Would You Survive the Silence of the 70s?

In a world before WiFi, here’s what you’d rediscover—if you didn’t miss it entirely

Question: Gen Z, what would be the first thing you do if you ever get the chance to visit the 70s?

If I could step through time and land in the 1970s, my first move wouldn’t be buying a house or betting on a historic Super Bowl, even though those would be smart plays. No, I’d take a slower path—I’d find a payphone, flip open a notebook I brought with me, and write down everything I couldn’t Google.

Because what the 1970s offered—beyond the bell bottoms, Bowie, and Boogie Nights—was the raw, unfiltered texture of living. It was a time before everything became a broadcast, before every moment required a caption or a curated filter. If you wanted to find someone, you called and hoped they were home. If you wanted to be entertained, you showed up somewhere in person. Being bored was a gateway to creativity, not a thing to be eliminated.

So I’d walk into a record store and ask the clerk what’s new. I’d spend a night at CBGB’s or The Troubadour, breathing in sweat and ambition. I’d ride the subway in New York City, graffiti and all, just to feel the pulse of a city that hadn’t yet been sterilized for Instagram. I’d sit in a coffee shop with no WiFi and no one pretending to work remotely—just people, cigarettes, and thick novels.

I wouldn’t use my 2024 knowledge to outsmart the world—I’d use it to observe. To notice what we lost in the name of convenience. To remember that being unreachable once meant freedom, not fear of missing out. That news came in headlines, not infinite scroll. That connection was forged in eye contact, not “seen at 9:48 PM.”

Sure, I’d eventually buy land and drop hints to a young Steve Jobs, but first, I’d soak up what it meant to be unavailable. I’d breathe in that analog air, let my brain rewire itself without blue light, and fall in love with moments that weren’t meant to be captured.

Because the best part about visiting the 70s wouldn’t be changing history—it’d be remembering what it felt like to live before the future arrived.