Popular Culture of the 1920s Trivia Quiz

Answer: Flappers

The young women of the 1920s defying all traditional conventions were known as flappers. They were stylish, rebellious, and having WAY too much fun for the comfort of traditional society. The origin of the term is not known for certain, but in the Jazz Age it described a whole new cultural attitude. Flappers chopped off their hair into bobs, ditched the corsets, smoked in public, drove cars, and danced the Charleston like they were plugged into 240 volts of alternating current.

Flappers became fashion icons but were also symbols of freedom and change. In the US, the 19th Amendment had just given women the right to vote, and the world was changing fast. These women wanted more than just respectability. They wanted adventure, independence, and you can bet they sure as heck wanted to enjoy a good cocktail or three, a pastime that was illegal in America at the time. Naturally, they shocked their elders, who as always failed to realize that was pretty much the whole point of the exercise.

If you're wondering about that striking image, it comes from the cover of "Life" magazine from 2 February 1922.

Answer: The Jazz Singer

When "The Jazz Singer" hit the theaters in 1927, audiences completely lost their minds. They could actually hear the actors speak on screen. Al Jolson, in full showman mode, belted out songs like "Toot, Toot, Tootsie" and famously declared, "Wait a minute, wait a minute, you ain't heard nothin' yet!" And that line was true in multiple ways. The film was the start of synchronized sound in movies, and the beginning of the end of silent film.

While "The Jazz Singer" wasn't actually the first movie with recorded sound experiments, it was the first full-length feature where the sound was a central part of the experience. Warner Bros. took a huge gamble using a new system called Vitaphone, which was a clever little setup that linked a film projector to a phonograph record if you can believe it. It paid off spectacularly. Silent stars who couldn't quite make the transition were sadly out of luck, but the audience was hooked on hearing dialogue and music. We still are, I guess.

Answer: Amos 'n' Andy

When "Amos 'n' Andy" hit the airwaves in 1928, it was the show everyone was tuning in to. Created and voiced by two white performers, Freeman Gosden and Charles Correll, the program followed the misadventures of two Black characters navigating life in the big city. At its peak, "Amos 'n' Andy" was so popular that businesses paused operations during its broadcast, movie theaters delayed screenings, and streets went quiet as people gathered around their radios to listen.

The show's humor relied heavily on racial stereotypes and caricatures, a reflection of serious prejudices in the entertainment industry at the time. It's now recognized as one of the most influential and most damaging examples of racial representation in early American media. The problem wasn't simply that the show was "offensive". It was the fact that it really helped shape mainstream perception of Black life for decades to come, and not in a good way.

Nevertheless, it was groundbreaking. "Amos 'n' Andy" demonstrated the cultural power of radio and really was the first true "mass media" phenomenon. It demonstrated that a show could unite tens of millions of listeners nationwide, setting the stage, so to speak, for everything from "I Love Lucy" to modern sitcoms. History's messy sometimes.

Answer: The 43 Club

The 43 Club, located at 43 Gerrard Street in London's Soho, was THE place to be if you wanted to dance, drink, and even risk scandal during the 1920s. It was run by Kate Meyrick, nicknamed the "Nightclub Queen", who was an entrepreneur and part-time outlaw. She threw open the doors to anyone who could pay the cover, which meant the dance floors were packed with jazz musicians, movie stars, aristocrats, and the occasional undercover policeman trying hard to pretend to enjoy watching people dance the Charleston.

The 43 Club was famous for its live jazz, its patrons, its champagne-fueled chaos... and the total disregard for all licensing laws of the time. This was the height of Britain's "bright young things" era, and Meyrick knew how to give the people what they wanted, even if (especially if) the authorities didn't approve. The club was raided repeatedly by police, and Meyrick herself was jailed multiple times for selling alcohol after hours. Each time she was released, she simply reopened under a new name or with a slightly different door policy.

Answer: Little Orphan Annie

That redhead orphan in question is none other than Little Orphan Annie, the creation of cartoonist Harold Gray. Debuting in 1924, Annie became one of America's most loved (and occasionally grim) comic strip heroines. She was portrayed as strong-willed and tough... and fairly optimistic for an orphan who spent most of her time escaping kidnappers, crooks, and later, the general misery of the Great Depression with little more than her wits and her faithful dog, Sandy (again, pupilless and absolutely terrifying), who would contribute the occasional "Arf!"

The strip was an instant hit because Annie wasn't your typical damsel in distress. She was independent, scrappy, and had a surprising knack for getting tangled up in political and moral adventures, perfectly fitting the cultural vibe of the 1920s. Her adoptive father, the mysterious billionaire Daddy Warbucks, represented the American Dream with a sprinkle of industrial muscle. Together, they made a team that was heartwarming and slightly absurd, but in a good way.

Answer: The Harlem Renaissance

The Harlem Renaissance was an explosion of Black creativity, pride, and cultural expression that transformed the 1920s and helped transform American culture well beyond. Centered in the Harlem neighborhood of New York, this movement brought together poets, musicians, artists, and thinkers who were determined to showcase the brilliance of African American life and imagination in all its forms.

You couldn't stroll down a Harlem street in those years without tripping over greatness. Langston Hughes was writing poetry. Zora Neale Hurston was crafting stories that captured the humor and heart of Black life in the South. Duke Ellington and Bessie Smith were redefining music at the Cotton Club. Painters like Aaron Douglas were filling canvases with bold, modern images of Black heritage and pride. (The piece shown in the image is Augusta Savage's "Gamin", one of her most famous works now housed at the Smithsonian.)

Answer: Art Deco

Art Deco is what we're looking for. This sleek, geometric design style celebrated modernity, luxury, and speed, like a champagne toast on a battleship whizzing across the waves. From skyscrapers and interiors to cigarette cases and jewelry, everything got "decoed" with bold shapes, shiny chrome, zigzags, and sunbursts that could make even your toaster look glamorous. (I'm not even kidding. Look up "art deco toasters" online.)

Art Deco made its big debut at the 1925 Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes in Paris (I can totally pronounce that, but I don't want to). It quickly spread around the world, defining the look of the Jazz Age.

Answer: The Charleston

The Charleston was simply pure joy set to jazz. Born in African American communities and named after Charleston, South Carolina, it hit the mainstream scene in the mid-1920s after appearing in the Broadway show "Runnin' Wild". Almost overnight, everybody from flappers to college kids were kicking, twisting, and flailing their arms wildly through dance halls like they had stuck their thumbs in a light socket.

The Charleston was fast, it was loud, and it was totally chaotic. Just swinging arms, swivelling knees, and way more energy than I try to expend on any given day. It broke every rule of polite society, which made it all the more fun. Traditionalists wrung their hands and warned it would lead to moral collapse, the fall of society, the end of civilization as we know it! And the dancers just kicked higher.

Answer: All Quiet on the Western Front

"All Quiet on the Western Front" landed like an artillery shell in 1929. Not so much with noise, but with sheer horror. Written by German author Erich Maria Remarque, the novel follows young Paul Bäumer and his friends as they go from idealistic students to battle-weary soldiers in the trenches of the Great War. No grand speeches or heroic last stands here, folks. Just mud, blood, fear, panic, the screams of dying horses, and the endless booming of artillery rounds. Readers on both sides of the Atlantic were stunned by its unflinching honesty.

Remarque, who had served in the war himself, captured the horror and loss of innocence that haunted all those who experienced the war. The book became an international bestseller almost instantly, translated into dozens of languages, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, banned in Nazi Germany a few years later for not being patriotic enough.

Answer: Rudolph Valentino

Rudolph Valentino was Hollywood's unofficial patron saint of smolder. With his dark eyes, slicked-back hair, and perfect pout, he became the screen's first true sex symbol. He managed to turn silent films into-quite literally-occasions for young women to scream their hearts out at the silver screen. His 1921 hit "The Sheik" catapulted him to fame, earning him nicknames like "The Latin Lover" and "The Great Lover".

Valentino's appeal was strong. While critics would sometimes call him too "foreign" or "feminine" for traditional male roles of the time, audiences, most especially women, could not have disagreed more. Fans swooned, fainted, and flooded him with letters. There are stories of movie theaters having to hire extra ushers during his films because of the fainting fits. Although his life was cut short in 1926, drawing over 100,000 mourners to his funeral, he was definitely the ultimate romantic hero of the silent era.

(Frankly, I just don't see it.)