Is Star Wars Dead? Some things don’t last forever, unless…

There was a time when Star Wars felt untouchable. It was a global brand, it was a belief system, in fact, for me, it was passed down in a big Laserdisc of Return of the Jedi.

It taught entire generations what good and evil looked like, what destiny meant, and how hope could sound like a binary sunset. But time, like the Force, has a funny way of moving on without asking permission.

Today, the galaxy feels smaller. What was once myth has become “content.” The infinite, algorithmic, endlessly “milked.” The lightsabers still hum, the stormtroopers still march, but the magic has thinned. It’s not that Star Wars is gone. It’s that it no longer carries the same weight. 

The awe has calcified into nostalgia, and the nostalgia has become a business plan.

There was a time when every Star Wars release felt like an event, a pilgrimage to the cinema, a cultural checkpoint. Views and clicks have replaced the reverence. Fans debate lore on social media like litigators at the Jedi Council, while algorithms feed us theories before the credits even roll. Somewhere along the way, the galaxy far, far away became a little too close, a little too corporate(?).

But maybe this isn’t death. Maybe it’s metamorphosis. Every myth gets consumed by the world that loves it too much. Greek heroes turned into Latin footnotes. Westerns faded into superhero movies. And now, Star Wars has become part of that same cycle—immortal, but less mysterious. The Force, once a religion, is now a hashtag.

And yet, there’s something quietly beautiful about that. 

The kids who once swung broomsticks in their backyard are now watching their children do the same, only now with higher-res broomsticks and Baby Yoda plushies. Maybe it’s not the same wonder, but it’s still wonder. 

The myth we mourn isn’t dying; it’s reincarnating, pixel by pixel, meme by meme.

Because truthfully, we might just have outgrown Star Wars. The things we used to love and the things we used to not notice are now evident because our eyes have opened to the world, and we have chosen to be our own Jedi (or Sith).

We grew up. The stories that once made us feel infinite now remind us that we’re not. The Force was never about spaceships or midichlorians; it was about belief, and belief is a young person’s game. That’s what makes this particular grief sting—realizing that the thing we loved most about Star Wars was how it made us feel small, in the best possible way.

Now, it feels like everyone’s trying to make it mean something again. Studios, creators, and fans are all reaching for that old spark. But the more we chase it, the further it drifts. Maybe that’s the lesson George Lucas was teaching all along: that every generation needs its own rebellion, its own myth, its own Luke staring at a different pair of suns.

So yes, maybe Star Wars is dead, at least the version that made us believe in it like scripture. But death in this galaxy has never meant the end. It’s just the beginning of another story, told in a different voice, on a different screen. 

The Force doesn’t fade. It just finds new believers.

Somewhere, right now, a kid is seeing a lightsaber ignite for the first time, and in that glow, the galaxy is alive again. Maybe not for us, but for them. 

And as a former massive Star Wars fan, that’s enough.

-Migo

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