There was a time in America that we all had similar shared experiences. Landmark events in time that you remember the exact moment: where you were, your age, what grade you were in. This was a time when something would happen and the next day, the entire classroom or office would be talking about it. That goes for TV shows, movies, songs, and other types of media as well. It felt like we were all on the same wavelength, the same frequency. We had megastars that seemed larger than life. It even gave space for the hipsters or the anti-crowd to go against the mainstream. But today, can we identify what’s mainstream? Are there any landmark events or moments in art and entertainment that we all share in common? Has America lost its monoculture?

Before I go on to detail how the culture has fractured and left us with fragmented niches and algorithm-fueled echo chambers, I want to talk about the good old days and some history behind the dissolution.

As I’ve thought on it, at least in my experience (which I’m only licensed to expound on), my earliest remembrance of this type of shared culture and experience includes two specific mediums in tandem: radio and television.

I grew up being so annoyed with radio. It’s ironic now because I truly miss those times, but that could just be the nostalgia. At any rate, I really disliked the radio back in the day (back in the day for me is the early 2000s) because, for one, the commercials.

The commercial breaks on radio were brutal. The same ads played over and over, being drilled into your head. And so you turn the dial (or my mom or aunt would turn the dial) and, lo and behold, on the only other station we typically listened to, they were also on a commercial break. So you’re just stuck listening to a car insurance ad or some ridiculous local business skit. Of course, when the ad was over, a song played that you had already heard at least three times before, depending on how long the car ride was. Yeah, radio could be unbearable.

But the thing about it is, we all knew the most popular songs, whether we liked them or not, because there was a central source controlling what was played on the airwaves. There was no infinite library of tracks to select from like today. You just got what you got. And everyone was cool with it. I mean, we didn’t even have the concept of streaming, so it was alright.

Looking back, the radio format is what allowed us all to be so in sync (pun intended) with music. It’s how those boy bands could become so wildly popular. It’s how songs like Who Let the Dogs Out became smash hits. Even if we talk about a more modern song like Crank Dat, yeah, it came out during the early digital shift in music, but it got insane radio play too. So adults and kids alike couldn’t escape it.

With radio, a lot of songs come to mind. I consider them classics now. But would I have listened to them if I had a choice in the matter? I’m not sure. There is something to be said about the emotion those songs back in the day evoked when everyone you knew could join in on the singalong. I grew up when karaoke was popular and watched it fizzle out. I think about today and what the song selection for karaoke would be like with today’s “hits,” and I’m certain you’d have to go back a few decades before the entire room could truly sing along or even be familiar.

Even though we had to deal with annoying radio ads, that dopamine hit from when your favorite song got played was still priceless. Everyone in the car jamming along created a certain type of togetherness we don’t have in music anymore.

Conversely, the exact same thing has happened with television. I’d argue it’s on an even larger scale. At least with music, there are some TikTok songs that get popular, and you may know certain songs that go viral. There’s not a central figure controlling the hits as much as radio once did. But with TV (movies included, but that take is a bit different), there’s not a single entity controlling or driving us toward the best series. It’s sad when you think about it.

There have been a few different eras of TV. I’m only referring to what they call the second golden era, or “Peak TV.” This is, again, the early 2000s (recognize a pattern), when TV shows were weekly events, rituals where families planned dinner around their favorite sitcom or mystery.

I think about the popularity of soap operas that had so many mothers and grandmothers glued to the TV. They were a key part of that homogenized culture we once had. I can never forget hearing my grandmother and aunt discussing with shock what happened in the latest episode, and then going on to do the same with other women in the family. It was a bond, an easy access point into community and shared interest.

Think about reality TV. When that popped off, it was like an addiction. People couldn’t stop watching, and they couldn’t stop talking about it. You knew which shows your friends watched and which they didn’t. You were out of the loop if you missed an episode. You wanted to be included though. You wanted to be in the conversation.

Don’t even get me started on American Idol. I don’t think there will ever be another phenomenon like it that captivated American audiences and fostered such deep emotional connections.

All of that has disappeared for the most part. To date, the last big event I remember that got talked about and felt like a moment in a collective or mainstream culture was Kendrick’s Not Like Us dropping and the feud between him and Drake.

Otherwise, all I’ve got are tragedies, mass shootings, and assassinations (and attempts). Even then, the conversation around those types of events lasts a week at most. Gone are the days when a song or TV show is “sweeping the nation.”

Now, you might wonder why, or maybe you’ve already come to the conclusion on your own. But it boils down to how we now spend our leisure time. In the early 2000s and before, we didn’t have the luxury of choice. Even with cable, you still had commercials, you had to wait for certain shows to come on, and you had a limited (although eventually vast) amount of channels.

The culture dictated what was cool because we could actually pinpoint it. You knew what was a good watch and you knew what not to waste your time on. And honestly, I think the shows were better back in the day because there was more competition for viewers. Shows were more compelling and creative, pushing boundaries.

There are too many options today. The market is oversaturated and there’s no one telling us what’s actually good. There are so many streaming apps with so many shows, both new and old, that we often get choice paralysis and don’t know what to pick. We may end up watching something we’ve already seen and just scroll on our phones while it plays in the background.

I know I’ve spent an awful amount of time scrolling through Netflix, reading description after description, trying to find something appealing, and end up feeling utterly exhausted that nothing is sticking out. Netflix admittedly does a better job with its “Top Ten” lists, but even then, it can be hit or miss.

The fragmentation started with DVR, then came On Demand, and then streaming put the final nail in the coffin. If entertainment isn’t set up like an event and you can just digest it wherever you want at your leisure, that defeats the urgency and excitement of the conversation. Instead of “Hey, did you see the new episode last night?” getting an excited response that sparks a debate about how it ended, you don’t even get the luxury. The person might say they’re waiting to binge it or they’re catching up on another show. The nature of the conversations we have around music and television has totally changed.

We’ve been slowly ushered into an era that doesn’t cater to us as a mass. There’s no national algorithm everyone can tap into. All of our interests have become personalized and individualized.

You can look at it a few ways. And me being born in ’94, I mean, I have the memories of the old days, so it will always be a point of contention for me. But times have changed, and kids growing up today won’t even have the concept I’ve explained. They won’t feel that type of mainstream or social culture from blockbuster movies, the hottest new single, or the wildest over-the-top reality TV show.

The end of monoculture isn’t just about media; it’s about identity. Once, we defined ourselves by what we shared. Now, we define ourselves by what sets us apart. Every playlist, show, and post is curated selfhood. The market doesn’t sell to the masses anymore; it sells to you.

That’s the paradox of our time. We’ve never had more connection, yet nothing feels collective. The cultural center didn’t collapse overnight. It just dissolved into fragments of personal taste. Maybe it’s not coming back. Or maybe, when the next true moment happens. The next song, game, tragedy, or miracle that pauses the world, we’ll realize how much we’ve missed feeling something together.