Time’s latest “Person of the Year” rollout shows how legacy media still tries to shape our values, even as Trump’s America moves in a very different direction.
How Time’s ‘Person of the Year’ Turned Into a Culture-War Ritual
Time created its “Man of the Year” feature in 1927 to highlight Charles Lindbergh, and over decades it evolved into “Person of the Year,” covering individuals, groups, ideas, and even non-human entities like “The Computer.” The stated rule has always been simple: the subject is whoever most influenced the year’s events, for good or ill. Yet in practice, especially in the age of social media, each December reveal has turned into a ritualized clash over politics, culture, and media priorities.
Time's "person of the year" are the reckless thieves who destroy IP and ensure we can no longer trust our eyes. Video, photo, art, and writing have all been assaulted by generative AI, doing nothing productive for society but making the oligarchs richer. pic.twitter.com/X52LXhFffU
— Brendan Noble, Fantasy Author 🇺🇦 (@Brendan_Noble) December 11, 2025
Modern PoY announcements follow a now-familiar script. Editors unveil the cover on television and online, often through a morning show tie-in, then the long-form profile and slick imagery go live. Within hours, Twitter/X and other platforms explode with reaction, spawning headlines that Time has been “skewered,” “slammed,” or “dragged” over the pick. Outrage is not a bug; it is part of the business model, driving clicks, subscriptions, and buzz, even as it deepens public distrust.
From Hitler and Khomeini to Giuliani and Celebrity Icons
Earlier decades showed a stricter commitment to the “greatest impact” rule, regardless of morality. Time named Adolf Hitler in 1938, Joseph Stalin twice, and Ayatollah Khomeini in 1979, explicitly recognizing their massive – and often evil – influence. That Khomeini issue triggered fierce backlash from readers and advertisers, and by Time’s own later accounts, the magazine became more cautious about choosing deeply unpopular villains. Economic pressure began shaping which “for worse” figures were acceptable to spotlight.
The 2001 decision to select Rudy Giuliani instead of Osama bin Laden became a turning point critics still cite. By sheer impact, bin Laden defined that year’s horror, yet Time elevated Giuliani as a symbol of American resolve. For many media-watchers, that choice marked a retreat from the franchise’s original honesty about evil influence. It suggested PoY was drifting toward moral comfort, brand protection, and uplifting symbolism, even when that meant rewriting the raw realities that shaped history.
Trump, Thunberg, Musk, and Swift: Social-Media Backlash on Repeat
In 2016, Time picked Donald Trump after his election victory, and social media erupted. Critics accused the magazine of normalizing populism and “rewarding” rhetoric they despised, while defenders pointed out that ignoring Trump’s impact would have been absurd. Similar storms followed when climate activist Greta Thunberg edged out Hong Kong protesters in 2019, Elon Musk was chosen in 2021, and Taylor Swift was crowned in 2023. Each selection fueled claims that PoY had become either too political or too celebrity-driven.
The only one who should be the Time Person of the Year: pic.twitter.com/UPa9U8KRan
— Planet Of Memes (@PlanetOfMemes) December 10, 2025
These controversies highlight a core disconnect. Time insists PoY is not an award or moral endorsement, repeatedly invoking its Hitler, Stalin, and Khomeini covers as proof. Yet the modern rollouts, flattering profile structures, and glossy covers feel like honors to most people. That tension between stated standard and emotional presentation feeds yearly outrage. Viewers see a media establishment that wants it both ways: able to say it is merely chronicling influence, while still basking in the glow of feel-good choices and fandom engagement.
What It Means for Conservatives in Trump’s America
For readers who value constitutional principles, national sovereignty, and honest accounting of history, the PoY pattern is instructive. The franchise reveals how a powerful media brand chooses to remember each year and whose stories it elevates or downplays. When Hong Kong protesters lose out to a Western activist, or when obvious villains are softened into safer symbols, it underscores the distance between globalist media gatekeepers and citizens who want straightforward truth about threats to freedom, faith, and national security.
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The AI Architects Behind TIME’s Person of the Year Covers