Once again I'm in over my head on a vast topic, but I wanted to share another cosmetics museum that is on my must-see list when I go to Japan. The Museum of Beni in Tokyo was founded in 2006 to celebrate and share the history of the hallowed Japanese red lip color known as beni. The Museum was established by Isehan Honten, a company that has been manufacturing beni since 1825 (!) and is the only surviving beni company from the Edo period (the use of beni actually dates back several centuries prior to the Edo period). The Museum contains precious artifacts related to beni, such as the lacquered bowls that are layered with the pigment (known as "ochoko"), brushes, and equipment used to make beni, not to mention a significant amount of memorabilia (books, prints, etc).
Beni was also portable, stored in carrying cases called itabeni starting around the middle of the Edo period (ca. 1700s). They were made from a variety of materials, including tortoiseshell, antlers, ivory, metal, wood and even paper. The really cool thing about them was when you finished up the beni in the case, you could go and have it re-brushed with fresh pigment. Perhaps this is where the notion of refillable powder compacts and lipstick tubes came from.
This page from a book published in 1813 called Makeup in the Culture of Kyoto shows how to apply beni.
This sign was displayed on the storefront and indicates that it's an official supplier of beni to the Imperial Household Department…
…and this was a license granted only to merchants who supplied products to the Imperial Household Department to gain entry into the Imperial Household.
This drawing from 1885 shows one of Isehan's original storefronts and the beni-ba (the space where the beni is made).
Not only does the Museum of Beni display all these great pieces, it also has a salon where you can try out and purchase beni.
Beni gets its name from the pigment of the benibana (safflower). While the petals of this bloom are 99% yellow/orange, the other 1% are red and are harvested to make this traditional lip color. One Komachi beni (Komachi refers to the traditional beni that comes layered in a bowl) requires roughly 2,000 flowers and yields about 50 uses.
Isehan has some amazing pictures of the beni-making process, along with a video. I'll try my best to summarize it here. The flowers are hand-picked (usually in early-mid July), fermented, dried into cakes and then soaked overnight in water.
An alkaline solution is added and the mixture is pressed to extract the liquid.
Then, an acid solution is very carefully added to separate and crystallize the red pigment. If the acid solution is just a little off, the red will become blue or green, which is unusable. The pigment is then strained through a finely woven cloth. The end result is a mud-like consistency.
The bowls are painted and set to dry. You'll notice it turns a beautiful iridescent green when fully dry.
As you can see, making traditional beni is a time-consuming, labor-intensive process – although some beni is manufactured by modern machinery – but the old-fashioned methods of producing it are only way to obtain that remarkable iridescence, and only highly skilled craftsmen can coax it out of the petals. The iridescent quality, along with the fact that the opacity can be built up by layering, or conversely, toned down by adding more water, sets traditional beni apart from other cosmetic pigments. The video below shows how to apply it. Texture-wise you can see it's incredibly different from Western lipsticks, which use a lot of waxes and oils to make them emollient. Beni appears to have a thinner, non-greasy consistency like watercolor. And the iridescence is truly stunning – it reminds me of a beetle's wing.
As Glamourdaze notes in a post on beni, an interesting piece of history regarding the iridescence was that Japanese women in the 18th and 19th centuries were fond of pairing the very subtle iridescence of the red beni on the top lip with a bold green iridescent pigment from the stem of a bamboo plant called sasa on the bottom lip. Hence the "sasabeni" trend was born.
The Museum of Beni, however, claims the green came from applying a ton of layers of beni so that the green iridescence overpowered the red, and the sasa name simply refers to the green color, i.e., it wasn't actually made from bamboo. They also assert that the look was in style only for a short period of time, between 1804 and 1829 (oddly specific dates, no? I wonder what their source is.)
I'm all in favor of bringing back this look! Honestly I might actually try to recreate it sometime by wearing Lipstick Queen Eden (which would be perfect as it's a dead ringer for what I've seen of beni and also has a very subtle "magical apple green holographic shimmer") on the top lip and MAC's Deep With Envy lipstick on the bottom, with a tiny dusting of the Emerald shade from Kat Von D's Alchemist palette layered on top. Not the same, of course, but perhaps it could be viewed as a modern twist.
Anyway, as for the Museum of Beni, some may say that it's a weak cover for a source of additional revenue for the company, but I disagree. While beni was still being used in the early 20th century, the traditional Komachi beni was largely dying out. Bo-beni (crayons) and compacts became much more popular than Komachi, and by World War II Komachi was almost completely gone as Western style lipsticks became the norm.
Isehan Honten wants to profit, as any business does, but I do believe their museum comes from a genuine desire to preserve the heritage of beni and introduce this historic cosmetic item to people the world over. If I hadn't been searching for cosmetic museums I might not never have heard of beni otherwise, and I research makeup as a hobby! Beni is still so unknown in the West that many people, myself included, were confused by NARS's attempt to bring the concept to us in 2010. While this set is inspired by traditional Komachi beni application (i.e. using a brush to apply pigment layered in a bowl), obviously the ingredients and effect are totally different.
Another point to consider: authentic, high-quality beni is expensive. In 2008 the UK's Telegraphreported that Isehan's product cost "70,000 to 300,000 yen (£335 – £1,440) for a pot holding less than a third of an ounce, or 30 to 50 applications, so an evening's use can cost up to £50." In U.S. dollars that would come to $618 to $2,650, and I'm using the 2008 figures – it must be even more by now. Historic French beauty company Buly 1803 also sells beni for a mere 420 euros ($446). That's a bargain compared to Isehan. ;) Seriously though, I can't imagine a museum that showcases a product with such a hefty price tag would be much of a money-maker. It might get people in the door and tempt them to buy it, but I highly doubt many visitors are actually going to drop nearly $700 on a lip product, especially when they can get a cheap knockoff intended for tourists (they're usually made mostly with food coloring and contain only a tiny bit of actual safflower).
So I really don't think the Museum of Beni is a money grab. As a matter of fact, I think Isehan Honten's museum is among the very few concerted efforts in the entire world to protect beni's heritage. I don't think even the Pola Museum is doing as much to prevent beni from going extinct, and while some museums certainly own beni-related artifacts, no collections that I know of are as extensive as Isehan's. It's not in their best interest from a profit standpoint to store and display all these items (why not just have a shop?) so I think they're truly dedicated to keeping the history alive. A spokesperson for the company explains, “When we say protecting the traditional culture, it does not really mean we create a museum and just show off our products there…to help this kind of culture grow roots and stay alive, we think it’s important that it be accepted by the customers and actually gets used.” So the salon is a way to enhance the history of beni – I see it as a tool used by the museum rather than the other way around, i.e. museum as mere retail accessory. Sure, seeing historic cosmetic objects in cases is great, but actually being able to touch them and apply the product definitely hammers home the cultural importance of these items for the average visitor.
I hope you enjoyed this little overview of both the Museum of Beni and the product itself. I am by no means an expert but I think what I have here is somewhat accurate. Anyone want to weigh in? Would you want to visit this museum? You can see real-life pics here, if you're so inclined. I know I must definitely make a trip! And yes, I'd blow some of my savings to acquire beni of my very own…it's a totally unique product you can't get anywhere else, and incredibly full of culture and history to boot.
While color correcting seems like a new trend, my experience as a self-taught makeup historian tells me that it probably existed decades ago. However, I had no idea that color correcting was in effect as early as 1917, when Japanese company Shiseido introduced their "rainbow" face powders. In honor of the 100-year anniversary of this cutting-edge beauty development, Shiseido released the 7 Color Powders Centennial Revival Edition (that's a mouthful!), which is essentially a re-creation of the original powders using contemporary color correcting technology and ingredients. The powders come in a gorgeous keepsake box adorned with concentric metallic rainbow lines. I am very fortunate to have such a kind and generous husband who procured this set for me for Christmas. 🙂
Does anyone know what this means?
I always get positively giddy over a numbered edition. In the eyes of a collector, numbering makes the item seem really special…even if there are 9,000 of them produced!
The box design is nearly identical to the original. Shiseido was ahead of its time back then not just for product innovation but also for packaging. Chapter 3 of an excellent dissertation entitled "Imperial Designs:" Fashion, Cosmetics, and Cultural Identity in Japan, 1931-1943" by Rebecca Nickerson sheds light on the design process. In 1915 Shiseido's founder, Fukuhara Arinobu, unofficially passed ownership of the company to his son, Fukuhara Shinzo, who had been traveling domestically and abroad to study art and photography for a number of years prior. The younger Fukuhara used his passion for art and aesthetics to form an official cosmetics division for the company and in 1916, he appointed a design team consisting mostly of artist friends he had met during his travels to create sophisticated, appealing packaging for all of Shiseido's products. The creation of such a group, focused on cohesive design and marketing, was cutting-edge for the time. Their artistic skill proved quite effective: "The design team came up with unique packaging for the face powder. Each of the seven colors was in its own original eight-sided, white satin box, and the lids were embossed with two concentric gold lines and Shiseido's camellia logo. Above the logo were the words 'poudre de riz', the French term for face powder, and below it in Roman letters, 'Shiseido, Tokyo'. The package design was simple yet sophisticated and conveyed a sense of the foreign, which was exactly what Fukuhara wanted consumers to associate with the Shiseido brand. This was Shiseido's second attempt to introduce Western face powders to Japanese consumers. While most women could not afford or had little interest in Western face powders in 1906, by 1917 consumption was on the rise and greater numbers of women were eager to embrace this new trend in beauty culture. The flood of modern Western culture, Hollywood films, and a general enthusiasm for 'Americanism' also increased demand for modern fashion and cosmetics. Shiseido was one of a number of companies to introduce similar face powders around this time, and the 'Rainbow Face Powder' succeeded in making Shiseido a visible player in the cosmetics market." (p. 103).
I was so hesitant to try to peel off one of the seals to open the box, but I managed to do so without ripping it.
For comparison's sake, here are photos of the original powders and you can see more pictures of them from the Shiseido Museum here. I think the only differences are that the new revival ones are covered in a fabric material whereas the old boxes seem to be made from cardboard (I don't think it was satin), and the camellia logo is at the top of the powder covering in the revival versions – the originals don't seem to have the logo on the inside. I'm guessing the old ones didn't have the color-coded seals on the boxes either.
Anyway, why were these so groundbreaking? Well, besides the design, colored face powder didn't really exist back then. I've mentioned this excellent paper from art historian (ahem) Gennifer Weisenfeld before, but here's another excerpt explaining why these were a breakthrough: "Tinted face powders were exceedingly rare in prewar Japan and Shiseido pioneered them early on with a series of colors under the brand name Poudre de Riz. The female entertainers (geisha) who worked in nearby Shinbashi and who were loyal Shiseido customers particularly liked the green and purple powder colors because they were thought to flatter the complexion under electric lighting." Not only did these powders have color correcting ability in less than ideal lighting conditions, Shiseido maintains they were a way for women to "match their face powder shade to their attire." This was in keeping with the shift towards more Western styles and a desire for more natural looking makeup. "Gradually, as Japanese cosmetic practices changed over time and moved toward a greater naturalism, the traditional thick white cosmetic foundation (o-shiroi) ceased to be used for daily wear." Finally, the rainbow powders, quite simply, were among the first steps in customized makeup that encompassed a much wider range of colors than were available previously. This in turn allowed Shiseido to reach a significantly greater portion of the cosmetics market, since the colors could be mixed to suit one's skin tone. Says Jessica Guerra, author of "Consumerism, Commodification and Beauty: Shiseido and the Rise of Japanese Beauty Culture" (another fantastic scholarly piece!), "Through different combinations of the seven provided colors, consumers could create their own shades and color palettes. Understandably, this would mean increased international appeal and marketability as racially diverse consumers could purchase Seven Colors Face Powder and create their own personalized shades based on preference." (p. 29). Indeed, even today Shiseido touts the customization ability of the revival powders, noting that they also give one "the freedom to experiment and create the most beautiful finish for your skin."
Shiseido hadn't completely abandoned the idea of reviving their rainbow powders until now. I couldn't read this whole article because it's behind a paywall (thanks, jerks), but apparently in late 2001 the company released a rainbow powder available only to their Camellia Club members: "Shiseido has resurrected a face powder-Rainbow Face Powder-that debuted in 1917 but in a way geared to the woman of the 21st century. The debut product featured seven colors-white, yellow, flesh, rose, peony, green, and purple-instead of the typical white to offer women the shade that best enhanced their facial features and to create an appearance more suited to the increasingly popular Western-style fashions. Renamed La Poudre Ruisselant, the face powder is sold in specially designed container with lids shaped like a camellia blossom-the symbol of Shiseido." I tried my darndest to find a photo of this "specially designed container" but only turned up a picture of the refill.
While I couldn't find a photo, I do think it's interesting to note that Shiseido tried revamping their rainbow powders previously. Maybe in 2001 the makeup world at large wasn't yet receptive to color correcting and that's why Shiseido offered the Ruisselante powder to only a handful of consumers. But as color correcting has been all the rage for the past couple of years, now is a great time to re-introduce these to the public, not to mention the fact that it syncs perfectly with the 100th anniversary of the products' debut. I love how they updated the packaging too – very similar to the original but just enough details to make it modern and special enough to commemorate the anniversary. I'm still drooling over the shiny rainbow on the box, and the numbering…well, that's like collector's catnip.
What do you think of this set? Do you color correct at all? I do but with liquid or cream concealer rather than powder. 🙂
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This post is a result of my very kind mother-in-law gifting me some vintage DuBarry items, which she found while cleaning out her deceased mother's belongings. She knew I would appreciate them and give them a good home, and I'm really pleased to have vintage makeup that came from a family member. I'm okay with buying vintage items without knowing anything about who they belonged to, but obviously I feel more of a connection to the object when they come from someone I actually know. Anyway, these items inspired me to learn a little more about the DuBarry line and, of course, purchase some other items so they didn't feel so alone. 😉
I'm not going to rehash the entire history of the line, as both Cosmetics and Skin and Collecting Vintage Compacts have excellent, thorough histories of both DuBarry and Richard Hudnut, the founder of the line (along with many other brands.) The story in a nutshell: DuBarry originally started as a fragrance developed by Hudnut in 1902. In 1929 a makeup and skincare line was spun off the fragrance as an additional revenue source. The line wasn't doing so well by the late 1930s; however, ever the businessman, Hudnut expanded his lucrative "Success School" (a charm school to prepare young debutantes for their coming out events) to include a new DuBarry "Success Course" that borrowed many of the same principles but without the debutante focus. Part fat camp, part beauty and fashion tips, the Success Course earned the company over $4 million in a little over 3 years. Not only was it a major money-maker, the course also helped the DuBarry makeup line gain significant brand recognition. Since the 1960s the company passed through many owners but is still being sold today.
Without further ado, let's take a peek at some notable DuBarry items from their golden age (roughly 1940s-60s). I found this beautiful fan-shaped color guide over at the Baltimore Shoeseum, an online museum that specializes in swing era artifacts. Let's hear it for another Baltimore-based online museum! I'm sort of tempted to call and ask if they'd be willing to deaccession it to me, as I think the Makeup Museum would be a better fit. ;) I think this is from the early '30s.
But what DuBarry was particularly known for was the use of an image of Madame du Barry, a.k.a. the last mistress of Louis XV who, along with rival Marie Antoinette, lost her head in 1793. Collecting Vintage Compacts' entry notes that Hudnut named the line after Madame du Barry, but I'm curious to know what the source is on that and why Hudnut chose her. In any case, there is no fabled tale of how Hudnut arrived at using Madame du Barry as inspiration the way there was with Harriet Hubbard Ayer's Madame Recamier skincare. And it shows: the company came up with vague likenesses of Madame du Barry for the product packaging rather than borrowing a real portrait.
The powder box below looks quite early and also resembles this etching.
This box also appears to be very early and is somewhat similar to this portrait. These two boxes are the only ones I've seen with these particular designs, so I wonder if they were samples or prototypes not actually put into mass production.
Roughly from the start of the line in 1929, DuBarry utilized a drawing of the sculpture for ads and powder boxes and continued to use it up until the early to mid '40s.
Naturally I had to get one to add to the Museum's collection.
Okay, maybe I got 2! But the design was a little different and I figured variety couldn't hurt.
I also liked the pattern on the sides.
Just to give you a sense of the size, that 2nd box is body powder and way bigger than the face powder pox.
But starting around 1935 (at least according to the ad below), DuBarry displayed a different, completely imaginary representation of Madame du Barry, and it appears that in 1942 they began adding her to their packaging and phasing out the other, accurate Madame du Barry depiction. I've looked everywhere online and there is no portrait of Madame du Barry that even remotely resembles this one.
It appears to be an amalgam of the Pajou sculpture (the asymmetrical, drapey neckline), this 1770 portrait by François-Hubert Drouais (hair is up with one lone curl around the neck), and this 1771 portrait, also by Drouais (hairstyle is similar, although DuBarry seems to have swapped out the blue ribbon for a blue jewel on the packaging). You can see, however, that the woman on the box is not a direct copy of any portrait, as was the case with the Pajou sculpture.
Then in 1949 DuBarry changed the likeness on the packaging yet again. This time Madame du Barry appears with the ridiculously high powdered wig hairstyle that we associate with the French Revolution era. Again, as far as I could tell, there is no portrait of Madame du Barry that resembles this – here's the closest one I found – but even the face on this DuBarry packaging looks nothing like her!
To round out the Madame du Barry representations I had to get this one too. This is probably the most common DuBarry box I came across.
The next item I thought would be a nice addition to the Museum's DuBarry holdings were these lipstick blotting sheets. Clearly men are the only ones who are affected by lipstick transfer and it's their comfort we have to worry about most, not the simple fact that women would just like a lipstick that stays put so we're not constantly touching up. *eyeroll* Still, I thought it was amusing that they put a cartoon man on the case and I don't have any vintage lipstick blotters in the Museum's collection. (And like the DuBarry powder boxes it was super cheap, which is always a plus.)
Based on the graphics I really thought this was from the early '60s, but I was way off. Turns out DuBarry's "Treasure Stick" lipstick was introduced in 1947 and was sold at least through 1951, according to the ads below, so these blotting sheets are from around then as well.
Finally, here are the items that once belonged to the husband's grandmother which my mother-in-law kindly passed along to me. Thanks, M.!
Naturally I was eager to find out approximately when they were from. Just at first glance they appeared to be early '60s to me, but I couldn't say so with any certainty, so off I went to search for clues. Based on the ads below it didn't look like the lipsticks I have are from the '40s.
Low and behold, in 1958 we see a new lipstick tube and bullet that are very similar to those bestowed upon the Museum. With the debut of the "Royal" lipstick (you've seen this ad before), there also came a new case. However, it's gold-toned and not silver like the ones I have. Hmmm…
So while I'm still not 100% sure, I can say with confidence that the lipsticks I was given date from the late '50s or early '60s, especially given that the prices are the same on the refill boxes and in the ads.
Just for fun, how cute is this "Morning Noon and Night" set? Now that would be quite a find!
DuBarry went on to launch a pretty interesting campaign for their Glissando range starting in 1964 – at least, from an advertising point of view. Since there were so many ads I simply couldn't narrow it down, but they were a good representation of mid to late '60s style. As noted earlier, the brand changed hands several times over the years but is still around today. I kind of wish they would look to their golden age and re-introduce packaging with an updated (and accurate) depiction of Madame du Barry. As Collecting Vintage Compacts points out, the Comtesse's consumer appeal cannot be denied: "[The DuBarry] fragrance could not have failed to be recognized by the buying public as representing the essence of feminine beauty, intrigue and even a hint of scandal." Indeed, I can see many people buying makeup with the King's favorite adorning the packaging. 🙂
So those are some highlights from DuBarry when they were in their prime. Which ones did you like best?
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A few years back I explored makeup that visually resembled sweets. But what about makeup that actually smells like desserts and other foods? Sure, bath and body products and skincare items with foodie aromas have been popular for years, but I found it interesting that color products, i.e. items worn on the face that usually aren't scented at all or with the typical floral/herbal scents, are being made to smell like chocolate and other edible delights. So let's take a look at when this phenomenon started and where it's headed.
The earliest evidence of flavored/scented makeup that I could find is from the late '1930s. I'm not sure whether these lipsticks were eventually released for sale or even what brand they were, but here are some happy ladies testing them in the May 1939 issue of Popular Science.
Slightly less sophisticated but extraordinarily popular among the teenage crowd, fruit-scented lip products really took off in the early '60s. Cutex claims to be the first company to offer fruit-flavored lipsticks in this 1964 ad. (You might remember this from my fruity ad round-up.)
The foody-scented lip balm craze reached new heights in 1973, when a company named Bonne Bell introduced their Lip Smackers flavored balm. Starting with just 3 flavors, (strawberry, green apple and lemon), the company debuted their Dr. Pepper-scented balm in 1975, and soon Lip Smackers became a staple for tweens and teens everywhere. By 2012 the company offered 400 flavors worldwide. (Bonne Bell was purchased by Markwins in 2015, a company that still produces Lip Smackers today sans the Bonne Bell name).
Avon wanted in on the action, as evidenced by these dessert-flavored balms that were released throughout the '70s and '80s. (I'm not sure exactly who these were being marketed to – I imagine it was mostly kids, but maybe some teenagers and adults bought them too.)
Thanks in large part to the enormously popular Lip Smackers line, other companies proceeded to try to get a piece of the teenage demographic by cranking out flavored lip products through the '80s.
By the early aughts, products like Philosophy's Lip Shines and On 10's vintage-inspired lip balm tins came in more upscale, less teenybopper-esque packaging and at a higher price point to appeal to a more grown-up crowd, but retained a few of the same scents as the inexpensive likes of Bonne Bell. In 2004 Tinte Cosmetics revived popular flavored balms that were known as "Lip Lickers" and produced by a Minnesota-based company from 1977 through 2002. In an effort to appeal to older women's nostalgic side, Tinte retained both the original sliding tin packaging and graphics. The food-scented balm market started to achieve full saturation around this time, especially when a company named Lotta Luv began partnering with big food and beverage companies like Hershey's, Pepsi, and Dairy Queen, along with a variety of other well-known snack, candy, cereal, and chewing gum brands. Novelty companies offering their own crazy food flavored balms soon sprung up afterwards. By 2012 one could find balms flavored in foods ranging from Cheetos and beer to pickles and corn dogs.
My hypothesis is that since foodie lip balms had officially jumped the shark with all these wacky flavors, coupled with the fact that makeup companies were only including lip balms among their scented cosmetic offerings, makeup brands had to get more creative when it came to adding fragrance to their products. No longer were clear lip balms enough – it was time to branch out into face and eye products, along with lip products that actually contained color. Chocolate and other desserts were still the reining favorites. But items like Stila Lip Glazes and Becca Beach Tints, both of which offered a variety of fruity scents, as well as Benefit's peach-scented Georgia blush, also proved popular. Some items unintentionally offered a subtle food aroma as a natural byproduct of the ingredients used, such as Bourjois's and Too-Faced's cocoa-powder based bronzers and 100% Pure's fruit-pigmented makeup line.
By 2012, foodie-smelling products were becoming less novel and more expected, but this familiarity among consumers didn't seem to diminish their popularity; even chocolate-scented makeup bags made an appearance. Additionally, as Asian brands became more visible and available to the Western world, sales of their chocolate-scented products took off as well.
Face products weren't the only ones getting the food scent treatment, however. While scented nail polishes were previously the sole domain of children, nail companies soon seized on the demand among adults for these products. From Color Club's Pumpkin Spice Latte scented polish to Butter London's berry-scented polish remover, fingernails were now able to join in on the foodie fun. Whether it was partially Dior's rose-scented polishes from their spring 2012 collection or the influence of Rosalyn Rosenfeld's (played by Jennifer Lawrence) vivid description of a nail polish top coat's odor in the 2013 film American Hustle, scented nail products rose to prominence in the past 5 years. And the most popular ones smell not "like flowers, but with garbage"; rather, foodie polishes prove to be the best sellers.
Butter London polish remover trio, 2012 (I REALLY miss those Butter London polish removers – they were the best!! They smelled great and worked even better. They had another limited edition set that contained a pina colada-scented remover called Beach Bum, which I loved.)
Ad for Mattese Happy Hour cocktail-scented polishes – if you can't make it out, the scents were Apple Martini, Shirley Temple, Hypnotic, Tequila Sunrise, Cosmopolitan, and Purple Passion.
L.A. Colors Melon nail polish remover pads, ca. 2011
Model's Own Sweet Shop Fizzy Cola Bottles, 2014 (the Sweet Shop collection is a follow up to Model's Own popular Fruit Pastel collection released the previous year)
Companies continue the foodie fad today. Too-Faced is leading the way with a whopping 5 new food-scented products in their spring/summer 2016 lineup. Japanese brands Lunasol and RMK both offered sweet-scented items in 2015, while Etude House built on their previous dessert-y releases with their Give Me Chocolate spring 2015 collection, a gingerbread cookie scented bronzer in their holiday 2015 collection, and strawberry-scented cream blushes and nail polishes for their spring 2016 collection. Finally, this spring Physician's Formula gets tropical with a coconut-scented bronzer.
Etude House Give Me Chocolate collection, spring 2015
So, my questions are why companies are continuing to produce food-scented makeup, why we're buying it, and the significance of these items. There's the obvious need among makeup brands to offer novel products, plus the desire to capitalize on the success of foodie bath and body lines. Food-scented makeup is a natural expansion of the dessert-scented beauty product craze. There's also the tactic of engaging the sense of smell as well as sight (shiny makeup in pretty colors) and touch (texture is key when creating an attractive makeup product – people love dipping their fingers in testers). Appealing to 3 senses instead of two might make consumers more likely to buy the product. Why simply wear a buttery-soft, chocolate-colored eye shadow when your lids could also smell like it?
More generally, I suppose the same basic reasoning behind the allure of dessert-smelling bath and body items applies to cosmetics. I touched briefly on why women may want to smell like chocolate, cake or other food previously in this post and in the Sweet Tooth exhibition, and there have been plenty of newsarticles, but the most articulate and comprehensive exploration of the topic comes from Autumn of The Beheld. Her points regarding dessert-inspired beauty products, such as the negative implications of marketing of sweet-smelling products to grown women and the remarkable appeal they continue to maintain, carry over to food-scented makeup. She writes, "Foodie beauty products are designed to serve as a panacea for women today: Yes’m, in the world we’ve created you have fewer management opportunities, the state can hold court in your uterus, there’s no law granting paid maternal leave in the most powerful nation on the planet, and you’re eight times more likely to be killed by your spouse than you would be if you were a man, but don’t worry, ladies, there’s chocolate body wash!…[foodie products] do smell good, after all; that’s the whole point. And they trigger something that on its face seems harmless: Part of their appeal lies in how they transport us back to an age when all we needed to be soothed was a cupcake. At the same time, they don’t actually transport us to being that age; they transport us to a simulacrum of it." Indeed, nostalgia can be a tricky thing to navigate in this context. As with kids-themed cosmetics from brands that primarily sell to adult women, the notion of foodie makeup could be seen as an infantilizing pacifier meant to placate and distract women from serious societal issues.
Another aspect to consider is the advertising for these products. Today's foodie makeup isn't advertised the same way as their predecessors, who suggest these products are a good way to snag a guy. "Could you ask for a newer, cooler way to collect men?" asks the Cutex ad. "Kiss him in his favorite flavor," says Yardley. (Side note: the notion of making a guy think of his grandmother while kissing is really bizarre to me, and I'm not the only one.) "Promise Roger your strawberry kisses," implores Maybelline. Heck, the product is even named Kissing Potion!
While the insinuation of catching a man isn't present in the vast majority of contemporary makeup ads, the idea is still vaguely floating around when it comes to food-scented items. A reviewer for Too-Faced Chocolate Soleil bronzer titles her review, "Even my boyfriend loves the smell." And the model for Switch's Pink Brown mascara remarks, "You can feel the chocolate scent from my lushes! [sic] And I love it when the scent flows as your face getting close to your boyfriend, like when kissing." (The translation wasn't great but you get the gist.) The notion of luring a guy with a scrumptious dessert scent certainly isn't unique to makeup, but it's slightly different. Unlike bath and body products or perfumes, one has to be up close to get a whiff of a flavored balm or cocoa bronzer.
But this fact is also why one could argue that people who wear these items are only doing it for themselves, and that we may be reading too much into these: perhaps they really are just food-scented makeup and nothing more. Like Autumn, ultimately I don't see anything wrong with enjoying makeup that smells like fruit or chocolate or any other food. She notes, "[Sometimes] a candy cigar is just a candy cigar…I don’t want to imply that any of us should stop using lemon cookie body souffle or toss out our Lip Smackers—joy can be hard enough to come by plenty of days, and if it comes in a yummy-smelling jar, well, that’s reliable enough for me not to turn my nose up at, eh?" Speaking from personal experience, I loved Benefit's Georgia – something about having my cheeks smell faintly like peach was incredibly fun – but I can tell you I didn't consider, not for a second, my then boyfriend's (now husband) reaction to how my face smelled. At the moment I'm tempted by Too-Faced's Peanut Butter and Jelly palette because not only is the smiley pb & j face ridiculously cute, the palette is scented with peanuts. That is a fragrance I haven't seen in eye shadow before; the sheer novelty of it brings a smile to my face. I'm not even a palette person, but the idea of inhaling a light peanut aroma while applying eye shadow is the aspect that makes me want to buy it. I imagine that for most women, it's not about getting close to a significant other, it's about the multi-sensory pleasure you experience when applying these products. I'd say that given how subtle and ephemeral the scents in foodie makeup are, they're actually intended to be enjoyed at a personal, individual level rather than something to be shared. As one reviewer for Revlon's Parfumerie nail polish notes, "It's funny because you forget about it, and then I guess I don't realize how many times a day I touch my face, because I keep getting a whiff of it, and each time I'm totally surprised!” Overall, no matter what makeup companies have in mind when creating these products, I think it's okay to perceive them simply as brief, fleeting pick-me-ups rather than as ways to entrapping a man or treating grown woman like children. Of course it's a subject worth questioning and we must continue to be mindful of how makeup is marketed, but no one should feel bad for liking chocolate-scented mascara or nail polish that smells like cookies.
What do you think? Are you down with food-scented makeup? This very unscientific 2008 poll says that people are fairly evenly divided on the subject, so I'm curious to hear your thoughts.
*Limited edition/discontinued
I had been salivating over this book since I found out the release date way back in the spring, and it did not disappoint. Celebrity makeup artist Lisa Eldridge published a broad yet fairly in-depth summary of cosmetic products and usage from ancient times to today.
Section 1 is divided into three sections detailing the history of the base colors historically used for cosmetics: red, white and black. Eldridge covers not only the ingredients used to make these pigments but also traces exactly how they were used in various eras, i.e. how rouged cheeks and lips, fair complexions and black eye liner were trending (or not) throughout history. Equally impressive is that these first two categories weren't simply a parroting of the information in Lips of Luxury, or the powder history in Ode to the Complexion (which I will get around to reviewing eventually.)
Section 2 focuses on all aspects of how the beauty industry developed into the one we know today, beginning with the evolution of cosmetics marketing and advertising. I know what you're thinking – this section probably started with the late 1800s/early 1900s, but you'd be wrong. Eldridge traces beauty marketing all the way back to the Renaissance, dissecting how the messages contained in beauty advertising changed over time. The second part of this section discusses the big beauty company founders like Max Factor, Helena Rubinstein, and Elizabeth Arden. But there were some unexpected bios of the women who began more indie lines, like Mary Quant and Barbara Hulanicki, who started Biba.
The third part of Section 2 deals with the rise of our basic products – mascara, lipstick, eye shadow, blush, foundation/powder, bronzer and nail polish – along with the companies that pioneered these items. I liked how Eldridge came up with a logical arrangement of these brands into overarching categories: couture houses, perfume companies, drugstore mainstays and makeup artists.
Could you imagine having this on your vanity?
Section 2 ends with what lies ahead for makeup in terms of technological advances, while the afterword is a brief but meaningful analysis of the significance of wearing (or not wearing) makeup nowadays. I like the last line: "Ultimately, nothing empowers a woman more than the right to a good education, and the freedom to choose whether to wear a red lip and smoky eye…or not."
The whole book is sprinkled with profiles of Eldridge's "makeup muses," women who are associated with particular beauty looks that continue to inspire makeup artists today.
There are also some really cool avant-garde looks throughout…I just wish I knew whether Eldridge herself created them. I'm assuming she did.
I loved the back cover too – doesn't this picture just make you want to dive into a pile of makeup?!
Relating a global history of makeup is a daunting task, and Eldridge did it well. This is not your standard makeup history book as it provides an in-depth look at not just the industry and cosmetic products but also their applications throughout history. Now, I love me some coffee table books with pretty pictures of beautiful makeup and hope to publish my own someday. I adore books that are basically eye candy and provide scant information on the objects. And obviously one of the main goals of the Makeup Museum is to show that beauty objects themselves can be art or cultural artifacts and that their meaning goes beyond their basic utilitarian purpose. But what I liked about Face Paint is that it got me out of my usual way of thinking about makeup mostly as art/cultural object. That's all well and good, but it's important to also reflect on makeup's roots, i.e. why it was invented in the first place. Face Paint was a great reminder for me to consider not just the design or cultural significance of a makeup object but how it's used, and hopefully I will keep this in mind going forward with various books and exhibitions. This aspect of Face Paint has the added bonus of appealing to a wide market - it's a gem for makeup collectors and non-collectors alike. Also, if anyone is going to discuss makeup application throughout the years, it's Eldridge. She has the same appreciation I do for package design, but also the perspective of a world-famous makeup artist who has spent countless hours actually applying it on thousands of people.
Will you be buying Face Paint, either for yourself or for that special makeup aficionado in your life? If you do treat yourself, be sure to check out the sources at the end. I know I've added several books to my wishlist!
Here's a nice little addition to your makeup library. Read My Lips: A Cultural History of Lipstick (1998) explores the cultural significance of the world's most popular cosmetics product.
I was initially a bit concerned I wouldn't finish the book based on the rather clichéd, over-the-top introduction, which was written by a different author than the rest of the book. "Just try this test: At the end of a meal in a restaurant, absentmindedly reach for your lipstick, uncap it with a quick nudge, twist the wand out of its cartridge, and stare at it briefly. You'd think you pulled a gun. All eyes are on you. Sigh wistfully and look up. How so much drama can be contained in such a small gesture, I don't know. But there you have it." This paragraph made me roll my eyes so hard they almost got stuck in my head. Reapplication isn't THAT attention-getting, or rather, it shouldn't be – no one is looking at you, and if they are, they're probably thinking you're rather gauche for making a touch-up so dramatic. Just do a quick discreet swipe and be done with it.
Anyway, despite this blather I kept reading. To my great relief I found the actual content of the chapters far less insipid than the introduction. Chapter 1 gives a brief history of lipstick spanning from ancient Egypt to today. Snapshots of lipstick trends in each decade in the 20th century are provided as well. Hardly any of the content was new information for me, but a concise overview on hand is always useful. One of the more notable facts for me, as I believe there's a significant connection between fashion and makeup, was the author's assertion that lipstick started being swayed by fashion trends in the '50s. "Lipstick also began to take its cue from fashion…cosmetics companies looked to fashion designers to predict the shades of the moment. This trend was strongly encouraged by Vogue, which would introduce a color for the season and then persuade cosmetics manufacturers to supply complementary shades." In terms of helping shape a beauty museum, it's quite helpful to know when the important relationship between makeup and fashion started.
Chapter 2 is a primer on the nitty gritty of lipstick: basic ingredients, production, shapes and textures. One thing I wasn't aware of previously is that the various shapes of lipstick bullets actually have names. The kind that's angled on both side of the tip is known as a fishtail, while the pointed tip angled on one side is a teardrop. A more rounded tip angled on one side is a wedge. I knew about lip gloss applicator names (doefoot, etc.) but had no idea that lipstick bullets had them as well. This chapter also includes a few pages on the harmful ingredients initially used in lipsticks, and how they weren't banned until the government thought it might affect men (no surprise there). "It wasn't until 1924, when the New York Board of Health considered banning lipstick – not ironically because of the harm it might cause the women who wore it, but out of fear that it might poison the men who kissed the women who wore it – that the government finally stepped in." Lovely.
Chapter 3 was probably my favorite, since it talks about the rise of lipstick advertising (including celebrity endorsements), brands launched by makeup artists and cosmetic companies' charitable efforts.
Chapter 3 was also my favorite since it included a few pages on shade names, which is a topic I will hopefully cover in a few weeks. (I drafted the post over 2 years ago and just keep adding to it.) Jean Ford, one of the founders of the ever-amusing brand Benefit, explains the inspiration behind two shades named Indecent Exposure and But, Officer: "I had just gotten out of traffic school, so the line was all about things you could get arrested for…But, Officer is a real ingenue color, a fleshy tone, like you're really innocent."
Chapter 4 discusses the meaning of lipstick for the average woman, providing anecdotes on its significance and in some cases, power. "The simple gesture of applying color to the mouth represents myriad emotions. It transforms a woman from her private to her public self, prepares her for the world with one quick smear of the waxy substance." This was probably the weakest chapter, as I feel there have been much more in-depth pieces written on the subject of lipstick's meaning. Additionally, there is a rather meager exploration of red lipstick, which I also think has been covered better elsewhere, such as in Jean-Marie Martin Hattenberg's Lips of Luxury (see my review.)
The book redeems itself in Chapter 5 with an informative review of lipstick's influences on art and pop culture. Songs, scenes from TV and movies, sculptures and paintings inspired by lipstick are covered, which will be invaluable for my Makeup as Muse series. There were actually a few art pieces that I hadn't heard of previously.
My final thoughts: This is an excellent overview of the general history of lipstick, but it wasn't meaty enough for me. Each of the themes could have been a book on its own; instead, they just barely scratched the surface content-wise. However, if you're looking for a quick read or a primer for someone who wants basic information on lipstick as a cultural icon, this is perfect. Because it's not all that in-depth, I could see this being of interest even for someone who's not a beauty junkie. So it's definitely good to have on your makeup book shelf. I do wonder how it stacks up to Jessica Pallingston's Lipstick: A Celebration of the World's Favorite Cosmetic, which looks like it was released a mere two months before Read My Lips. Judging from its tale of contents the two tomes appear rather similar, so stay tuned for a review and comparison. 🙂
Are you intrigued by this book?
Once again I have no recollection of what I was searching for when I unearthed this post featuring 25 exquisite vintage Shiseido ads over at a lovely illustration blog called 50 Watts, but oh, what a find. I picked out a few of my favorites but you really need to check out all of the ads, as they are truly amazing.
I'd give my eye teeth to acquire either this ad or the products featured in it.
Such an ethereal scene…they really don't make illustrated ads like this anymore!
These last two from the '50s take quite a modern, graphic turn.
As you may know, Shiseido has its own museum, so it's not totally surprising that someone was able to get these images. However, even with such a well-preserved history, I was absolutely floored to see an 84-page essay on Shiseido's advertising in the early 20th century, which is linked in the post at 50 Watts. Gennifer Weisenfeld, a professor at Duke, authored "Selling Shiseido: Cosmetics Advertising and Design in Early 20th Century Japan" for MIT's Visualizing Cultures curriculum (which sounds seriously awesome). Because I'm a dork I printed out the whole thing so I can make notes on it as I read. I'm only about halfway through – over 1200 subscriptions in Feedly takes up most of my reading time – but so far it's amazing so do check it out. You also need to set aside an hour or so to take a gander at the image galleries, which include a staggering amount of even more ads, plus images of old stores and gifts from the Camellia Club. And if you want to get really nerdy, you can download the handouts from the course. Enjoy…and remember, as I've been saying for years, there's a place for beauty in academia and museums. This is the best proof I've come across in a while. 🙂
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A few weeks ago I was browsing a farmacia in Rome, trying to determine if there were any good drugstore products I should bring back to the States, when I saw this display. I knew I had seen that image of a red-lipped woman wearing a blindfold before, but where?
Aha! It was at good old hprints.com, where I end up browsing vintage makeup ads for hours. I had assumed it was a long-gone brand since it's not sold in the U.S., but apparently Rouge Baiser is alive and well in other countries.
Rouge Baiser was launched in 1927 in Paris by a French chemist named Paul Baudecroux. Considered to be the first "kiss-proof" lipstick, the original formula was actually so indelible that it was banned from the marketplace, having been declared too difficult to remove. (I don't know who made that decision, but I'm guessing that if they were alive today, they would certainly ban glitter nail polish – talk about hard to remove.) I'm no cosmetic chemist, but here's some more technical information on the original formula if you're interested. According to this article, Baudecroux used "eosin dissolved in propylene glycol to make Rouge Baiser…a strong stain was produced with this lipstick as the eosin was in complete solution when it came in contact with the lips. Some said it was too strong! However, as other chemists also discovered, using propylene glycol was not without its problems. As well as having an unpalatable taste, propylene glycol is affected by changes in the atmosphere – losing water when the air was dry and picking it up when the air had a high humidity – with potential effects on the integrity of the lipstick."
While the original formula was modified, Rouge Baiser still marketed its product as being the no-smear, long-lasting answer to women's lipstick prayers. Several prominent illustrators worked on the ads, including André Edouard Marty:
But in 1949 famed fashion illustrator René Gruau created the iconic image of the blindfolded woman with red lips, which, as my Rome pharmacy photo attests, is still used today. You might remember Gruau from his work with Dior. I think there is a story here on how Gruau came up with the idea for this design, but I can't read French and once again, Google Translate makes no sense.
He came up with several equally chic variations for the brand as well.
(Now here's an odd coincidence: with the exception of Carl Erickson, all of the illustrators I've mentioned here lived quite long, well into their 80s and 90s. Perhaps working on ads for a long-lasting lipstick translated into lasting long themselves.)
Fast-forward to today: From I can piece together, Rouge Baiser is sold only in France and Italy. It was acquired in 1994 by the Deborah Group, an Italian company that dates back to 1903. To celebrate the 80th anniversary of the brand, in 2007 a series of lipsticks featuring Gruau's illustrations was released in France. Called "L'Authentique", the line consisted of reissued shades in a matte, long-lasting texture meant to mimic the original formula. Unsurprisingly, "L'Authentique" was the preferred lipstick of the ever stylish Audrey Hepburn in the '50s.
And now I am very sad since I realized I should have bought some. In looking at the photo I took more closely, you can see that the packaging with Gruau's illustrations was available (I guess it's permanent and not limited-edition). I was just so distracted by the image on the display itself I didn't even look at the products! For shame.
What do you think? For those of you living in the U.S., do you think we should start a campaign to bring it here or is it not worthy? I personally want it for the packaging alone!
I can't even remember what I was researching when I stumbled across this site chock full of vintage compacts, but I'm so glad I did. I was dazzled by both the quantity and quality of this person's collection, and then I saw that it formed an exhibition that took place a decade ago. "The Art of Allure: Powder Compacts and Vanities of the 19th, 20th and 21st Centuries" was on display at the University of Arizona Museum of Art in April and May of 2004, so at this point it's a vintage exhibition of vintage compacts.
The collector behind this wonderful compilation is Noelle Soren, whose bio I pored over and have decided it's movie-worthy. She and her husband both hold advanced degrees in archaeology and art history (ahem) and have traveled the world digging up various artifacts. Eventually she found her way to collecting vintage compacts, and she also wrote and photographed the catalogue for the exhibition. The catalogue is available online and is incredibly informative. She also mentioned that hard copies of the catalogue do appear on Ebay from time to time, so I'm going to keep my eyes peeled in the hopes of snagging one. Definitely check it out (but only if you have plenty of time – you can easily spend an hour looking at everything!)
As I'm still trying to build my knowledge of vintage cosmetics and beauty history, I thought this book would a valuable addition to my collection. Beauty and Cosmetics: 1550-1950 by Sarah Jane Downing is one of the few easily available resources that condenses the history of Western beauty practices and ideals in one short tome. That's essentially my only gripe with this book – it's honestly more of a booklet, topping out at a mere 64 pages. I would dearly love to see something much longer and in-depth.
The first chapter discusses beauty ideals in Renaissance Europe and their roots in medieval religious beliefs. While it wasn't my favorite read, it provides the necessary groundwork for the upcoming chapters. The second chapter, in my opinion, is where things get more interesting as Downing reveals some fascinating details on the ingredients and processes used in cosmetics production from that time. She begins with the beauty regimen of Queen Elizabeth I, which included painting her face with the highly poisonous ceruse, "a concoction of finely ground white lead powder, mixed with vinegar and applied over the face and neck." Ack! The author notes that while alternatives made of alabaster or starch were available, these did not provide the luminous, completely smooth perfection that a lead-based product did.
The next chapters deal with cosmetics usage in the 17th and 18th centuries. I was quite intrigued by the information on "patches", a.k.a. fake beauty marks or moles. I have been meaning to write a post on these for a while now (I got the idea around the time I wrote about faux freckles) and Downing's work will definitely be included as a reference. I'm now also a little obsessed with the idea of acquiring an antique patch box. The illustration of an aging woman applying patches (below) is fabulous, but I would have loved to have seen a few pictures of actual patch boxes.
Another interesting tidbit: to counteract the hair loss caused by the frequent wearing of ceruse, women sported false eyebrows made from mice fur. I guess this isn't so weird, given that in the 21st century we have fake eyelashes made from mink.
Next up, Downing describes the dramatic turn beauty trends took in the early 19th century. The heavily caked-on white makeup and patches so popular with the French aristocracy quickly fell out of favor after the revolution. A more natural look was strongly preferred, although sometimes this also made use of an equally dangerous method as ceruse. "A derivative of deadly nightshade, belladonna – 'beautiful lady' – was so named for its beautifying effects as it would dilate the pupils, making the eyes poetic, dark limpid pools. Unfortunately the side effects were less than pretty as it could also cause blindness and possibly paralysis." Yikes.
This chapter also touches on the monumental shift in how cosmetics were perceived and the rise of the beauty industry in the late 19th century. While images of ideal beauty remained fairly consistent (patches and plucked brows aside, other attributes – rosy cheeks and lips, sparkling eyes, clear skin – were still in style) there was a sea change in how the products required to achieve these qualities were produced. Plenty of women still relied on homemade potions made with recipes passed down through generations, but pharmacies selling pre-mixed unguents were rapidly expanding . Below are some of the earliest beauty ads I've ever seen (1880 on the left and 1897 on the right).
The final two chapters outline how the industry took off in the early 20th century and the formation of the major brands we know today. While other books have covered this era, it's refreshing to see another perspective joining in with different ads and bits of history.
The bottom line: as with basically all beauty books I've reviewed, this is a great read for anyone interested in beauty history. However, it is by no means comprehensive (not that I think it was meant to be) so it left me yearning for more, despite the "further reading" list included in the back. Perhaps Ms. Downing and I could collaborate and write a book on beauty in the same time period but have it be 10 times as long. I can dream, right?
(images from Google Cultural Institute)
(images from Google Cultural Institute)
(image from flickr.com)
(images from printsofjapan.com) 
(images from Google Cultural Institute)
(image from chicprofile.com)
(image from ebay.ca)
