Whistle While You Twurk,” it was over. Nobody was sitting down when “Get Low” came on. That track still hits like it did in 2002.

We had a quick moment to catch our breath and recover before RSVP — which stands for Ray J, Sammie, Bobby V and Pleasure P, took the stage and did a 30-minute mash-up of their hits. Ray-J’s “Wait a Minute” is still in my rotation. But Sammie? Sammie was the one.

Dressed in black leather pants and no shirt, Sammie looked at the crowd and said, “Let’s show them who the f**k I am,” right before going into his 1999 hit “I Like It.” The way we screamed that hook like our car notes and rent depended on it? Unmatched.

Sammie didn’t have to do too much because we sang our hearts out word for word and without missing a beat. His From the Bottom To The Top was the first album my parents bought for me, nearly 25 years ago. While his debut R&B album remains timeless, Sammie reminded me of—dare I say—the good ol’ days. It was that moment where I felt, “You just had to be there” to understand what these songs mean to Black millennials.

But the moment that resonated the deepest for me was when Bow Wow walked out. Maybe it’s the Ohio pride, but I was beaming seeing him in custom white, gray and red Air Force 1s with “OSU” etched on the side for The Ohio State University. Outside of LeBron James and a few others, Bow Wow’s roots in Ohio was something I was always proud of growing up. He kicked off “Take Ya Home” with the Harlem Shake and I swear, I was transported. He even brought out Twista, who I hadn’t seen in years.

You’d think after more than 20 years of touring Bow Wow, Omarion and Trey Songz might've lacked the energy to put on a show that millennials desperately needed— but no. They still brought it.

Sure, there were a few corny moments. I didn’t need the animated ice on the screen during Omarion’s performance of “Ice.” And Kaine from the Ying Yang Twins air-humping the stage? Sir, please. This isn’t 2005.

But here’s the thing: with all the talk about millennials being stuck in the past, I would argue that remembering where you’ve been helps you figure out where you are going. And there’s science behind why concerts like this strike such an emotional chord. Studies show that live music activates multiple areas in the brain tied to emotion, memory and reward.

When we hear songs from our youth, our brains literally and figuratively light up — not just with recognition, but with emotional intensity. Music can trigger dopamine which is the same feel-good chemical sparked by love and good food. And nostalgia? It’s been proven to lower stress, increase optimism and even make people feel physically warmer.

So when 10,000 people packed that arena, dripping sweat, screaming lyrics from our flip-phone days, that wasn’t delusion. It was collective healing. A reminder of who we were, who we are and how far we’ve come.

Millennials carry a lot. Research shows that we have a higher rate of depression than any other generation. We were raised on hope and were told to dream big — even when life didn't deliver on that promise. And for one night, the music gave us that promise back.

Our parents and teachers taught us that “if you can believe it, you can achieve it,” which is only partially true. Some of us got hit with a reality check later in life. There was a massive technological revolution where we went from VHS tapes to streaming and Polaroids to constantly posting on social media in a blink of an eye. 

Then, we entered adulthood during a financial crisis and recession where we were taught to still go to school despite there being fewer jobs. Many of my friends have crippling student loan debt tied to a degree they can barely use. And the likelihood to own a home grows more grim each day, especially if you didn’t buy a house before 2020. 

Despite what other generations say about millennials being stuck in the past, the Millennium Tour proved that some things are worth returning to. Both shows sold out the 10,000-seat arena, and for three hours, our childhood soundtracks reminded us what joy used to feel like complete with sweaty hair, sore feet and full hearts.

That night, I left with no voice, frizzy edges and a deep sense of gratitude for the era that raised me. When fun was real, dancing was mandatory and the music carried a whole different weight than it does now. The energy? Healing.

And yes, this auntie was in bed before midnight because let’s be real grown joy comes with a bedtime, too.