Consumers have come to expect a good measure of dishonesty in makeup marketing. But given the lack of strict regulations for cosmetics labeling in the U.S. ("clean" beauty, anyone?), companies have considerably more freedom to concoct some rather outlandish claims, especially nearly 90 years ago. Case in point: Woodbury's germ-free face powder and germ-proof lipstick and blush.1 In 1933 Woodbury introduced two creams they advertised as germ-free, asserting that their special formula contained a "self-purifying ingredient" that totally inhibited the growth of harmful bacteria even after use: "The last fingertip of Woodbury's Cold Cream is as sterile and free from germ growth as the first."
The faux science in the ads is absolutely mind-boggling, and there's a lot to unpack: the agar plates, the completely made-up Element 576 and the emphasis on germs not causing illness but bad skin.2
The mummy references are particularly fascinating, especially in the context of other brands that extensively appropriated Egyptian imagery in the name of beauty. Explains Advertising Age: "The illustration used is full of significance. In the background is a photograph of the head of the wooden casket used by ancient Egyptians to enclose mummies. To get the picture, it was necessary to make an exact copy of a New York museum piece…one of the problems was to give the illustration high character. The mummy has a classic connotation [that] suggests the historic beauty of the Egyptians and carries a desert-dry inference on age. Possibility of achieving similar results with a mask treatment was rejected because of frequent use of the idea in recent years."3
While the "historic" beauty of ancient Egyptians is acknowledged in Woodbury's ads, an image of a mummy is used to indicate an undesirable cosmetic trait. If Cleopatra and Nefertiti were represented as beauty icons, the mummy represents ugliness – essentially the opposite of most Egyptian-themed makeup advertising.
Another interesting aspect of Woodbury's marketing of the germ-free line was the inclusion of quotes from a real dermatologist. Many figures used in makeup ads were complete works of fiction, but there was in fact a Dr. John Monroe Sigman and he was indeed a Georgia-based dermatologist. Whether Woodbury got permission to use his name on their germ-free ads is unclear. Most likely they didn't, but the fact that they used an actual, existing dermatologist is a step up from entirely imaginary people like Dr. Charles4 or grossly misrepresented real women such as Mamie Hightower. Anyway, a few years later Woodbury expanded the idea from skincare to makeup. As we know, it's impossible to keep makeup entirely "germ-proof"; it can be sanitized, but the claim that any cosmetic will remain totally free of germs once it's been used is obviously quite the fabrication.
One of the things I was trying to figure out is why Woodbury introduced the germ-free line at this moment in time. There was some hand-wringing about makeup being unsanitary and able to transmit dangerous infections, which may have simply been part and parcel of the general dislike of makeup in the early days of the industry, but common advice to avoid breakouts or infections even by the beginning of the 1930s was the same as today: don't share your makeup, wash your hands thoroughly before handling skincare/makeup (or use a clean brush/other tool) and be sure to remove your makeup daily.5 It appears that the germ-free line was just another marketing tactic to try to set Woodbury's products apart using the latest spin on science-backed cosmetics. Then again, though Woodbury's ads tied germs to unsightly skin issues rather than illness and the flu epidemic of 1918 was long over, the public may have been generally more fearful of germs given their knowledge of how diseases were spread and that vaccinations available today were still decades away in the early 1930s. (Think about it: the moment COVID was declared a pandemic came a tidal wave of articles on whether the virus could live on makeup.) And as historian Shiho Imai points out, certain populations, particularly the Japanese-American community living in Hawai'i, were especially susceptible to the claims of germ-free products. "The bubonic plague and Chinatown fire of 1900 was still fresh in the memory of many Honoluluans. In an environment in which the Chinese, Japanese, Korean and Filipinos continuously changed the geography of race in the city, the specter of germs constituted a peculiar threat to Honolulu's elite community…Woodbury's took advantage of the public's fear of contamination, a strategy that resonated especially with Hawai'i's English-speaking community."6
In any case, while the Federal Trade Commission filed a complaint against Woodbury for several other false claims in 1938, it wasn't until 1941 that they issued a cease and desist specifically on the germ-free marketing, noting that their germ-free/germ-proof products were neither "sterile" nor had any antiseptic properties. The promises made by today's beauty products seem less unbelievable than those Woodbury made in the 1930s – there's no way a company now could get away with claiming any product to be germ-free – but the ad copy is much more vague so as to avoid legal liability. Take, for example, Clé de Peau's holiday 2022 collection, the face cream of which contains something called "Skin-Empowering Illuminator" with an exclusive ingredient the company has dubbed "4MSK." In some ways this sort of drivel seems worse than more specific claims.
Have you ever felt misled by makeup marketing? The vast majority of marketing is patently untruthful, but I think the one I've been snookered by the most is anything labeled "shine-free". As an oily-skinned person I can tell you that I've spent countless dollars trying to achieve a matte t-zone to no avail, yet I fell for it hook, line and sinker for many years. Needless to say, I would have purchased Woodbury's germ-proof powder to avoid the horror of "shiny nose".
1 In their official ads, Woodbury inexplicably appeared to use "germ-proof" for rouge and lipstick and "germ-free" for skincare and face powder. Newspaper ads for all products seemed to use both terms interchangeably.
2 In 1936 Woodbury had increased the percentage of ad copy dedicated to discussing the germ-free qualities of their products; nevertheless even the earlier ads were significantly focused on the products being germ-free. See Advertising Age, December 9, 1935, vol. 6, issue 49, p. 25
3 Advertising Age, May 5, 1934, vol. 5, issue 18, p. 18
4 I have yet to find any evidence that there was a Dr. Charles (or any doctor for that matter) behind Dr. Charles Flesh Food. If anyone can dig something up I'd be grateful!
5 These statements are based on a quick review of newspaper articles from the time, including "Girls Warned Lipsticks Are Germ Carriers," Indiana Gazette, June 24, 1924 and "The Removal of Makeup," Des Moines Tribune, February 20, 1929.
6 Imai, Shiho. Creating the Nisei Market: Race and Citizenship in Hawaii's Japanese American Consumer Culture. University of Hawai'i Press (2010), p. 49. This statement suggests that xenophobia and racism may have been at play as well in the marketing and purchasing of germ-free products. In this case, buying these items may have been viewed by Japanese Americans living in Hawaii as a way to assimilate and avoid accusations of uncleanliness or spreading disease. (Again: see the current pandemic and greatly increasedhate crimes towards Asians.)
Color coordination is just one of many facets of the vast and complex makeup-fashion relationship. This post will attempt to outline the trajectory of this concept from the 1920s through the early 1960s and examine how it was being marketed, with particular attention being paid to the notion of a lipstick wardrobe. The usual disclaimer applies: it won't be as thorough as I'd like given the limited access I have to certain resources, but hopefully will give a cohesive picture.
In the nascent cosmetics industry, color harmony usually referred to coordinating makeup shades to one's skin tone, hair and eye color. (It must be noted that women of color, particularly Black women, were completely left out of the "types" developed by Max Factor and others.) But as makeup became more acceptable and even expected, outfits began to take on importance in terms of coordinating makeup. The rise of ready-to-wear fashion and designers releasing seasonal collections also played a significant role. By the late 1920s beauty columns were advising women to select their makeup with the color of their "costumes" in mind in addition to the original three pillars of color harmony.1
Beauty columnists also advised a bit of color correcting through the use of mauve or green-tinted powders (which, you may recall, was pioneered by Shiseido), as this would enhance the complexion depending on lighting and the color of dress. The racist/colorist goal of "heighten[ing] the effect of whiteness" via makeup persisted throughout the 20th century. While most articles weren't quite as blatant about achieving whiteness to coordinate with various clothing colors, the sentiment was implicit in many color coordination guides.
While makeup shade selection was still sparse, cosmetic companies began using dress colors as a marketing opportunity. Elizabeth Arden led the way, declaring in 1931 that "any woman can wear any color". Cosmetics and Skin explains, "Unlike clothing fashion colours, that changed from season to season and year to year, lipsticks, rouges, face powders and nail polishes were sold in the same shades over long periods of time. Although limited, the colour ranges available in the 1920s and 1930s generally included vivid colours for evening wear and enough shades to enable women to make some allowances for different outfits and/or accessories like brightly-coloured jewellery. In the 1930s, recognising that make-up, like hair dyes, could change a woman’s ‘natural’ colouring, Elizabeth Arden and others went further, suggesting that make-up could enable women to wear a greater range of fashionable colours than her natural colouring might otherwise suggest." By the end of the '30s, "Women began buying new make-up items simply because of a change in colour, thereby increasing sales."
Cosmetic companies and beauty columnists seized on the idea of choice that color coordinated makeup supposedly allowed. Women no longer had to fear certain dress colors; they could wear them with confidence provided their makeup was aligned. With a change of outfits and harmony between makeup and clothing shades, women could also express various moods and personalities. The ad copy for Elizabeth Arden's lipstick ensemble claims one could be the "The same woman…but with infinite variety" and equipped with "the power to change your personality to suit your mood – or your gown." Columnist Antoinette Donnelly expanded on the concept, suggesting that by frequently switching up makeup and clothing combinations and breaking free from their set type, the average woman could become whoever they wanted. "[Witness] the manner in which makeup is worked out so that the woman can change her dress color to one that will put her in an entirely different category than that she is occupied in the somber shades, let's say. Or, with the help of certain makeup colors, she can be a stunning black-frocked siren, pale-cheeked and red-lipped, whereas before she may have been only a negative personality…these are frequently the type, who, rebelling, finds in an entirely new makeup scheme just that transforming note that lifts them out of the nondescript class…our interesting beauties are getting away from type classification. They're going in chiefly for being that something different which is always welcome, and particularly welcome in a world now filled with good-looking women. Makeup is the avenue over which you travel to get that difference and the crowning achievement will be reached when you know your makeup colors and what dress colors they should be associated with…the point is that this new makeup occupation of playing color successfully against dress colors is going to permit you a more dress-color latitude and will supply your audience with a woman about whom it can't be said: 'She always looks the same.'"2
Still, there was a lot less flexibility than beauty columnists and ads cared to admit. Any woman can wear any color, perhaps, but only by following the prescribed advice and buying particular colors. Couched in the language of freedom and excitement, a variety of makeup shades may have offered new possibilities in terms of dress, but there were rules dictated by self-appointed experts and businesses who overwhelmingly encouraged women to wear what was "becoming", not necessarily whatever color combination one desired.
Nevertheless, the industry wanted to make it easy for women to buy multiple shades and the notion of sticking to one color or ensemble seem antiquated. As one 1933 article encourages, "Don't say, 'I can't wear grey'- or blue, or green as the case may be. It's hopelessly old-fashioned. Smart women these days merely change their complexions to suit their costumes, and find that there are no longer any forbidden shades…when you know your makeup story, it's all so simple."3 In addition to this sort of rhetoric that emphasized simplicity and modernity, cosmetic companies boosted sales by creating ensembles that made choosing colors less daunting for customers. The assumption was that by eliminating confusion regarding what beauty products went with what fashion color, pre-made sets detailing appropriate shades would appeal to shoppers who would otherwise be intimidated by makeup-dress color coordination (or those who merely didn't want to be bothered spending time picking out the "right" shades), normalize the idea that women should own more than one color, and introduce shades customers may not have considered otherwise. Matched makeup products and sets existed – most notably by Max Factor and Richard Hudnut – but without the fashion component, instead focusing on the original three tenets of color harmony (complexion, hair and eye color). Elizabeth Arden's lipstick ensemble and color harmony boxes may have been the first official sets designed to take the guesswork out of makeup-clothing color coordination.
General guidelines on color coordination proliferated and more companies began releasing pre-made sets.
Elizabeth Arden may have also been the first to collaborate with department stores on showcasing new colors that went with the latest fashions. In 1931, a fashion show held at Lord & Taylor demonstrated not only new dresses, but the Arden products that went along with them. "How the new striking colors of the season may be worn by all women if the proper makeup is utilized was illustrated by various feminine types wearing the proper cosmetics with the colorful gowns chosen for them."4 Five years later, makeup companies were advertising their seasonal shades alongside the latest fashion colors in department store windows. Primrose House, Helena Rubinstein and Charles of the Ritz displayed their new tawny shades in next to white sportswear collections.5
Elizabeth Arden continued to lead the way by introducing "color capes" at counters and salons where customers could try on little capes in the season's latest fabrics and decide what makeup went best with them.
Generally speaking, color coordination guidelines were to stick to either warm or cool tones (i.e. don't mix a warm-toned brown dress with a blue-red lipstick) but still wear colors that allowed for maximum contrast between skin and dress. While dress and accessory shades needed consideration, one's own coloring was the most important in terms of picking out makeup. If your outfit had two or more contrasting shades, the makeup should be matched to the dominant color or the one closest to your face. One should own at least three lipsticks: a "clear" or true red (what I suspect has neutral undertones), a blue red (cool-toned) and an orange red (warm-toned). Finally, coordinating lip color was more critical than face powder for a harmonious look, if one had to choose between the two. Some rather harsh color coordination advice from the decade6:
"There are shades of rouge and lipstick and powder that are unequivocally antagonistic to other colors in close juxtaposition. This is seen in makeup colors themselves. Such as a bright orange face rouge and a purplish or deep raspberry lipstick. This combination is really ugly. Extend the idea to apparel. Take a blue eyeshadow with a red or flame colored dress. Just wrong, that's what it is."
"You must change the lipstick and rouge cases that you carry in your pocketbook as regularly as you change your frock, if you want a pleasing ensemble."
"Remember always that your lips supply the most outstanding color to your face. If they are wrong, your whole face might as well give up."
In terms of individual colors, the prescriptions were as follows. It's very interesting to see the roots of makeup color theory, especially considering how advanced it is today. Some of the advice is debatable, most likely due to the fact that there simply weren't many shades back then. And once again, these sorts of color-specific tips were intended for white women only. While some of the principles could theoretically be applied to BIPOC skin tones, it's obvious that the industry was focused on a white audience. Racism and colorism were on full display, particularly in the advice given for black dresses.
Red:
"Keep rouge and lipstick in the tone of the costume color – red geranium for an orange red or vermillion dress, red raspberry for the purple-reds, the rich wine shades and fuchsias."
"When wearing red, violet or blue-violet, it is very important to have the same basic tones in rouge, lipstick, and costume – no clash of orange with blue-red. That's bad!"
"If your dress is red, your lipstick leans toward purple and your rouge is borrowing its tones from orange, you will look as flamboyant as a circus poster."
"Red is a danger color in makeup. If the costume color is a bright shade of red, it should be matched as closely as possible with lipstick and rouge. The smartest crimson frock could be ruined by proximity to orange rouge and mandarin lipstick."
"If you wear red, particularly the bright, slightly off shades, the lipstick must match your costume exactly. Your rouge must be properly toned with your lipstick."
Beige and brown:
"Rouge and powder should have a touch of yellow. Green eyeshadow is stunning with beige."
"For wheatstalk and other beiges, use a vivid note: peach makeup base and peach powder, red geranium lipstick, rouge and nail polish. Green eyeshadow and blue-green mascara."
"If you are wearing browns that let orange supply their gaiety, you will want a touch of orange in your makeup."
"A warm terra cotta or russet makeup base, terra cotta or russet rouge and lipstick and a faintly mauve shade of face powder. Use bronze shadow and brown mascara."
Grey:
"All shades of grey needed a decided contrast."
"It is advisable to accentuate lip and eye makeup and subdue grayish pallor by using a deep peach rachel powder. When cheek rouge is used, it should be of a dark red or true blood tone, never a light orange shade."
"For grey, a vivid makeup is recommended for contrast: peach makeup base, a light shade of pinkish tan powder, red coral rouge and lipstick and matching nail polish. Blue eyeshadow and blue-green mascara."
"If you emphasize the pinkish tones in your skin and use a warm, bright rouge and lipstick the color will be more becoming."
Purple:
"The new purple shades are difficult colors to wear, so be sure to use a double application of pale peach foundation to give the skin an extra smooth texture and even coloring. Red coral rouge and lipstick have the clear quality that you need with difficult costume shades. Use blue eyeshadow if your eyes are blue, blue-green if they are brown."
"If you're in purple, lipstick and rouge ought to have bluish tones under the red."
"For lilac, mauve and violet, makeup base with a brownish undertone, a light shade of pinkish tan powder, red raspberry rouge, lipstick and nail polish. Black mascara and blue eyeshadow."
Green:
"For costumes of green – the vivid shades – a bright flame rouge and lipstick with pale rachel powder and green-gray eyeshadow could be tried out with effectiveness assured."
"For deep green costumes, use the same rouge, powder and lipstick shades, but use blue-green mascara and shadow according to the color of your eyes."
"For greens, from pale green to emerald and vivid green, makeup base with a brownish undertone, light shade of pinkish tan powder, red geranium lipstick, red strawberry rouge with a blue undertone, red geranium nail polish. Jade or emerald green eyeshadow, and blue-green mascara."
"Greens and yellow-greens are trying, but if you bring out the warm rose tones in your coloring you will stand a better chance of wearing these colors successfully. If these colors make your skin appear sallow, blend a little mauve face powder with the color you normally select to match your skin. Use a dark rosy lipstick to give your mouth a definite outline and a brown or grayish purple eyeshadow."
Blue:
"For blue apparel ensembles the 'blue' idea is stressed. The powder should have a good deal of purple pink in it, the rouge and lipstick with a purple cast. And blue eyeshadow by all means."
"If your favorite gown is in one of the bright new blue shades, use a soft peach shade of makeup base and powder and raspberry rouge and lipstick."
"For guardsman blue, dusty blue and other spring blues, peach makeup base, peach powder, red strawberry lipstick with a blue undertone, matching rouge and nail polish. Blue mascara and blue eyeshadow."
"Blue has a way of throwing bluish or purplish shadows on the face. Use a creamy tinted powder to soften this effect and use a lighter color of rouge and lipstick, yet one that is vivid and bright."
White:
"White requires little rouge – the amount that is chic with black is blatant with white – and the paler tones are more successful."
"White, like black, takes either a dark or a fair makeup, but nothing is more striking than white worn with the darker powders. Golden skins, tawny skins, make a gorgeous contrast with white."
Black:
"Black requires a more brilliant makeup to complement it than a color does. A powder as light as your skin tone permits, and the bright shades of rouge and lipstick, those on the geranium cast, prove most effective."
"Black is most striking and flattering when the skin is fair, pearly and transparent-looking. Black is not becoming with sun-tanned skin or sallow, yellowish skin. If your new fall costume is to be black, then you must get rid of your leftover tan and get your skin as freshly pink and white as possible…powder with a warm pinkish or peach cast, rouge and lipstick that are a blush rose or a frank red – those are good to wear with black."
Pastels:
"Shades which have a suggestion of blue in them call for a rouge with a blue cast. Shades with a hint of yellow look their best when the face is made up with rouge and lipsticks with an orange cast."
Vogue also offered general color coordination guidelines in their October 1, 1938 issue.
Another development in the 1930s was the recognition of the win-win situation offered by color-coordinated makeup and clothing. As early as 1932 both industries acknowledged the opportunity to profit through various types of partnerships. According to the December 30 issue of WWD that year, "Clothes-stylists and cosmetic experts are in a strong position to help each other today, with the result that more clothes and more cosmetics can be sold." The end of the decade marks the point at which cosmetic companies began creating makeup shades based on seasonal fashion colors and/or formally collaborating with fashion houses on colors.
Perhaps in an effort to outdo Elizabeth Arden, in the fall of 1938 Helena Rubinstein collaborated with noted milliner Marion Valle to produce the "vanity box of hats" series, a collection of 6 hats "based on the colors of six Rubinstein products." The hats and cosmetics were displayed together in department store windows.
To further emphasize the connection between fashion and cosmetics, it was around this time that companies began referring to color coordinated makeup using fashion terminology. Gone was the "ensemble"; enter the "wardrobe".
In short, the 1930s witnessed the solidification of clothing/makeup color coordination, mostly due to cosmetic and fashion companies realizing they could have mutually beneficial relationships in terms of sales, but also due in part to the greater trend of accessory coordination and the growth of the cosmetic industry more generally. The 1940s strengthened the notion of color coordination. The sales tactics, accessory coordination, and pre-made sets remained more or less the same. Advised a 1946 issue of Chain Store Age to salespeople, "Lipsticks must also harmonize with costume colors so women need a vari-colored lipstick wardrobe. Point out to your customer that she should have one for daytime, one for evening, one when her skin tans, etc."
In the spring of 1947, U.K. company Gala of London presented a similar idea to Arden's color capes by encouraging customers to visit their "Colour Room" with swatches of their dresses in hand. It's not clear whether they were inspired by Helena Rubinstein/Marion Valle partnership some 9 years prior, but Gala also collaborated with Gertrude Harris on several creations based on lipstick shades.
Seasonal colors really came into their own in the 1940s. Primrose House released a shade called Maraschino, a "cherry red designed for wear with summer clothes," while Revlon came up with Pink Lemonade and Red Punch for summer 1940.
Dorothy Gray continued introducing colors to go with the latest fashions, a tactic they had begun in the the late 1930s, but launched sets in addition to individual coordinated colors. The company was one of the first to present sets as a cost-effective way to have the necessary variety of colors on hand. "To offset the disadvantage and expense of various makeup colors to match costumes, there is a new 'Portrait Make-up' package at a nominal cost, which will harmonize with any color scheme milady might have for spring."7
Formal collaborations between cosmetic and fashion houses also continued in the '40s. Elizabeth Arden, still the runaway leader in fashion/makeup color coordination, began partnering with a collective named Color Affiliates in early 1940.
As a side note, some companies had a more literal interpretation of the lipstick wardrobe idea. Gala's set, most likely released during this decade, consisted of an outer box featuring an illustration of a wardrobe and slid open to reveal four colorful dress silhouettes with corresponding mini lipsticks.
Tussy's Kiltie Red was obviously named for the Scottish garb and the bottom of the tubes adorned with a plaid kilt-like ribbon.
While Elizabeth Arden was the preeminent expert in color coordination, in 1945 Helena Rubinstein introduced her "color spectrograph", which detailed makeup-dress coordination for five types.
Rubinstein introduced several products relating to the color spectrograph, including lipstick wardrobes in a pouch, Four-Cast lipsticks and Keys to Beauty sets. These were all basically the same concept but packaged differently. (Keys to Beauty had been launched previously in 1940, but was not marketed as a color-fashion coordinating set. Rather, there was only one set of three shades meant to be worn at different times of day.)
The lipstick tubes for the Four-Cast and Keys to Beauty were cleverly correlated to the outfit color family, i.e. the lipstick in the pink tube would go with pink or pastel outfits, while the shade in the green tube went with green or similarly colored outfits. (I would have taken these out to demonstrate but sadly, they had not an insignificant amount of mold.)
The idea of being able to pull off any color also continued as a selling point for makeup, although by this time fashion salespeople were officially in on the concept. As noted earlier, it was a win-win situation: if the only thing holding back a customer from buying an outfit in a hard-to-wear shade is makeup, it benefitted fashion companies to have their sales force advise buying the appropriate cosmetics. And voila! New outfit AND new makeup purchases means profits for designers and cosmetic companies alike. Echoing the commentary from 15 years prior, one department store buyer remarked in 1947, "A wide-awake ready-to-wear salesperson who has a customer who feels she cannot wear fall's vivid green or wine, can so easily suggest that the woman consult with the cosmetic department about a makeup which will alter her skin tone enough so that she can wear one or both of those colors, and wear them well! Toilet goods people can also suggest complete new makeups for customers who may mention that fall colors are difficult to wear." Additionally, the department store window cosmetic tie-ins that had begun in the early '30s had become de rigueur for the big makeup companies by the late 1940s.
The trend of selecting colors to go with one's clothing continued throughout the 1950s and early '60s, with more or less the same marketing tactics and new seasonal shades. Lipstick remained the key to color harmony.
Pre-made lipstick wardrobes continued to flourish, usually in sets of 3, 4 or 5 tubes.
Of note is Charles of the Ritz's lipstick wardrobe containing single-use matchsticks, which was introduced in 1952 after the company had success with an individual matchbook released in 1948.
In looking at these ads and guides, it seems being a woman back then must have been absolutely exhausting. Not only was one expected to wear makeup regularly, nails and clothing needed to coordinate with it. And not just a dress, but one's bag, shoes, hat, scarf, gloves, hosiery, etc. also had to "harmonize". According to the ads and advice at the time, it was simply a matter of planning ahead, but the process seemed extremely labor-intensive.
Possibly the strangest take on the makeup-clothing color coordination trend was a Pond's Angel Face campaign that ran from about 1959-1962. Their claim that using different tints of face powders would allow every outfit to be flattering no matter one's complexion. It wasn't a new idea, as Pond's actually offered a different powder in 1940 that advertised roughly the same notion. Pond's essentially took the color correcting/enhancing concept described in the 1927 news column by Lucille Buchanan a (questionable) step further. While swapping out lipstick shades to better coordinate with clothing makes sense in the abstract, trying to change one's entire complexion to suit a particular fashion color is a fool's errand. A dusting of bronzer, color correcting or translucent powder is fine; wearing the completely wrong shade of powder or base makeup will look odd, to say the least. Given the excessive number of ads (which mostly ran in Life magazine), it seems Pond's was set on convincing women they could in fact change their skin tone through powder rather than lipstick. I guess we should give them credit for going against the conventional wisdom that lipstick is the most important factor in makeup-outfit color harmony.
What's especially amusing about the ads is that Pond's wasn't actually applying differently colored face powders or even clothing to the models – it's very obvious it's the same series of photos artificially colorized.
Companies were still not finished with the lipstick wardrobe concept in the late '50s and early '60s. However, the shade ranges expanded considerably as cosmetic chemistry and technology improved. Compare, for example, the range of Coty's shades in 1961 vs. the lineup they offered a decade prior.
Pastels, corals, bright pinks, orange and iridescent shades were now considered as essential as different reds were in the 1930s and '40s. "Lipstick wardrobes should contain pale pastel tints, brilliant vibrant tones, medium shades and iridescent colors," notes one 1961 article. Another from 1962 states, "Every woman should own a lipstick wardrobe that includes a shade of coral that best becomes her, one of the pink-to-rose tint, and a clear red, which is the safest choice when in doubt" and a year later, "One color is never right for every costume. The lipstick wardrobe should always include at least an orange, a pink and a pure red lipstick."8
With more colors to choose from for both eyes and lips, pre-made wardrobes now included 5-10 mini lipsticks in addition to the usual 2-5 item sets. Experimentation and play also became a bigger part of the makeup-clothing color conversation. Whether this was due to the increased volume of available colors for which the established coordination rules didn't apply, or companies trying to shift away from rules so that customers felt more emboldened to buy a multitude of colors, or simply feeling the need try a new(ish) marketing tactic is anyone's guess.
The copy for Revlon's Colorkins, Tussy's Lipstack and Pond's Angel Face lipstick wardrobe utilized traditional color coordination sales tactics (i.e., the need to have a variety of colors conveniently on hand) as well as encouraged the customer to experiment. They also were proponents of mixing shades.
Despite these developments, some of the advice remained much the same as twenty years prior. The March 1961 issue of Glamour contained a feature on how to coordinate with the seven "happy colors" of spring. (Apologies for the wrinkled condition of these pages…not sure how they managed to get crumpled while sitting in storage.)
The color chart at the end of the feature is simply mind-boggling – even more complicated than what was outlined in the Redbook article. With the consideration of no fewer than 6 accessories along with makeup and outfit, were women really free to experiment? Obviously these were intended just as suggestions – indeed, as all makeup advice should be – and it's highly doubtful any woman followed this chart, or for that matter any other color-coordination advice, to the letter. As with the faux pas of not blotting one's lipstick properly on special lipstick tissues or handkerchiefs, clashing colors were not as big of a misstep as the marketing for such color coordination would lead one to believe. Yet I find it troubling that a chart detailing how to organize the colors of 8 different components was even conceptualized. Perhaps if women were kept busy figuring out what to wear with what they wouldn't notice how few rights they had, or be too exhausted to take action if they did. I'm not suggesting makeup-outfit color coordination was a nefarious plot devised by the patriarchy to distract women from fighting for equality, but there is a strong implication that they were expected to put at least a moderate amount of effort into their appearance. As we'll see in part two of this post, charts like this don't exist in mainstream magazines these days.
In conclusion, it seems that the attempts of both the fashion and cosmetic industries in the first part of the 20th century to ensure color harmony between makeup and clothing was little more than a cash grab. First, the shades from the 1930s through the early '50s really weren't all that different. Colors were more or less recycled from year to year, just given different names. Secondly, some customers were genuinely curious to learn what colors suited them and switched makeup based on their outfits purely for fun, in which case the advice and pre-made sets were of use to them. But the main narratives surrounding color coordination pushed by both industries – that women needed more than one shade of powder, lipstick and blush in order to really pull off any fashion color, and that they also needed to change seasonally – are false. Given the cost of owning multiple shades and outfits, it seems doubtful many customers bought into the hype and scrupulously followed the prescribed makeup-fashion color guidelines. If pre-made color coordinated sets were popular, most likely it was due to the simple appeal of being able to grab several shades conveniently packaged in one set rather than hours of careful outfit planning – at least one color from the set is bound to work, right? Perhaps also back then, with a limited selection of shades, it was more important to select the few colors that went best with one's coloring and wardrobe. These days, with the literally thousands of colors on the market and an array of custom-blending options, it's far easier for consumers to buy just one lipstick/powder that can be worn with all different color outfits. No one needs 10 lipsticks or powder (or any makeup, for that matter, but that's a whole other story) specifically for various clothing colors when a "my-lips-but-better" lipstick and translucent powder will suffice. This is to say nothing, of course, about the fact that there is no need to color coordinate between clothes and makeup at all. If you want to wear a cool purple lipstick with a warm red dress, go for it.
I don't know when part two will be arriving as I've neglected to follow up on a couple of other posts that need a second act, but stay tuned for more on fashion-makeup color coordination, which will cover the mid-1960s through today. In the meantime, what are your thoughts? And how many lipsticks do you own?
1Not all that significant, but worth mentioning is that in 1924 Bourjois disguised ads for their Peaches and Peaches and Cream face powders under the headline of "Does Your Makeup Match Your Costume?" and being appropriate for "the real outdoor girl" and to "give a 'health, vim and vigor' effect," respectively, making it possibly the first time a cosmetic company advertised dress-specific makeup.
2"Possibilities in Makeup," The Baltimore Sun, August 16, 1931.
3"Blonde or Brunette Can Try New Shades: Just Change Your Make-Up to Suit the Frock is Timely Hint to Timid Shopper," The Akron Beacon Journal, April 5, 1933.
4"Cosmetics Style Show Demonstrates Color for All Types: Lord & Taylor and Elizabeth Arden Collaborate in Costumes and Makeup in Special Blends," Women's Wear Daily, November 18, 1931.
5"Arnold Constable Promotes Vivid Makeup for White Summer Costumes: Coordination of Costumes and Cosmetics Stressed in Window Series Devoted to White Sportswear Accented by Bright Sun Tan Makeups," Women's Wear Daily, May 15, 1936.
6All of these tips came from the following articles:
"Match Makeup to the Costume!", Viola Paris (syndicated column), July 1930.
"Make the Tale Your Mirror Tells Please You," Helena Lundh, Winnipeg Tribune, May 31, 1931.
"A New Makeup Scheme for Winter: Smart Cosmetic Aids Must Blend Harmoniously with the Color of the Costume," Antoinette Donnelly (syndicated column), November 1931.
"Makeup Should Match Costume to Give Effect," Alicia Hart (syndicated column), September 1932.
"New Makeup Tone Said to Suit All Types," Jacqueline Hunt (syndicated column), October 1937.
"Match Makeup with Costume," Juliet Shelby (syndicated column), March/April 1938.
"Let Makeup Blend with Your Dress Colors for Spring Wear," Jacqueline Hunt (syndicated column), February/March 1939.
7"Beauty Expert Gives Spring Beauty Hints", March 28, 1941
8"Lipstick Hue Is the Key to Beauty," Abilene Reporter-News, June 9, 1961; "Key Lips, Nails to Fall Colors" by Alicia Hart (syndicated column), October 1962; "Say It With Lips" by Solange Bertrand, Baltimore Sun, March 31, 1963.
Introduction Welcome the Makeup Museum's spring 2020 exhibition! "Soaring Beauty: The Butterfly in Modern Cosmetics" explores the many ways butterfly imagery is used across all aspects of beauty culture. For 100 years the butterfly has been an endless source of inspiration for makeup artists and collections, ad campaigns and packaging. As the butterfly is perhaps the ultimate symbol of transformation, there is no motif more appropriate to embody the metamorphosis that makeup can provide. Like flowers, various butterfly species are a favorite reference for makeup colors, textures and finishes. More broadly, butterflies represent springtime, rebirth, hope, and freedom. With "Soaring Beauty", the Makeup Museum seeks to embrace this optimistic spirit and provide a peaceful oasis in the midst of a very uncertain and trying time.
The exhibition focuses on 5 main elements of butterfly makeup, which I will examine briefly before getting to the main show. Hover over the image for information, and additional details (when available) are listed in some of the captions.
I. Color The vibrancy of butterflies' coloring and their wings' gossamer texture figure prominently in the beauty sphere. Makeup shades and artist creations include every tone from earthy moth browns and greens to bold blue and orange hues to slightly softer pastels.
Vogue Portugal September 2016. Makeup: Michael Anthony; Photography: Jamie Nelson; Model: Zuzana Gregorova; Styling: Melaney Oldenhof; Hair: Linh Nguyen
Elle Ukraine, August 2012, makeup by Lloyd Simmonds
(image from pinterest)
Quality Magazine Germany. Hair and Makeup: Hannah Burckhardt; Photographer: Marco Rothenburger; Models: Krista Tcherneva and Alena N.; Styling: Jennifer Hahn
As butterflies are largely synonymous with spring, rebirth and rejuvenation, the vast majority of butterfly-themed collections are released then and feature bright, fresh colors.
This ad is racist AF but I thought it was important to include.
However, some color stories reflect different seasons via butterflies' natural habitats. Chanel's summer 2013 collection featured rich greens and blues reminiscent of the tropical morpho butterfly, while Anastasia Beverly Hills and Colourpop's fall releases opted for warmer tones inspired by monarch butterflies and their migration in the cooler months.
II. Texture and Finish The delicate, lightweight nature of butterflies and the softness of their wings is repeatedly referenced in early 20th century advertisements for face powder.
For Australian brand Lournay, the "butterfly touch" was an integral part of their marketing for two decades.
As for finishes, butterfly-themed makeup excels at imparting an iridescent, pearlescent or metallic sheen that reflects light similarly to that of a butterfly's wing. New technologyis being developed to artificially yet seamlessly recreate the iridescent butterfly wing effect in cosmetics, among other areas.
"Inspired by the beauty of a butterfly's wing, these moisturizing lipsticks shimmer with a flash of turquoise iridescence that lights up the complexion and makes teeth appear whiter. In soft and whimsical shades of pink that flutter and float over lips, this collection of lipsticks brings a butterfly radiance to your entire look."
The fascination with butterflies' iridescent quality is also expressed in "morpho" compacts of the 1920s and '30s. These were made with real morpho butterfly wings or foil and commonly depicted tropical locales. Popularized by jeweler Thomas Mott at the 1924 British Empire Exhibition, morpho designs were also used in jewelry and other accessories.
III. Movement Butterfly beauty products embraced the notion of flight and the insects' graceful motion, at times linking them to dance or music to more fully capture the joyous, free-spirited movement of a butterfly soaring through the air. K-beauty brand Holika Holika simply titles their butterfly embossed blushes "Fly", while jeweler Monica Rich Kosann named the compact she created for Estée Lauder "Butterfly Dance". Pat McGrath's "techno butterflies" look at Dior's spring 2013 combines pastel "wings" with rhinestone details to impart a rave-like vibe.
IV. Design Butterflies proved to be a popular design element in general. As far back as the 1900s, jewelers created exquisitely detailed butterfly compacts made with fine glass and sterling silver, and many compact manufacturers incorporated the motif in their offerings. The butterfly's more whimisical side is expressed in Max Factor's acrylic "Butterfly Kiss" set and more recently, in a Jill Stuart Beauty lip gloss filled with iridescent butterfly-shaped glitter.
V. Mood and Metamorphosis Whether it's subdued or taking a more literal approach, butterfly inspired makeup is a universally recognized symbol for spring and transformation. Many companies release items embossed with butterflies or incorporate them in the advertising for their spring campaigns to express the larger ideas of hope, joy, freedom and rejuvenation.
The theme of metamorphosis is reinforced through the fusing of faces and butterflies. By adhering butterflies to the cheeks, lips and even eyes, the effect is a physical transformation intended to turn the mundane into the magical and capture the essence of the butterfly as it emerges from its cocoon.
"The Garden of Eden theme continued with the make-up – glitter eyes beneath net masks to look like delicate mythical creatures, and butterflies on the models’ lips as though the insects had just landed there for a moment." – Jessica Bumpus for British Vogue
An outstanding example of this concept is the spring 2020 runway show by Manish Arora. Makeup artist Kabuki was responsible for the dazzling, otherworldly looks. Some of the models were drag queens, emphasizing the transformational nature of both makeup and butterflies.
As noted in part 1 of the introduction, butterfly-inspired makeup usually features an array of colors found on various butterfly species. However, when combined with butterfly application directly to facial features, barely-visible makeup speaks to butterflies' undomesticated environment and conveys the human bond with nature.
Dazed magazine, June 2012. Makeup: Peter Phillips; Hair: Syd Hayes; Photographer: Ben Toms; Model: Elza Luijendijk; Stylist: Robbie Spencer
Dazed magazine, June 2012. Makeup: Peter Phillips; Hair: Syd Hayes; Photographer: Ben Toms; Model: Elza Luijendijk; Stylist: Robbie Spencer
Exhibition All of the above elements are well represented throughout the objects in the exhibition. So let's get to it!
Top row, left to right.
Let me just say that the story of Lucretia Vanderbilt makes Tiger King look tame by comparison. I tried to summarize it the best I could, but for the full story head over to Collecting Vintage Compacts.
Possibly my favorite pieces in the exhibition and one of my all-time favorites: Chantecaille Les Papillons eyeshadows and Garden in Kyoto palette.
I had to do several labels to cover the Mamechiyo and Chinese New Year collections for this shelf. I was also going to include the Lisa Kohno collaboration, but given the lack of space and the fact that there's another Shu collection in the exhibition I left it out.
I'm hoping to dig up more information on the artist behind the design on this Stratton palette, which may be tricky as his archives are located in the UK.
Second row, left to right.
I couldn't find much information on the inspiration behind Marcel Wanders' compact for Cosme Decorte. I'd love to know how he came up with the design. All I know is that the model in this video is wearing a dress made with the same pattern.
Slightly better shot of the powder so you can see the lovely little butterfly details.
I wish I could have found a little more info on the Hampden brand and DuBarry's Vanessa face powder. I remember adoring the 3D butterfly in my brief history of DuBarry but could not find any reference specifically to Vanessa.
Third row, left to right.
You might remember I featured the La Jaynees powder box in the spring 2016 exhibition. I managed to scrounge up a rouge box. No rouge, but the box is lovely on its own. Once again Collecting Vintage Compacts did an amazing brand history.
Recent acquisition, which you can read more about here.
I wish I could have cleaned up this Avon palette a little better, but I was afraid of damaging it. However, one in better condition and with the original box popped up on ebay, so get ready for new photos!
I wonder if Sears has archives that I could look at to find out anything about their cosmetic line.
Bottom row, left to right.
I have the lipstick somewhere but am unable to locate it at the moment. What I really regret is not buying the accompanying Météorites powder or pressed powder compact, but they were so pricey and at the time I just couldn't afford them.
More Shu!
I was unable to find any information at all on this powder box, but yet again Collecting Vintage Compacts had everything on the Jaciel brand.
Some more items that were included in the spring 2016 exhibition.
For the life of me I couldn't get decent pictures of them on the shelves so here are the images from my original post on them.
There was one more item I wanted to include, but couldn't fit it so I'm using a photo from when I wrote about it.
Exhibition Notes I had been wanting to cover the butterfly theme for about 8 years now. An article on butterfly compacts called "High Fliers" in the February 2017 issue of the BCCS newsletter also inspired me. I wish I could have written a deep think piece on the idea of makeup as metamorphosis or was able to do more research besides what's online, but given the current situation I kept it simple and decided to save my energy for different topics that I can tackle when the libraries reopen, which will hopefully happen in the summer. (I discovered some local university libraries may have the resources I'm looking for, but I cannot access them remotely as I'm not a student or faculty member.) But access to certain archives might have allowed some examples of runway/editorial butterfly makeup that's older than 2012 and more images featuring models of color. And I know it seems like I included every instance of butterflies in makeup that is at my disposal, but I promise it was thoughtfully edited (curated, if you will.) There were actually even more looks that I wanted to include but got frustrated at the lack of basic information about them like the makeup artist or year. As for the objects themselves, I don't think any of them are vegan or cruelty-free, even though some of the companies that made them are now cruelty-free/vegan, such as Chantecaille.
Decor Notes The husband did an amazing job of "butterflying" the Museum's logo for the exhibition poster and labels. I was going to buy a paper butterfly garland or use the mini paper butterflies I had gotten for Instagram props in the exhibition, but in the end decided it was too gimmicky (and the garland reminded me too much of a baby shower for some reason.) I figured given the current space the focus should be more on the ads and objects. But if the Makeup Museum occupied a physical space, here is some art I would include as decor. It would be like stepping into a very artsy butterfly garden!
And that wraps it up! Remember you can participate in the exhibition – find out how here. In the meantime, one easy way to weigh in is to tell me what your favorite objects, looks or ads were (either in the intro or main exhibition or both) and why. 🙂
Around this time 2 years ago I got my first tattoos. In honor of that momentous occasion, I thought I'd take a look at a vintage brand that featured some truly wild advertising. I had come across Tattoo years ago, as well as its sister line Savage, and was immediately struck by the images used in their ads and on the products themselves. I managed to snag two of the ads, as well as the lipstick case and rouge container. Given their tropical feel I had originally intended on including them in the summer exhibition, but upon closer inspection I decided against it. Let's see why, shall we?
Sadly I was unable to make out the name of the illustrator who created the imagery on this one. It's something with an R, but beyond that I'm completely lost.
This one is by John LaGatta (1894-1977), and as you can tell by the publication name and spelling of "colour", appeared in a British magazine.
As with Po-go Rouge, the compact is teeny compared to today's blushes.
The puff is imprinted with the same design.
There was another compact with "U.S.A." inscribed beneath the Tattoo name. (Of course, I totally forgot I had this one and ended up with two…I could be wrong, but I don't think the "U.S.A." imprint presents any real significance; I believe it's just a slight change in production.)
There was also a difference in the bottoms of the compacts. The one with U.S.A. on the front doesn't have any inscription on the back. Again, I don't think there's any real significance to this, just a negligible difference in the manufacturing.
What IS an interesting difference, however, is an alternate design on the lipstick and rouge. It appears these were sold around the same time as the more commonly seen design. It may have been a mini version, but I'm not sure.
This is the only ad I found in which the alternate design appeared. It's from 1947, so maybe it only showed up towards the end of Tattoo's reign (the latest newspaper ad for Tattoo was from September 1949).
I also own a Savage powder box, which you might remember from this post and then its later appearance in the 2015 summer exhibition. I deeply regret including it now.
I don't have the complete story of Tattoo/Savage, but thanks to Collecting Vintage Compacts and what I was able to cobble together from old newspaper ads, the lines were introduced in the early 1930s by James Leslie Younghusband, a Canadian military/stunt pilot turned Chicago-based businessman. Younghusband was the brains behind another "indelible" lipstick line called Kissproof, which he invented in 1923. Despite its poisonous ingredients, the lipstick was sold until the early 1940s. I'm not sure why Younghusband felt compelled to develop not one but two "permanent" lipstick brands while Kissproof was still being sold, since I've compared the copy from the Tattoo and Savage ads to the Kissproof ones and all touted them as long-wearing lipsticks that were also comfortable to wear – formula-wise, there doesn't seem to be much difference. The author of Collecting Vintage Compacts has promised a second installment about Younghusband and the launch of Tattoo and Savage so I'll update this post with additional information, but in the meantime I wanted to share some thoughts and other questions I have about these lines.
First, I'm not going to dance around the obvious here: there's no way any company could get away with this sort of fetishizing of "exotic" people and cultures today. The ads and product design certainly are eye-catching – who wouldn't want to wear colors inspired by a tropical paradise? - but when you look closely and read the ad copy, you realize how racist they are. Tattoo and Savage represent the pinnacle of white men's fantasies about "native" women's sexuality, which in their minds is completely untamed and animal-like. By wearing lipstick shades appropriated from these "uncivilized" cultures, white ladies can show off their racy side while still adhering to traditional American/European standards of female decorum. Take, for example, the copy in this ad. "From South Sea maidens, whom you know as the most glamorous women on earth, comes the secret of making and keeping lips excitingly lovely and everlastingly youthful. In that land where romance is really real, you'll naturally find no coated, pasty lips. Instead, you'll find them gorgeously tattooed! Not with a needle, but with a sweet, exotic red stain made from the berries of the passion-fruit…Tattoo is the civilized version of this marvelous idea." Yes, it's so very uncivilized to wear a lip stain made of crushed berries – only cavewomen do that!1
Savage is even more blatantly racist, highlighting the fact that their colors were inspired by "primitive, savage love".
And their reds are "paganly appealing hues that stir the senses…rapturous, primitive reds, each as certainly seductive as a jungle rhythm." Bonus points for this ad linking "wickedness" to indigenous cultures.
The Tattoo ads (including the two I own) feature a variety of tan-skinned women catering to pale white women, imagery that dates back at least to the Renaissance and is still used today in an effort to make a scene appear "historically accurate." You'll notice that these particular women are depicted in stereotypical garb that existed solely in white people's imaginations, i.e. hula skirts and flower necklaces. And just to further the idea of their supposedly insatiable lust, they are also shown topless. Women of color are reduced to othered, highly sexualized props whose only purpose is to serve white women. (Somewhat unrelated, but if you want to take a gander at the lipstick display shown in this ad, you can see it here. I remember one popped up on ebay a couple years ago with an starting bid of a mere $199.99.)
More proof: the ideal "Tattoo girl" was white and blond.
Savage also threw in a nod to colonization with the use of "conquer".
All of this begs the question of what Younghusband was trying to accomplish with these lines.* Indelible lipstick was all the rage in the '20s and '30s; no doubt Younghusband's company faced stiff competition from the likes of Tangee and others. Perhaps he felt that this manner of cultural appropriation, i.e. creating what was probably the decade's most risqué and raciest makeup line by portraying the indigenous people of the South Pacific as feral and completely unfettered by "civilized" society's code of conduct, and then offering white women a socially acceptable way to channel that imagined freedom via lipstick, was the best way to stand out in a crowded market. The ads repeat words like "thrilling", "maddening", and suggests that the color will last through late-night activity. Sounds very exciting, yes?
The other possible reason Younghusband looked towards the South Pacific was the rise of tourism to Hawaii and other islands during the 1930s. As the blog author of Witness to Fashion astutely points out in a post on Tattoo, the increased tourism heralded a cultural love affair with anything tropical. "Tourism to Hawaii, via luxurious cruise ships, increased in the 1930s. The “white ships” of the Matson Line sailed from San Francisco to Hawaii and the South Seas. Quite a few movies with a tropical setting were made in the thirties, including Mutiny on the Bounty (1935), The Hurricane (1937) and Her Jungle Love (1938) — both starring queen-of-the-sarong Dorothy Lamour, Charlie Chan in Honolulu (1938), and Honolulu (1939). Bing Crosby and his movie Waikiki Wedding (1937) popularized the song 'Sweet Leilani,' written in 1934." Sounds plausible.
Getting back to my other questions, I'm unclear on the difference between the Tattoo and Savage lines, or why Younghusband would launch both nearly simultaneously. As I noted previously, there doesn't seem to be an appreciable difference between the two, and they were released at approximately the same time – around 1933 for Tattoo and 1934 for Savage. Tattoo lasted till about 1949, while the last newspaper ad I found for Savage dates to October 1941. At first I thought perhaps Savage was a drugstore line, whereas Tattoo was sold only in department stores, since their respective prices were 20 cents and one dollar. This 1939 Gimbel's ad for Savage, however, kills that theory.
Finally, and you may be wondering this as well, why on earth did I knowingly purchase such racist items for the Museum and then choose to blog about them? Unfortunately I can't really answer that myself. It's not like I wasn't familiar with these lines or thought they were okay and then realized they weren't, which has happenedbefore. I also like to consider myself at least somewhat conscious about racial and cultural appropriation issues within the beauty industry. I guess I thought that, distasteful though they are, they're important from a historical perspective. I wanted to have tangible reminders of what was acceptable back then. Items like this also help me remember to be a little more mindful when purchasing contemporary pieces. So while I've made the decision not to feature such items in exhibitions, since it dawned on me that I prefer exhibitions to have more of a celebratory spirit and racist beauty products aren't things I necessarily want to champion, I think a cosmetics museum should have these types of items and open a dialogue about the ugly side of the beauty industry and its history. My main goal for the Museum is for it to serve as a happy, magical place full of wonderful and beautiful things, but sometimes it's necessary to take a good hard look at some of the problematic issues within the world of cosmetics.
Well, that's enough of my blather, except to say that I'm sorry I don't have more concrete information on these lines – hopefully Collecting Vintage Compacts will shed further light on them. Thoughts?
1 While I was poking about at newspapers.com I came across an article from 1934 that serves as historical evidence of how indigenous people were viewed by Americans/Europeans in the '30s. This one tells the tale of one young woman "explorer" (read: colonizer) who attempted to "civilize" the "ferocious Amazonians" in South America by bringing them cosmetics. I literally can't even with this.
2I do really wonder what the hell was wrong with Younghusband. In the news articles I found, his first wife passed away in 1927, and he went on to remarry 4 different women in the span of 13 years, all of whom accused him of adultery. The rough timeline is that he divorced the 2nd wife in 1931, married his third in April 1933 and divorced her in 1935. I'm not sure about the 4th wife, but in November of 1937 he married his fifth. A 1950 article regarding the divorce of his 5th wife states that he went so far as to "spend thousands of dollars on detectives, photographers, wire tappers and gigolos in attempt to frame [his wife] in an embarrassing position in a Florida hotel so he could gather divorce evidence." What a psycho. The same article also claims that during the wedding, Younghusband hit a police reporter in the head after inviting him to cover the wedding. So yeah, something wasn't right with this guy, and it's not just the rampant racism in his company's lipstick lines.
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"It never dawned on me not to do something because I was a woman…I thought nothing of approaching men like Vincent Bendix, the airplane manufacturer for whom the transcontinental air race was named, to explain my position: 'I can fly as well as any man entered in that race.' I didn't see it as being boastful so much as speaking the truth. I learned through hard work and hard living that if I didn't speak the truth about myself, no one else would fill in the missing pieces." – Jacqueline Cochran
As with Tommy Lewis and Richard Hudnut, I found a very interesting piece of makeup history completely by chance. I was thinking how cool it would be to see some mid-century modern designers' work on makeup packaging, i.e. Alexander Girard, Charley Harper and Paul Rand. On a whim I typed in "Paul Rand makeup" into Google (I think I was under the impression that I could somehow will makeup packaging with his work into being if I just believed hard enough) and lo and behold, a bunch of ads he had designed for a brand called Jacqueline Cochran Cosmetics popped up. I had never heard of it so I searched for just Cochran's name…and was mighty confused by the results.
Jacqueline Cochran (1906?-1980) was a pioneer of aviation in the 20th century, a.k.a. an aviatrix (don't you just love that word?! So bad-ass!) A contemporary of Amelia Earhart, Cochran set world records for flying from the '30s through the '60s, including:
The first woman to enter the famous Bendrix race in 1935, and the first to win in 1938
The first woman to fly a bomber across the Atlantic in 1941
The first woman civilian to earn the Distinguished Service Medal for serving as the director of the Women's Air Force Service Pilots (WASPs) and training women pilots in WWII
The first woman to break the sound barrier in 1953
The first living woman to be inducted into the Aviation Hall of Fame in 1971
Further along in my search I discovered that this amazing woman was, in fact, the same Jacqueline Cochran as the one behind the cosmetics line. While I don't wish to diminish her accomplishments as a pilot, obviously I'm more interested in telling the story of her makeup company. As we'll see, Cochran may never have gotten into flying if it wasn't for her interest in cosmetics.
It seems like I'm sharing too much of Cochran's early life, but I promise it's relevant! Jackie Cochran (original name Bessie Lee Pittman1) was born an orphan around 1906 in Florida. The exact year is unknown because she didn't have a birth certificate. Adopted by an impoverished foster family, Cochran worked throughout basically her entire childhood. When I say "impoverished" I don't mean the family couldn't afford multiple cars; I mean they literally didn't know when or if their next meal would come, and the children's clothing consisted of flour sacks stitched together. In 1914 the family relocated to Columbus, Georgia to work at a cotton mill, children included. At the age of 14 she experienced her first foray into the beauty industry by taking on the role of "beauty operator" at a local salon, learning how to operate the perming machines and dyeing clients' hair. A traveling salesman for a perm machine knocked on the door one day and offered her a job as an operator in Montgomery, Alabama, and off she went. (I can't even imagine going to a strange town with not a penny in my pocket and knowing nearly zero people, especially at 15.) One of her regular customers suggested she go to nursing school despite the fact that Cochran only had a third-grade education. After deciding nursing wasn't the career for her, Cochran moved to New York and landed a job at Antoine's, a high-end salon located within Saks department store. I'm astonished at how hard Cochran had to work just to survive, and though sheer grit and fierce will to succeed, she was able to make a slightly better life for herself as a teenager than as a child. (You really need to read her autobiography, which is where I'm getting most of this information2 – the courage and determination she had were mind-blowing, yet she presents it in a very matter-of-fact manner, not in any sort of bragging or "woe is me" way. When a group of school girls asked why she was so ambitious, she straightforwardly replied, "poverty and hunger").
It was at a party in 1932 where she met her future husband, millionaire lawyer and businessman Floyd Odlum. Cochran was completely unaware of his background (and wealth) at the time, but was immediately attracted to him. The party's host introduced them, and during their chat, Cochran mentioned her desire to get out of the salon. "I've been thinking about leaving Antoine's to go on the road selling cosmetics for a manufacturer…the shop can be so confining and the customers so frustrating and what I really love to do is travel. I want to be out in the air." To which Odlum replied, "If you're going to cover the kind of territory you need to cover in order to make money in this kind of economic climate, you'll need wings. Get your pilot's license" (p. 57). And with that, Cochran took flying lessons and earned her pilot's license in a mere 3 weeks – setting records right from the start of her aviation career. In 1935 she officially established her eponymous line, which was meant for a more active woman who wanted to have adventures but also look polished while doing so. (Not that women need to look polished, or even require makeup to look polished, of course.) The brand's use of "wings to beauty" and claim that a full beauty routine takes just a few minutes a day suggest that it was a brand intended for the busy go-getter, perhaps even an early version of athleisure beauty. Indeed, both the ads and Cochran's own words in a 1938 interview demonstrate a no-nonsense, time-saving approach to beauty – ever practical, she skipped blush while flying. Says the article, "Mandarin fingernails and artificial eyelashes are ceiling zero to [Cochran]. 'You get pale at high altitudes,' she explains. So rouge just stands out in one big spot.' Likes an eye cream to 'keep my eyelids from drying'. There's a foundation cream with an oil base. 'Your skin gets dry in high altitudes.' Then lipstick and powder. That's all. In summer, she likes a grease make-up – foundation cream that makes you look all bright and shiny and is worn without any powder. 'Just a touch of paste rouge and your lipstick. It's young-looking and very attractive with sports clothes.'" I think Cochran definitely would be a fan of athleisure makeup today, as she seemed to prefer a minimal, fresh-faced look.
Some more of her musings on makeup: "I'm feminine but I can't say that I was ever a feminist…I refused to get out of the plane [after a crash in Bucharest] until I had removed my flying suit and used my cosmetics kit. That was feminine and it was natural for me. It gave me the pick-me-up I needed and I wasn't ashamed to do it. I didn't want to be a man. I just wanted to fly" (p. 20). Though she says otherwise, Cochran's actions most definitely paint a feminist picture. I'm seeing her reapplication of makeup following a crash as more of a coping technique and less "I need to look pretty". As we'll see, however, later advertising for the brand took a decidedly ageist turn.3
The brand was also a reflection of Cochran's unstoppable determination and desire to innovate. "I wanted no part of other people's products because I was crazy enough then to think I could do better…when I first set about to develop a greaseless night cream, I was told that a greaseless lubricant was clearly impossible. I knew they were wrong and I never recognized the word impossible. My most successful cream, Flowing Velvet, is the result of my stubbornness" (p. 119). Flowing Velvet was possibly the first moisturizer on the market intended to replenish the skin in high altitudes and extreme travel distances – i.e. long flights. It was introduced around 1942 and the line expanded in the '50s to include face powder and lipstick. Sadly, the advertising greatly contradicts Cochran's own words, as it seems to be geared towards ancient ladies over the age of 20 (!) trying to regain their youthful glow.
I couldn't locate a jar of the famous cream, but I did scrounge up a powder refill from the early '60s.
One of the most unique products Cochran came up with was the "perk-up stick", which contained 5 beauty products in a tiny cylinder for on-the-go usage. "I was proud of what we used to the Jacqueline Cochran 'Perk-Up' cylinder. I would take one on all my trips, on all my races. It was a three-and-a-half inch stick that came apart into five separate compartments for weekends or trips. It would fit anywhere and it had everything" (p. 119).
I was fortunate enough to snag one of these for the Museum.
I've taken most of it apart so you can see what it looks like. I couldn't get some of the compartments open and didn't want to break it, but all of the ones I did open still had product left.
At one point it had a sifter for the powder so that it didn't spill out when you opened the compartment.
The Perk-Up Stick also came with a little spatula so you could refill it as needed and hygienically apply everything. While the concept seems genius (seriously, why aren't companies now coming up with things like this?!) one must remember that products in the first half of the 20th century were generally smaller and more streamlined – no big huge honkin' palettes back then. And refillable packaging was way more common. In thinking about the lovely compacts I've collected over the years, I'm remembering that people didn't throw them out, they just popped in a refill. Still, the Perk-Up stick is unlike anything I've seen, contemporary or vintage. As the author of Blue Velvet Vintage notes, the closest thing we have today to the Perk-Up Stick are stackable jars.
I also purchased one more piece from the early '60s. However, the photo below is not mine, for you see, I bought not one but TWO of these compacts, yet ended up with none. I bought one in late February, only for USPS to claim it had been delivered when it had not…and then a few weeks later when it still didn't resurface, I found another floating around on Ebay and bought it to replace the lost one. Despite being from a totally different seller in a completely different part of the country, somehow USPS lost the replacement as well. How they managed to do that I have no idea – perhaps this compact is cursed. There are others available for sale but they're not in as good condition as the ones I purchased, and at this point I'm not willing to invest any more money into it. Nevertheless it would have been a nice piece to have in the collection.
As for the Paul Rand ads, despite reading almost as much as I could find on Cochran, I'm still not clear on how the partnership with Rand started. I do know that I'm in love with the ads.
As this exhibition catalogue shows, I'm missing a few more of his ads, alas.
One observation I had in looking at these was that as heavily as the Chromoblend powder was marketed throughout the '40s – given the abundance of ads I'm imagining this was one of the pillars of the line in addition to Flowing Velvet – I couldn't find any jars to actually buy. I'm wondering if custom blend face powder king Charles of the Ritz was too stiff a competition. Did Cochran launch her own custom face powder as a way of thumbing her nose at his company and trying to prove that, once and for all, her product was superior? While it's unclear which Charles she was referring to, Cochran recalls her meeting with him less than fondly. "What an irritating snob of a man Mr. Charles was. I made the interview worse by insisting outright that I was an expert at everything. He didn't believe me. I didn't look old enough to be expert at anything, he said. We were two big egos out to prove who is bigger, better. In fact, I told Charles of the Ritz that not only was I good, I was probably better than he was. That amused him for a minute, but he was not so amused when I wanted fifty percent commission on every customer I had in his salon…it makes me smile to think that the cosmetics company I would found several years later, Jacqueline Cochran Cosmetics, still competes with Charles of the Ritz" (p. 55).
The overall concept of going to a counter and having custom face powder blended is remarkably similar.
The use of the spatula in this ad and the idea of making custom powder "while you wait and watch" is also nearly identical to Charles of the Ritz's ads.
So what happened to Jacqueline Cochran Cosmetics after its heyday in the '40s and '50s? Cochran sold the company in 1963 to American Cyanamid Co. It was then formally acquired by Shulton, a subsidiary of American Cyanamid, in 1965. Unfortunately the ageism continued to run rampant in ads throughout the '60s.
At least they were still touting a speedy beauty routine for women who don't have much time to devote to skincare. Then again, sitting around and drinking tea doesn't exactly scream "busy". Like, they couldn't have shown a woman on her way to work or engaged in a sport of some kind?
But making women terrified of aging must have been effective, since the Flowing Velvet line was popular enough to continue expanding to include eye makeup and lip gloss.
Unfortunately I'm not really sure of the brand's trajectory after the '60s. The timeline below suggests that Jacqueline Cochran Cosmetics is long gone, but also was part of a recent re-branding effort. So maybe there are plans to revive the line?
In any case, while the later advertising left something to be desired, you had to give Cochran credit for setting world flying records while simultaneously managing a multi-million dollar cosmetics company that at one point had over 700 employees. She also made good on the originally intended purpose of her pilot's license: after the war ended, Cochran flew an average of 90,000 miles a year to sell her line in various locales. For Cochran, the beauty industry allowed her to both get out of poverty and provide women with a sense of well-being (ageist advertising aside). "In a beauty shop the customers always came in looking for a lift. And unless I really screwed up, they left with that lift. I could give them that. I could give them hope along with a new hairdo. My skills as a beautician had bought me a one-way ticket out of poverty, and I'd never forgotten it. I was always proud of my profession" (pp. 46 and 57).
Had you ever heard of Jacqueline Cochran? What do you think of her and her line? It was pretty eye-opening for me – I think I should Google the other mid-century artists I mentioned and see what rabbit holes I can fall into. 🙂
1 Interestingly, Cochran's autobiography completely leaves out how her got her surname. Apparently she married Robert Cochran in 1920 at the age of 14, had a son a year later (who died at the age of 4 in 1925), and divorced Cochran in 1927. She selected the name Jacqueline on a whim while working at Antoine's. In the book there is no mention of her first husband; instead, she claims she chose the name from a phone book. "I went to the first phone book I could find, ran my finger down a list of names, and decided on Cochran. It had the right ring to it. It sounded like me. My foster family's name wasn't really mine anyway…I wanted to break from them in name. I had my own life, a new one. What better way to begin than with my own name. Cochran. Why the hell not?" (p. 49)
2 In addition to the staggering amount of information online, there are also several officialbiographies of Cochran. I chose the autobiography because I wanted to hear her story in her own words and get a sense of her personality.
3 It seems highly unlikely that Cochran was directing the ad copy for her line, so I can't fault her too much for that, as distasteful as it is. However, a bit of gossip that appeared in a 1951 newspaper article makes me think that Cochran wasn't the feminist hero we'd like her to be. I've included a few excerpts in which Cochran basically says "no fatties allowed" in the Air Force's women's pilot program. Yikes.
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As usual, I forget exactly what I was searching for at newspapers.com when, about a month ago, I stumbled across a very interesting article from 1938. I know the search term must have included Richard Hudnut’s name, but beyond that I can’t remember. In any case I was delighted to uncover a profile of a rather remarkable man. Thomas R. “Tommy” Lewis apparently designed many of the compact cases for perfumer Richard Hudnut from possibly the mid-1920s through at least the ’30s. Both Collecting Vintage Compacts and Cosmetics and Skin have excellent histories of the brand, so you can check them out there. I, however, will be focusing on Lewis and some of the compacts he may have created. The reason why I felt such a compelling need to share his story is a matter of race: Lewis was one of very few American Black jewelers in his day, and one who overcame both racism and poverty to establish his own very successful jewelry firm. In honor of Black History Month I thought it would be appropriate to share as much information as I was able to find on Lewis, and hopefully I can do it without whitesplaining or tokenizing. I offer my sincere apologies in advance if I offend! (Constructive criticism is welcome; mean comments are not).
According to another article written in 1935 that I found online, Lewis was born into an impoverished family in Providence, Rhode Island. Undaunted by his circumstances and without the support of his parents or siblings, he attended RISD with the hopes of becoming a jeweler, earning a scholarship in the process. After graduating he worked for a leading jewelry manufacturer in Providence for several years, then struck out on his own.
I was unable to find the date he started his company or much other information besides what was in these two articles. The 1935 online article says that he started his business 27 years prior, so I’m assuming he established it in 1908; however, the 1938 article says that he had been in business for 26 years, so maybe it was 1912. And there’s no information on his relationship with Hudnut other than what was in that article, so when he started making compacts for them is unclear. The only (rather patronizing) mention is as follows:1 “Visit the cosmetics department in any first class store, ask the clerk to show you a Richard Hudnut powder compact and then surprise him by telling him that he is looking at the work of a [Black] man. Everyone of those compacts was designed and produced here in a plant at 19 Calendar Street, the home of the Lewis Jewelry Manufacturing Firm. The same is true of their perfume bottles, for Mr. Lewis works on glass as well as platinum, gold, silver or any other metal from which jewelry or ornaments can be made. The Richard Hudnut people are among his biggest customers, but not his most consistent. That honor is reserved for other jewelry manufacturers who regularly send in their commissions for original designs in bracelets, watch chains and other novelty jewelry.” So it seems that while Hudnut was not the biggest source of business for Lewis’s company, we know that he was designing all of their compacts by 1938, and presumably earlier. When I purchased these compacts for the Museum I made sure to select ones that I could get specific dates for, i.e. compacts that were plausibly produced by Lewis given the approximate timeline, and also ones that seemed to be the most jewelry-inspired.
First up is the original “twin” compact, which was introduced in late 1922. I didn’t realize this until after I bought it, but this double case was designed by a man named Ralph Wilson in 1921 and patented in early 1922. Wilson was the New York representative for Theodore W. Foster and Bro. Company, a prominent compact and jewelry manufacturer. Foster, like Lewis, was also based in Providence, so maybe there might be some connection between this company and Lewis’s – perhaps this is the company Lewis worked for after graduating from RISD? In any case, we have proof that the twin compact was created by a company other than Lewis’s, so this is not his work. I still like to think, though, that Lewis may have apprenticed with Foster, grew familiar with Hudnut’s aesthetic and went on to earn the company’s favor over Foster.
How cool is this? You flip over the blush and there’s powder on the other side. Genius.
Hudnut’s Deauville fragrance was introduced in 1924. Again, no telling whether this was done by Lewis, but probably not given that it’s basically the same interior mechanism as the earlier twin compact.
Le Début, a fragrance available in 5 different variants that were color-coordinated to their bottles and powder compacts, well, debuted in 1927. I was fortunate enough to track down an original ad for these beauties. They’re actually pretty common – I was able to find all the colors shown in the ad – but in the end I thought the black one was the most elegant. (Okay, I really love the silver one too!)
In the 1938 photo below it states that Lewis designed the “famous Richard Hudnut compact”, but I really have no idea which one they’re referring to. It could be Le Début, or it could be the “triple vanity” compacts designed in the mid ’30s.
This enameled, oh-so-Deco case came out in 1936, according to the newspaper ads I found, and the last mention of it was in 1938. Again, it’s funny how certain objects call to you. This one was also available in a variety of colors, but I just knew the red belonged in the Museum.
The triple vanities had three compartments for powder, blush and lipstick.
The ad also mentions jewelry several times, so I’m hopeful it was made by Lewis’s hand.
Lastly, I picked up this stunner, which dates to about 1939. Evidently between this one, the Three Flowers compact and the silver Evans compacts I have a thing for sunburst patterns, probably because they remind me of glorious sunny days.
How exquisite is this jewel detail? And in such impeccable shape for a nearly 80 year-old compact – it’s mind-boggling that none of the stones are missing.
To give you a sense of how dainty and small these triple vanities are, here they are with one of NARS’ highlighting trios.
Getting back to Lewis, I can’t say for sure whether his company was responsible for any of these compacts; I can only hope at least some of these jewelry-inspired designs were his. The fact that the 1935 article doesn’t specifically mention Richard Hudnut makes me think that perhaps Lewis wasn’t designing compacts for Hudnut until somewhere between 1936-1938. But it’s also entirely possible he had been producing compacts for them for years. In any case, I want to highlight just how difficult it was for a Black man in the 1900s to not only get out of poverty, but graduate from one of the top design schools in the country AND start his own business that eventually employed up to 60 workers in the busy seasons. As the 1935 profile states: “But jeweler, designer, silversmith? What chance would he have? Where could he work? Who ever heard of a [Black] man, a designer, a master craftsman in the jewelry trade of all trades! One can imagine what would have been Lewis’s fate if his ambitions had been left in the hands of some of the so-called vocational guidance counselors who are at the present time shaping the lifework of many [Black] students in the public schools of our large cities. According to the formula which they use, there are no [Black] jewelers now in existence, hence no future; it would be impossible for a [Black] silversmith to get a job since he cannot belong to the union, and the white jewelers would not employ him anyhow.” Through incredibly hard work and innate talent, Lewis persevered, not only becoming a success himself but also helping others do the same. Most of his employees were Black, and Lewis provided them with better wages than other jewelry firms in Providence as well as training.
I just wish I could have found more information and photos to make for a somewhat complete biography. Searching online for Lewis’s company yielded nothing, as did basic searches for Lewis himself. I ended up contacting the Rhode Island Historical Society and they kindly provided census records indicating his year of birth (1880), but said they didn’t have any business records related to Lewis’s company, which I think is bizarre. If it was as prolific as the articles claim it was, and if it really did provide hundreds of thousands of pieces of costume jewelry to the likes of Saks and Woolworth’s and compacts for Hudnut, I find it very strange that there are absolutely zero traces of his company left save for these two profiles. Especially since the 1938 article even gives the address of his workshop – with that specific type of information there should be historic maps or architectural records listing it. He also apparently had over 200 patents to his name, none of which I was able to find. I guess the saddest part is that there are tons of other stories like Lewis’s, and we simply don’t hear about them. So many histories for non-white people are erased or buried, and I really wanted to bring Lewis’s story to the surface because it was truly outstanding (and not only because it’s Black History Month…I just so happened to find the newspaper article around a month ago and thought the timing worked out nicely). I really hope this post didn’t come across as patronizing or me highlighting a “token” Black person.2 I find Lewis’s story impressive not because I can’t believe a Black man could ever be creative and intelligent enough to start a jewelry firm, but because of all he had to overcome to achieve his goals. “Perhaps it is the memory of a [Black] boy with a dream to become a jeweler, a silversmith, a designer, a [Black] boy who kept his dream despite the doubts of his family from within and racial prejudice from without. For Thomas Lewis is an artist and so he believes in young men and young women with dreams.”
Thoughts?
Update, 11/24/2022: One of the Museum’s Instagram followers alerted me to a video made by a vintage compact collector who mentioned Tommy Lewis while showing some of her Hudnut collection. It got me thinking whether anything else on Lewis had been discovered and lo and behold, two students from Rhode Island College were able to unearth some more information, including a map showing where his store and factory were! While it didn’t shed any light on Lewis’s relationship with the Hudnut company, their article surely adds more to this important piece of history. Lewis was born on April 5, 1880 and graduated from RISD in 1902. In 1925 a lacquer explosion caused a fire at Lewis’s shop located at 171 Eddy Street, which damaged much of the building. I’m wondering if some of the early business records were lost in that fire. Throughout his life, in addition to providing training and employment for Black workers, he was a philanthropist and active in the YMCA and other community organizations. Lewis passed away in 1958. I can only hope someone writes a full biography of this exceptionally talented man, but in the meantime sure to check out the article at rhodetour.org. Oh, and they even included the Makeup Museum’s original article as a “related resource”. I’m so honored!
1 I spent several hours googling whether it was acceptable to type the word “c*lored” if I was quoting from an old newspaper article. In the end I realized I personally didn’t feel comfortable using it even if it was a quote, so I replaced it with “black”.
2 I rarely, if ever, highlight makeup histories featuring people of color, i.e. Madam C.J. Walker, Annie Turnbo Malone, etc. because I’m not sure whether it’s okay for a white person to do that – while I think their stories absolutely need to be heard and recorded, once again I fear that it would come off as whitesplaining or tokenizing if I attempted to write about them. In the case of Tommy Lewis, there was such scant information available I’d figure I’d make an exception in order to at least introduce him and his work.
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It's the most wonderful time of the year…to look at vintage Christmas makeup ads, that is! You know I can't get enough of these, so here's a quick roundup (in no particular order) of some I added to the Museum's collection this year. 🙂
I have many Dorothy Gray ads, but not any from the '20s. Their early packaging was so sleek.
Apparently you can avoid an inferiority complex with a manicure set. LOL.
Santa, you jerk! Why did you give me an empty box? Now I have to go to the store and have it filled?! That's not a good present!
Santa gave considerably better gifts in this ad. I'm a bit confused about the presence of donkeys (shouldn't it be reindeer?), but I do love the overall cartoon-y look of this one.
René Bouché (1905-1963) was Elizabeth Arden's head advertising illustrator in addition to working for Vogue. If you see an illustrated ad for Elizabeth Arden from the 40s or 50s most likely it was done by Bouché's hand. I believe this is the first ad by this artist to join the Museum's collection. 🙂
I can't recall how I stumbled across these Djer-Kiss ads, but I'm so pleased I found them! Djer-Kiss "Kissing Fairies" compact has been on my wishlist for a long time, but the ads are just as gorgeous as the compacts. I'm hell-bent on collecting all of them, as they're simply beautiful and feature a variety of illustrators. Collecting Vintage Compacts has an amazingly thorough history of the company, which makes me want them all the more. I believe the illustrator for this one was Willy Pogany, although I couldn't find a signature anywhere so I can't be sure.
This one is by C.F. Neagle, who does a breathtaking job of capturing iridescence – from fairy wings to Christmas baubles, there's a multi-colored sheen that seems to pop off the page.
I love all the little sprites flitting about the gift box, particularly the ones hanging off the top and sitting on the edge. Incredibly charming, no?
So that concludes 2017's vintage Christmas ad roundup! Which one was your favorite? I love all of these, of course, but I'm partial to the very silly Max Factor ad and the beautiful Djer-Kiss ads.
I much prefer email for inquiries but am always excited to receive them in any format, so when someone Tweeted at me last year to request any information on the vintage item below I eagerly began searching. The person who sent the Tweet thought it might be Rimmel, but the name Po-Go was not a Rimmel product as far as I could tell.
Online searched proved fruitless – I couldn't find any reference to Po-Go rouge whatsoever…until a few months ago when I was researching lipstick tissues at newspapers.com and spotted an ad for Po-Go Rouge in the very bottom corner of an article. I was so excited to have found something even though it was roughly a year since the poor person had originally Tweeted at me. I found some basic information, but let me just say up front that definitively dating the various Po-Go Rouge pots I came across in ads and elsewhere proved rather difficult, if not impossible. Still, I was able to get some clues and can narrow them down to the span of a few years. Come with me on my research adventure!
I forget what I typed in to Google, but miraculously I came across another specimen at the Museu del Perfum. Fortunately this item has the back label displayed.
So from there I typed in all sorts of phrases, but the one that got the results I was looking for was "vintage Guy T. Gibson, inc. New York". Via several perfumeblogs I discovered that Guy T. Gibson was established in 1921 by a perfume importer, J.S. Wiedhopf. The Vintage Perfume Vault explains: "As a young man, Wiedhopf worked for the Alfred H. Smith Company, who were the only stateside importers of Djerkiss perfume. After he learned the business and perhaps sensing there were more lucrative opportunities, Wiedhopf struck out on his own. In 1921 he started his own business, Guy T Gibson Inc. There he began to import the exclusive Parisian brand Parfums Caron, which he sold to American customers in his New York retail shop. Soon Wiedhopf began offering perfumes under his own label, although the scents were actually being manufactured and bottled by Gamilla in France." Wiedhopf's perfume brand was known as Ciro, and rarely came up when advertising Po-Go Rouge. Why Wiedhopf chose a totally different name for the company and why he decided to sell imported rouge along with perfumes I don't know, but as of April 1922 he had set up shop at 565 Fifth Avenue, as shown on the Po-Go label above and this office space ad below.
The earliest mention of the product that I found was October 1923.
Here are some from 1924.
This one is notable for being one of two ads I could find that actually mentions that Po-Go and Parfums Ciro are both imported by Guy T. Gibson, Inc.
The shade name listed on the one from the perfume museum is Vif, the first mention of which I found was in 1927. However, what leaves me scratching my head is that the packaging also seems to be different starting in 1927. The full Paris address is listed on the perfume museum's item, which is consistent with the labels we saw in the 1924 ads, but there was no mention of the Vif shade until 1927…and you'll notice the label below has changed to simply "Paris, France". So how did a container that is presumably dated 1924-25 hold a shade that wasn't introduced until 1927?
Anyway, the earliest mention of two more new shades (Saumon and Cardinal) was in February 1930. I just had to include an ad from June 1930 as well even though the text is the same. How cute is that girl with her little paint palette?! I'm always looking for ads and packaging that take the "makeup as art" literally, since I think it would make a great exhibition and/or book. 😉
By March 1932 Po-Go had expanded to include lipstick. I don't know what a "Frenchy" case is but it sounds very fancy.
I suppose the reason Wiedhopf branched out into blush and lipstick in addition to perfumes was to capitalize on the already entrenched obsession with French beauty, judging from the ads. (That would make a fantastic paper or even a whole book, no? While I was browsing these old newspapers I stumbled across a great news article from February 1923 that talks all about how the fashionable Parisian women are wearing their blush and lipstick and how Americans are so uncouth by comparison…proof that our obsession with "French girl beauty" goes back way longer than we would assume!)
Now you know I was on the hunt for a Po-Go Rouge of my very own. I've been having excellent beauty luck lately (knock wood it sticks around) and this was just another incredibly fortuitous find. It's in pretty darn good shape too – a little wear on the outside but the product itself is totally intact and the puff is unused.
Speaking of the puff…OMG. So. Cute.
You can see how tiny it is – our blush nowadays are supersized in comparison.
For this lovely addition to the Museum's collection, I was actually able to date it within a few years. First, you'll notice that the shade name on the back is Saumon, which, as we saw previously, wasn't introduced until 1930. Additionally, the early Po-Go packages (ca. 1923-25) had the shade listed on the side.
Next, the label on the front has done away with the "Paris, France" and replaced it with "Parfums Ciro, Distributor, New York", while the one on the back also lists Parfums Ciro instead of Guy T. Gibson, which was what the Museu del Perfum rouge label listed. The Vintage Perfume Vault notes that Wiedhopf officially changed his company's name from Guy T. Gibson to Parfums Ciro in 1936. This would explain an ad from the same year which notes that Po-Go Rouge is from Ciro.
Finally, while Parfums Ciro lasted until the mid-60s, the last mention of Po-Go Rouge I could find in newspapers was from September 1942. So basically, the Po-Go Rouge I have must date between 1936 and 1942 or thereabouts. I will say that the puff in the one I have looks markedly different than the one in the 1936 ad, but consistent with the one that was Tweeted and in other previous ads, so I'm not really sure what that means. In any case, after all this I was dismayed that I couldn't give an exact date for the Po-Go Rouge that was brought to my attention via Twitter, since the biggest clues are the sides and back of the container and the top is too blurry to read. The text does seem too long to be "Paris, France", so my best guess that it's either very early (with the original Paris address), or after 1936 with the Parfums Ciro label like the one I have, since the text for both of those extend further on each side. Another clue is the indentation on the front, which is consistent with the one from Museu del Perfum – this may mean it's on the earlier side since the later one I have doesn't have a pronounced indentation. The color is also a little strange, as both mine and the one from Museu del Perfum are reddish, while the one that was shared with me online is pink. I'm not sure whether the color has faded significantly or if the container was damaged, but perhaps it was yet another hallmark of a very early version of Po-Go. This 1929 ads highlights "the gay red box", so it wasn't pink at that point, and the ad copy also implies that there was one colored box for all shades, i.e. different shades weren't packaged in different colored boxes. (Still love this Parisian artiste!)
So that's really the best I can do without seeing the back label or making out the print on the lid. Alas. While I didn't get exact answers for the request, at least I had a ton of fun poking around newspaper archives and comparing packaging, two of my favorite things! I did reply excitedly to the the submitter on Twitter and it doesn't seem she's online very much now, but hopefully she'll see this post eventually if she goes back on social media.
Do you agree with my assessment?
The life of a makeup museum curator is insanely glamorous. For example, a lot of people go out on Friday nights, but not me – I have way more thrilling plans. I usually browse for vintage makeup at Ebay and Etsy on my phone while in bed and am completely passed out by 8pm. EXCITING. It was during one of these Friday night escapades that I came across a fabulous box of vintage lipstick pads and naturally, that sent me down quite the rabbit hole. Today I'm discussing a cosmetics accessory that has gone the way of the dodo: lipstick tissues. This is by no means a comprehensive history, but I've put together a few interesting findings. I just wish I had access to more than my local library (which doesn't have much), a free trial subscription to newspapers.com and the general interwebz, as anyone could do that meager level of "research". I would love to be able to dig deeper and have more specific information, but in lieu of that, I do hope you enjoy what I was able to throw together.
The earliest mention of lipstick tissues that I found was January 1932. It makes sense, as several patents were filed for the same design that year.
While they might have existed in the 1920s, I'm guessing lipstick tissues didn't become mainstream until the early 30s, as this December 1932 clipping refers to them as new, while another columnist in December 1932 says she just recently discovered them (and they are so mind-blowing they were clearly invented by a woman, since "no mere man could be so ingenious".)
In addition to the tear-off, matchbook-like packages, lipstick tissues also came rolled in a slim case.
This lovely Art Deco design by Richard Hudnut debuted in 1932 and was in production at least up until 1934. I couldn't resist buying it.
By 1935, restaurants and hotels had gotten wind of lipstick tissues' practicality for their businesses, while beauty and etiquette columnists sang their praises. Indeed, using linens or towels to remove one's lipstick was quickly becoming quite the social blunder by the late 30s.
Kleenex was invented in 1924, but it wasn't until 1937, when the company had the grand idea to insert tissues specifically for lipstick removal into a matchbook like package, that these little wonders really took off. You might remember these from my post on the Smithsonian's collection of beauty and hygiene items. The warrior/huntress design was used throughout 1937 and 1938.
Kleenex started upping the ante by 1938, selling special cases for their lipstick tissues and launching campaigns like these "true confessions", which appeared in Life magazine (and which I'm sure were neither true nor confessions.) With these ads, Kleenex built upon the existing notion that using towels/linens to remove lipstick was the ultimate etiquette faux pas, and one that could only be avoided by using their lipstick tissues.
These ads really gave the hard sell, making it seem as though one was clearly raised by wolves if they didn't use lipstick tissues. Or any tissues, for that matter. Heaven forbid – you'll be a social pariah!
Look, you can even use these tissues to cheat on your girlfriend! (insert eyeroll here)
Not only that, Kleenex saw the opportunity to collaborate with a range of companies as a way to advertise both the companies' own goods/services and the tissues themselves. By the early '40s it was difficult to find a business that didn't offer these gratis with purchase, or at least, according to this 1945 article, "national manufacturers of goods women buy." And by 1946, it was predicted that women would be expecting free tissue packets to accompany most of their purchases.
Needless to say, most of them consisted of food (lots of baked goods, since apparently women were tethered to their ovens), and other domestic-related items and services, like hosiery, hangers and dry cleaning.
Naturally I had to buy a few of these examples for the Museum's collection. Generally speaking, they're pretty inexpensive and plentiful. The only one I shelled out more than $5 for was the Hudnut package since that one was a little more rare and in such excellent condition. Interestingly, these have a very different texture than what we know today as tissues. Using contemporary Kleenex to blot lipstick only results in getting little fuzzy bits stuck to your lips, but these vintage tissues have more of a blotting paper feel, perhaps just a touch thicker and ever so slightly less papery. It could be due to old age – paper's texture definitely changes over time – but I think these were designed differently than regular tissues you'd use for a cold.
Anyway, Museum staff encouraged me to buy the cookie one. 😉
I took this picture so you could get a sense of the size. It seems the official Kleenex ones were a little bigger than their predecessors.
Wouldn't it be cool to go to a restaurant and see one of these at the table? It would definitely make the experience seem more luxurious. I certainly wouldn't feel pressure to use them for fear of committing a social sin, I just think it would be fun.
I figured having a restaurant/hotel tissue packet would be a worthy addition to the Museum's collection, since it's another good representation of the types of businesses that offered them. I'd love to see a hotel offer these as free souvenirs.
Here's an example that doesn't fit neatly into the baked goods/cleaning/hotel categories.
This one is also interesting. Encouraging women to be fiscally responsible is obviously more progressive than advertising dry cleaning and corn nut muffins, but it's important to remember that at the time these were being offered by Bank of America (ca. 1963), a woman could have checking and savings accounts yet still was unable to take out a loan or credit card in her own name. One step forward, 5 steps back.
I was very close to buying these given how cute the graphics are, but didn't want to spend $20. (I think they're now reduced to $12.99, if you'd like to treat yourself.)
Plus, I already have these DuBarry tissues in the collection.
Funny side note: I actually found a newspaper ad for these very same tissues! It was dated July 27, 1948, which means the approximate dates I included in my DuBarry post were accurate.
By the late '40s, lipstick tissues had transcended handbags and became popular favors for various social occasions, appearing at country club dinner tables to weddings and everything in between. I'm guessing this is due to the fact that custom colors and monogramming were now available to individual customers rather than being limited to businesses.
"Bride-elect"? Seriously?
While the matchbook-sized lipstick tissues are certainly quaint, if you wanted something even fancier to remove your lipstick, lipstick pads were the way to go. These are much larger and thicker than Kleenex and came imprinted with lovely designs and sturdy outer box. This was the item that made me investigate lipstick tissues. I mean, look at those letters! I was powerless against their charm.
I couldn't find anything on House of Dickinson, but boy did they make some luxe lipstick pads.
This design is so wonderful, I'd almost feel bad using these. If I were alive back then I'd probably go digging through my purse to find the standard Kleenex ones.
I also couldn't really date these too well. There's a nearly identical box by House of Dickinson on Ebay and the description for that dates them to the '60s, which makes sense given the illustration of the woman's face and the rounded lipstick bullet – both look early '60s to my eye.
However, the use of "Milady" and the beveled shape of the lipstick bullet, both of which were more common in the '30s and '40s, make me think the ones I have are earlier.
By the mid-late '60s, it seems lipstick tissues had gone out of favor. The latest reference I found in newspapers dates to November 1963, and incidentally, in cartoon form.
I'm not sure what caused lipstick tissues to fall by the wayside. It could be that there were more lightweight lipstick formulas on the market at that point, which may not have stained linens and towels as easily as their "indelible" predecessors – these lipsticks managed to easily transfer from the lips but still remained difficult to remove from cloth. Along those lines, the downfall of lipstick tissues could also be attributed to the rise of sheer, shiny lip glosses that didn't leave much pigment behind.
While these make the most sense, some deeper, more political and economic reasons may be considered as well. Perhaps lipstick tissues came to be viewed as too stuffy and hoity-toity for most and started to lose their appeal. My mother pointed out that lipstick tissues seemed to be a rich people's (or at least, an upper-middle class) thing – the type of woman who needed to carry these in her handbag on the reg was clearly attending a lot of fancy soirees, posh restaurants and country club dinners. This priceless clipping from 1940 also hints at the idea of lipstick tissues as a sort of wealth indicator, what with the mention of antique table tops and maids.
Lipstick tissues were possibly directed mostly at older, well-to-do "ladies who lunch", and a younger generation couldn't afford to or simply wasn't interested in engaging in such formal social practices as removing one's lipstick on special tissues. Plus, I'm guessing the companies that used lipstick tissues to advertise labored under the impression that most women were able to stay home and not work. With a husband to provide financially, women could devote their full attention to the household so advertising bread recipes and dry cleaning made sense. This train of thought leads me, naturally, to feminism: as with the waning popularity of ornate lipstick holders, perhaps the liberated woman perceived lipstick tissues as too fussy – a working woman needed to pare down her beauty routine and maybe didn't even wear lipstick at all. Lipstick tissues are objectively superfluous no matter what brainwashing Kleenex was attempting to achieve through their marketing, so streamlining one's makeup regimen meant skipping items like lipstick tissues. Similarly, after reading Betty Friedan's 1963 landmark feminist screed The Feminine Mystique, perhaps many women stopped buying lipstick tissues when they realized they had bigger fish to fry than worrying about ruining their linens. Then again, one could be concerned about women's role in society AND be mindful of lipstick stains; the two aren't mutually exclusive. And the beauty industry continued to flourish throughout feminism's second wave and is still thriving today, lipstick tissues or not, so I guess feminism was not a key reason behind the end of the tissues' reign. I really don't have a good answer as to why lipstick tissues disappeared while equally needless beauty items stuck around or continue to be invented (looking at you, brush cleansers). And I'm not sure how extra lipstick tissues really are, as many makeup artists still recommend blotting one's lipstick to remove any excess to help it last longer and prevent feathering or transferring to your teeth.
In any case, I kind of wish lipstick tissue booklets were still produced, especially if they came in pretty designs. Sure, makeup remover wipes get the job done, but they're so…inelegant compared to what we've seen. One hack is to use regular facial blotting sheets, since texture-wise they're better for blotting than tissues and some even have nice packaging, so they're sort of comparable to old-school lipstick tissues. Still, there's something very appealing about using a highly specific, if unnecessary cosmetics accessory. I'm not saying we should bring back advertising tie-ins to domestic chores or the social stigma attached to not "properly" removing one's lipstick on tissues, but I do like the idea of sheets made just for blotting lipstick, solely for the enjoyment of it. I view it like I do scented setting sprays – while I don't think they do much for my makeup's longevity, there's something very pleasing about something, like, say, MAC Fruity Juicy spray, which is coconut scented and comes in a bottle decorated with a cheerful tropical fruit arrangement. As I always say, it's the little things. They might be frivolous and short-lived, but any makeup-related item that gives me even a little bit of joy is worth it. I could see a company like Lipstick Queen or Bite Beauty partnering with an artist to create interesting lipstick tissue packets. Indeed, this post has left me wondering why no companies are seizing on this opportunity for profit.
Should lipstick tissues be revived or should they stay in the past? Why do you think they're not made anymore? Would you use them? I mean just for fun, of course – completely ignore the outdated notion that one is a boorish degenerate with no manners if they choose to wipe their lips on a towel, as those Kleenex ads would have you believe. 😉
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I was originally going to write a meatier post about the history of tanning that included sunless tanning, but there's actually been plenty of research already. Rather than essentially re-writing what's already out there I decided to go the more visual route and show ads for products promising to give you that sun-kissed glow for both face and body. I will include some history and links throughout, but mostly this is a way for me to share my never-ending obsession with vintage beauty ads. :)
Prior to the early 1920s, having tawny, sun-drenched skin simply wasn't desirable – at least for women. Fair complexions were associated with the leisure class, while tan skin indicated a lower social status (i.e. people who had to work outdoors). While the beauty industry was in its infancy, there were still plenty of products, such as this Tan No More powder, that promoted the pale skin ideal.
Just five short years later, however, the tan tide had turned. Coco Chanel is credited by many historians as the one responsible for making the bronzed look stylish following a cruise she took in 1923, essentially reversing the significance of pale vs. tan complexions (i.e., tans were now associated with having the time and money for a luxury vacation in a sunny paradise, as well as good health.) By 1929 products were on the market to achieve the glowing effect on the skin without the need to travel to some far-flung destination, such as this Marie Earle "Sunburn" line of makeup. (Cosmetics and Skin has an excellent history of this company. While not much is known about the founders, the Marie Earle line had some fairly innovative, if ineffective products, like breast-firming cream and eye masks.)
Interestingly, in 1928 Marie Earle was bought by Coty, so it's probably not a coincidence that Coty released their Coty Tan bronzing powder and body makeup a year later.
The 1940s saw an increase in the number of bronzers and tanning body makeup, the latter influenced partially by the shortage of nylon stockings during World War II – women resorted to painting their legs with makeup or staining them with a tea-based concoction to create the illusion of stockings. Always looking to sell more products, companies soon began offering tinted body makeup to mimic a natural tan.
By the late '40s cosmetics companies made sure women could also artificially tan their faces, as a slew of bronzing powders entered the market. I couldn't resist purchasing a few of these ads.
Once again, I fell victim to the idea that a beauty product has only been around for a few decades. But it looks like spray tans have been around since at least the mid-50s!
In the late 1950s Man Tan sunless tanning lotion – or what we call self-tanner more commonly these days – debuted, featuring a new way of getting tan without the sun. Instead of traditional tinted makeup that merely covered the skin, Man Tan used an ingredient known as dihydroxyacetone (DHA), which works on the amino acids on the skin's surface to gradually darken its color. It sounds like a harmful, scary process that relies on synthetic chemicals, but DHA is actually derived from sugar cane and is still used in most self-tanners today.*
In 1960 Coppertone introduced QT, short for Quick Tan, and many others followed. The poor models in these ads already look orange – I shudder to think of how carrot-like you'd be in person.
In addition to bronzers, around this time companies were also launching color campaigns specifically for tanned skin. These shades aren't so different from the ones we see in today's summer makeup collections – warm, beige and bronze tones abound. Both Max Factor's Breezy Peach and 3 Little Bares (get it?!) were seemingly created to complement a tawny complexion, while Clairol's powder duos and Corn Silk's Tan Fans line offered bronzer and blush together to artificially prolong and enhance a natural tan.
Meanwhile, Dorothy Gray had tan-flattering lip colors covered. This was not new territory for them, as this 1936 ad referenced a new "smart lipstick to accent sun-tan". In any case, the 1965 ad is also notable for the yellow lipstick all the way on right, which was meant to brighten another lip color when layered underneath…over 50 years before Estée Edit's Lip Flip and YSL's Undercoat.
The tanning craze wasn't going anywhere soon, as various self-tanning and bronzer formulas for body and face continued to be produced from the '70s onward. As skin cancer rates rose, there was also an uptick in the number of ads that emphasized protection from the sun over the convenience angle (i.e., the ability to get a tan in just a few hours and no matter the climate) – self-tanners started to be marketed more heavily as a healthy alternative to a real tan.
When it launched around 2004, I thought Stila's Sun Gel was such an innovative product. Little did I know Almay had done it roughly 30 years prior.
Tried though I did, I was unable to find a vintage ad for Guerlain's legendary Terracotta bronzer, which debuted in 1984. So I had to settle for these Revlon ads from the same year.
I searched all the '90s magazines in the Museum's archives, but realized almost all of them were March, September or October issues, so I couldn't unearth any fake tan ads for most of the decade. I did have better luck with finding ads online and in the Museum's archives for the 2000's, however. It makes sense as I had started collecting by then, not to mention that the early-mid aughts were the Gisele Bundchen/Paris Hilton era so fake tanning was at its peak. I just remembered that I neglected to check my old Sephora catalogs…I'll have to see if I can locate any photos of Scott Barnes' Body Bling, another hugely popular product in the 2000's.
As the decade came to a close, there was some discussion as to whether tanned skin, real or fake, was passé. But the continuing growth of the self-tanning market (as well as the influence of the bronzed Jersey Shore cast) showed that the infatuation with tanning wasn't slowing down. The Paris Hilton era segued seamlessly into the Kardashian age, which also contributed to the popularity of the bronzed look. Companies are still trying to keep up with the demand for bronzers and self-tanners. For the past 5 years or so, Estée Lauder, Lancome, Clarins, Guerlain and Givenchy have released new bronzing compacts at the start of the summer, and just this past year Hourglass and Becca released a range of new bronzing powders. Meanwhile, established products like Benefit's Hoola bronzer and St. Tropez's self-tanning line are being tweaked and expanded.
In terms of advertising bronzers and self-tanners, I think cosmetics companies do a damn good job. The products themselves certainly look tempting, but one also can't deny the sex appeal of the glowy, bronzey look of the models (not to mention that a tan makes everyone look like they lost 10 lbs). Who doesn't want to resemble a sunkissed goddess lounging about in a tropical paradise? It's largely this reason, I think, that the tan aesthetic persists. As usual, Autumn Whitefield-Madrano offers an insightful exploration of why tawny skin continues to be in vogue so rather than me rambling further I highly encourage you to read it in full. As for me, well, I've largely given up on self-tanning. It was messy, came out uneven no matter how much I exfoliated and how carefully I applied it, and still didn't look quite like the real deal. I do, however, still use bronzer once in a while (mostly as blush, but occasionally in the summer I'll dust it all over my face) and have been tinkering with temporary wash-off body bronzers. I don't consider bronzer a staple by any means – most days I fully embrace my pasty self – but the fact that I own 6 of them is proof of the long-standing allure of the tan and how effectively the products required to achieve it are marketed.
What do you think? Which of these ads are your favorite? And are you down with the tanned look or no?
(image from archive.vogue.com) 
