Past Predictions About The Future That Were Way, Way Off

The future is always in front of us, brimming with of possibilities: rocket pants, chorus lines of robo-legs kicking high to songs about android dreams, and, of course, those ubiquitous flying cars. Who doesn't want one of those? Since well before the days of Nostradamus, seemingly prescient women and men sought to predict the ways of our successors. Sometimes, their concepts proved to be startlingly accurate, but most often, their visions were off by several light years.

Without a doubt, Thomas Edison was one of the most brilliant inventors of the early 20th century. Known for the long-lasting lightbulb, the phonograph, and the peep show viewer (Kinetoscope), among many others innovations, his insight made possible many of the marvels we enjoy today, lighting the way for the high-tech contemporary culture we treasure. Of course, ol' Tom wasn't one-hundred percent on the ball at all times.

Edison's unique vision for tomorrow inspired many incredible advances, but his prediction regarding the future of construction material rang a bit hollow. See, Edison either thought a great deal about the new steel alloys or was heavily invested in Pittsburgh's chief industry at the time. As a result, he claimed the future belonged to steel. Every aspect of our homes, from baby cradles to rocking chairs to boudoirs, would be "sumptuously equipped with" the dense, metallic alloy. There's no doubt that steel still plays a major role in building construction and cookware, but heft and relative durability issues gave other composites like aluminum, fiberglass, and plastic the advantage in contemporary construction over old Andrew Carnegie's main squeeze. If Edison had only foisted the mantle of the future onto petroleum byproducts, he'd have chalked another notch on his prophetic belt.

In the past, "women of the future" predictions were usually hotbeds for dusting off sexist, Mad Men-like tropes of the 1950s, with men joking about how lazy their wives would get after robot maids, cooks, and butlers replaced household chores (watch a few '50s sci-fi flicks if you think we're joking). Even before a lot of the condescending misogyny was outed in the '70s, early feminist ideas found ways to sneak into the general populace during the Father Knows Best decade.

In 1950, Associated Press writer Dorothy Roe came up with a few wacky predictions that, while inspiring, didn't exactly pan out. For instance, she claimed (with science to back her up) that all women of the future would top off at six feet. Not only that, but they'd sport superheroine-esque proportions and dress like Wonder Woman, with "muscles like a truck driver" so they could compete in male sporting events and work in traditionally male jobs.

Roe may have been less-than-prescient when envisioning a future filled with massive, trucker-tanned gals, but modern women are, indeed, competing in more traditionally male sports like baseball and "prizefighting," although, sadly, not on a professional level, for the most part. But perhaps Roe's most off-the-mark prediction is that women and men of the future will cut out food altogether, eating instead only "food capsules." You need only to peek inside a Chipotle during the lunch rush to see how that didn't at all pan out.

Ah, the Man of the Future, bastion of technology running roughshod over common sense. Sages and seers around the world have sought to envision our distant selves. As a result, the media glommed onto the futurism trend by publishing their own look at tomorrow across numerous industries, including manufacturing, farm tech, and fashion.

In 1939, Vogue tried to imagine what the future-man might look like, style-wise, running a (possibly tongue-in-cheek) conceptualization of the 21st century man. Visually vetted by designer Gilbert Rohde, the future dude decides to revolt against shaving (this actually happened). He also eschews the frustrating neck ties and bowties of his day in favor of button-less full-body jumpsuits. His hatred of pockets also knows no bounds, as Bro 2000 now rocks belt-storage — the fanny-pack of the future! To top off his ensemble, Rohde conceptualized a stylish fez with attached colander-antenna hat, used for "snatching radio out of the ether."

So, Vogue predicted a future M.C. Hammer hipsters. It could still happen!

Conan O'Brien wasn't the first transplant to cast predictions of the future about the Big Apple. Back in 1950, the New York Times featured a piece by science editor Waldemar Kaempffert entitled "Miracles You'll See In The Next Fifty Years." After talking to a few notable scientists, ol' Kaempy set out a few wild ideas about what life in the year 2000 might look like. Fortunately, he doesn't include the flying car bit, and a few of his fifty-year miracles actually match up, such as the dominance of TV dinners and the rise of computers. Otherwise, not all of these predictions quite hit home.

Among his more appetizing concepts was a diet consisting primarily of sawdust, which would replace traditional food — except the frozen dinners, of course. Dinner would also be served exclusively on single-use paper plates. After a delightful meal of wood shavings, cleanup would also be a breeze, since everything in our $5,000 steel homes, including the furnishings, is waterproof. Just a quick hose-down and our house is spotless! Personal grooming also sounds painless, since razors have been replaced with depilatory creams. Best of all, our disposable rayon underpants are recyclable, along with our tablecloths, becoming colorful candy for the kids (seriously).

With perks like Underoos candy, weather-control devices, and personal helicopters, what's not to love about this future?

Back in 1930, English conservative politician F.E. Smith penned some curious perceptions about his not-too distant ancestors. Amazingly, denizens of the year 2000, he claimed, will be able to live drastically increased lifespans, hitting the 150 mark. Of course, such longevity will cause some serious troubles at work, including labor shortages while 20 year-old workers compete with vigorous 120-year-olds for jobs. Also, since most employees are now robots (that one sort of happened), the workplace could get pretty dull. At least this means shorter, 20 hours workweeks. Most importantly, through some crazy future-tech, we'll be able to slow the Earth's rotation, giving us 28 hours in every day. So, 20 hours of work each week and eight extra hours per day? There will be plenty of time for Smith's fox hunting and cricket playing indeed, as well as farming, which the politician suggests will become a rich person's' hobby.

Rather than watching Dr. Phil, we'll be casting our ballots through the television (nope: we don't even vote online). Wars will be conducted via remote control vehicles (okay, he gets a point for this one). Those extra minutes each day also amount to more travel time, as the wealthy of the new millennium can zip on over in their flying cars (hey, four more hours a day to invent them!) to the Sahara Desert, which has now been filled and turned into a luxury sea — because nobody lives there or anything. Not cool, Mr. Smith.