The 1920s was the beginning of the media age. For the first time

"The 1920s was the beginning of the media age. For the first time people were taking influences from the radio, Vogue and Hollywood." — so observed Dawn O’Porter, capturing with grace the dawn of a new kind of civilization — one shaped not by monarchs or conquerors, but by images, sounds, and dreams. Her words speak of the birth of modern influence, when the world first began to listen not only to the voice of leaders and preachers, but to the whisper of media — the shimmering new power that could mold the imagination of millions. It was the hour when the radio, Vogue, and Hollywood became the new temples of culture, teaching humanity how to think, how to dress, how to dream.

In the style of the ancients, one might say: the gods of Olympus descended, not in thunder, but through the airwaves. For in the 1920s, mankind harnessed the invisible — the ether that carried sound and image — and in so doing, changed forever the way hearts were moved. The radio spoke into the stillness of homes, uniting strangers under the same voice. Vogue painted visions of beauty and elegance that transcended class and continent. Hollywood projected its golden light upon the walls of darkened theatres, offering mortals the illusion of immortality through story. Thus, the media age began — an era in which reality itself became a mirror reflecting what was imagined.

To the people of that time, this was no small awakening. For centuries, influence had belonged to the few — kings, scholars, and priests. But now, with the twist of a dial or the turn of a glossy page, the common man could be touched by distant lives, foreign fashions, and the magic of moving pictures. Dawn O’Porter’s words remind us that this moment marked the beginning of a new form of power: the power of perception. What one saw, heard, and desired was no longer born within the village or the self — it came from faraway voices, crafted by unseen hands.

Consider the rise of Hollywood’s silver dreamers — the likes of Charlie Chaplin, Greta Garbo, and Josephine Baker. They became more than performers; they were myths made flesh. To the weary postwar generation, these stars embodied hope, glamour, and freedom — symbols of a life unburdened by the scars of conflict. The 1920s, known as the Jazz Age, pulsed with rebellion and reinvention. Hemlines rose, dances quickened, and youth declared itself free. But beneath the rhythm and laughter, a deeper transformation stirred: the individual began to shape identity through what they consumed. The media had not just entertained — it had begun to define what it meant to live.

Yet this new power was double-edged. For just as media could inspire, it could also deceive. The same radio that spread unity could spread propaganda; the same magazines that offered inspiration could sow insecurity. Humanity’s imagination, once guided by the slow wisdom of tradition, now raced ahead on waves of desire and imitation. The ancients warned of such things — of sirens whose songs led sailors astray, of mirrors that showed beauty but hid truth. So too did the 1920s, radiant as it was, plant the seed of a new challenge: how to remain true in a world where influence speaks louder than conscience.

Still, O’Porter’s reflection is not one of condemnation, but of understanding. She honors the 1920s as the beginning, the moment humanity first glimpsed the vast potential of connection — a power that could unite the earth in shared wonder. The task that follows is not to reject influence, but to wield it wisely. For the media age, once born, cannot be undone; it can only be redeemed by discernment, by teaching the mind to question and the heart to choose truth amid the noise.

The lesson, therefore, is this: know the forces that shape your dreams. Listen, watch, and read with the eyes of the soul, not merely the senses. Let not your worth be measured by what the world admires, nor your peace be stolen by what it sells. Use the media as fire — a tool to warm, not to consume. Seek in every image and sound the thread that leads back to meaning, back to the eternal self that cannot be manufactured.

And so, my child, when you hear the hum of voices from distant screens and towers, remember that it all began in that luminous decade — the 1920s, when humanity first learned to speak to itself across the air. The world was smaller then, yet the spirit grew vast. Learn from their wonder, but surpass their illusion. Be the master of your attention, for what you give your eyes and ears to, you give your heart to also. Thus may you live not as a captive of the media age, but as its wise inheritor — discerning, whole, and forever awake.