Around the corner, in the kitchen, our lovely future wife is making dinner. She always seems to be making dinner. Because no matter how far in the future we imagine, in the kitchen, it is always the 1950’s, it is always dinnertime, and it is always the wife’s job to make it. Today’s homes of the future are full of incredible ideas and gizmos, but while designers seems happy to extrapolate far beyond what we can do today when it comes to battery life or touch screens, they can’t seem to wrap their minds around any changes happening culturally. In a future kitchen full of incredible technology, why can we still not imagine anything more interesting than a woman making dinner alone?
Rose Eveleth on the future of the past.
This is also why so much sci-fi looks so boringly regressive if you’re, yanno. Not a straight white male.1 Like, I just don’t care about your spaceships and your robots and your what-the-fuck-ever if your fictional social structure looks like a nightmare sitcom version of the mid-20th century. This goes, like, ten million times if you’re not actually in the mid-20th century when you’re writing it.
Seriously, it’s 20-fucking-15 already. If you want to write regressive fascist conservapulp fantasy then fine, go do that. But stop fucking pretending it’s imaginative futurist sci-fi while you’re at it.
- Ray Bradbury, I’m looking at you bro. “The Wilderness” man, I just… what the fuck even is that bullshit? I know it was published in the 1950s. You know who else was published in the 1950s? Shirley motherfuckin’ Jackson. Tl;dr, go read Jackson, forget Bradbury. Yeah. I said it. Fight me.↩