You might notice something strange on the desks if you walk into a public school media classroom on a Tuesday afternoon somewhere like Evanston, Illinois, or outside Portland, Oregon. There are no laptops with YouTube open. There are no face-up phones awaiting a notification. Rather, there are cards that are laminated, printed, and distributed with an almost antiquated sense of purpose. Teachers use what they refer to as “theory cards,” which are loosely based on the theories of British media scholar David Gauntlett, to pose questions that most teenagers have never thought of: Who created this content? Why? What does it subtly tell you about your ideal self?
This type of critical media framework might have remained confined to academic journals and university curricula a generation ago. Gauntlett’s work was so dense that most school curricula ignored it, especially his 2008 revised edition of Media, Gender and Identity. However, something changed. A growing number of educators began searching for resources that did more than just teach children how to recognize a fake news headline as social media platforms became ingrained in adolescent life. Their goal was to provide students with an understanding of identity, particularly as it is constructed by media.
For years, Gauntlett had maintained that identity is malleable. It is negotiated, flexible, and put together by the media we share and consume. Both the boy developing his personality around sports podcasts and the girl following skincare influencers on TikTok are involved in what Gauntlett called an ongoing cultural dialogue. When used in the appropriate classroom, that framing tends to halt teenagers in their tracks.
Teachers who have modified the card-based approach frequently describe a similar experience: something opens up when a student understands that the self-assured, assertive woman on a magazine cover wasn’t born that way and that the image was intentionally created. It’s difficult to ignore how a fifteen-year-old’s behavior during the remainder of class is altered by that realization. Suddenly, their faces show the skepticism.
The cards’ adaptability is what makes them useful as a teaching tool. Gauntlett’s theories come with frameworks rather than strict solutions. A card could start a conversation about how gender is portrayed in video game trailers. Another could encourage students to look at how a celebrity maintains their public persona on various platforms. The ensuing discussion, which touches on issues of race, class, body image, and algorithmic feed architecture, tends to veer off course in constructive ways.
For more than ten years, American public schools have struggled with digital literacy, sometimes awkwardly and frequently reactively. Adding a safety module with information on password security, cyberbullying warnings, and the risks of oversharing has typically been instinctive. Instead, Gauntlett’s method provides a more structural solution. Pupils are learning more than just what not to do on the internet. They are learning to interpret media as a system that shapes expectations about their identity and potential. It’s still unclear if that change in perspective truly persists outside of the classroom.
Observing this subtly spread throughout districts gives the impression that educators are placing a wager on something more profound than digital skills. They are placing a wager on critical identity. And that seems like a bet worth keeping an eye on right now.
