Rejuvenique mask at the Museum of Failure. The golf club is an unrelated but equally ridiculous product.
I had way too much fun at the traveling Museum of Failure pop-up, which is currently in Washington, D.C. until November 30. It's exactly what it sounds like: a monument to all the seemingly good ideas humans have had over the years that for one reason or another failed spectacularly. There wasn't too much information readily available – that required downloading the museum's app – and at times the scant label copy was presented far too flippantly for inventions that seriously injured or even killed people. Then there were the "inspirational" quotes from less than savory characters and a disproportionate amount of space devoted to debating whether Elon Musk is a genius (spoiler: he's not. But he is a fascist.) Despite these critiques I enjoyed the show. Plus, it inspired me to briefly discuss some of the biggest makeup fails of the modern era. While there are tons of failures across all beauty categories such as skincare, haircare, fragrance, bath and body products, etc., literally thousands of defunct brands, and a history of toxic ingredients that goes back to antiquity, I narrowed it down to just a handful of what I think are the most notable modern cosmetic fails. Here's the makeup edition of the Museum of Failure!
Kurlash Eyelash Curler ca. 1923
It's fairly obvious why the first patented eyelash curler did not stick around long. Known as the "bear trap," Kurlash's instrument does not resemble anything one would want to get near their eyes. While it's actually not dangerous per se, as Lucy Jane Santos notes, the lack of cushioning meant an increased risk of tearing out the lashes, or at the very least resulted in a sharp right angle to the lashes instead of a soft upward curve. A new model was produced less than a year after the initial design and became the standard.
In 2014 a group of 4 students from North Carolina State University proposed a nail polish that would change color upon detecting date rape drugs such as rohypnol in beverages. I'm not even sure where to start in terms of the many points on which this idea failed. The technology wasn't even available, yet the polish, named Undercover Colors, was touted as something that was ready to be put into production. It wasn't until 2018 the group ceded that the technology would not be available any time soon and presented instead the Sip Chip, a coin-sized disk that can detect certain drugs with 99.93% accuracy with just a couple drops of liquid. Still, the myth of the polish persists. Perhaps the biggest misstep is that, as usual, it placed the burden of prevention on the would-be victim. As a sort of epilogue to Undercover Colors, in 2022 a company named Esoes (pronounced S.O.S.) announced a drug detecting lipstick. Clearly undaunted by the backlash surrounding Undercover Colors, the company forged ahead with a liquid lipstick containing drug test strips hidden in the cap and equipped with a Bluetooth connection to call 911. Sigh.
As we'll see later, lipstick, like mascara, is a fairly straightforward cosmetic to apply. A contraption like this applicator is exceedingly unnecessary and only complicates things. Users were instructed to put a coat of lipstick to the applicator – I'm guessing that was a rather messy process – and then press the applicator to the lips for a perfectly defined pout. I can't locate the one in the Museum's collection at the moment so here are photos from one on Etsy.
It's baffling that this company believed it could hoodwink women into thinking smearing lipstick on a piece of metal first was somehow easier than applying straight from the tube, or even using a lip pencil to line and/or a brush, especially as both lip pencils and brushes were readily available at the time. Heck, Tussy offered a product called the Stylip, a pen-like device which was obviously much less cumbersome to use. Then again, there is nothing businesses won't do if they think it'll make money.
Honorable mention: this (presumably) earlier version, which worked similarly.
Lipstick applicator tutorial, St. Louis Globe Democrat, June 8, 1941
Calvin Klein Cosmetics 1978-1985 2000-2003 2007-2009(?) 2012-2015(?)
Since the 1920s, nearly every fashion house expands into beauty at some point as a relatively low-effort additional revenue stream. While most fashion designers are able to maintain their grip on fragrances, many struggle to keep a color cosmetics line afloat. The popularity of both fashion and celebrity-fronted makeup lines exploded in the '70s and '80s and many of them, including Halston, Diane von Furstenberg and Ralph Lauren, did not survive. However, I want to highlight Calvin Klein cosmetics, whose failure is interesting because the company tried not once, not twice, not thrice, but FOUR times to sell a color cosmetics line.
It's a long and muddled saga for which I hope to give the details someday, but in a nutshell, it seems the repeated failures were largely due to poor management rather than bad products. The cosmetics arm was sold numerous times and had a revolving door of executives. Without stable leadership and a clear, consistent vision for marketing and distribution, it's virtually impossible for any brand to last. Maybe 5th time's the charm?
Lash Lure Eyelash and Eyebrow Dye 1933-1934
The story of Lash Lure is a rather gory one so consider yourself warned. In 1933 a company named the Cosmetic Manufacturing Co. released an lash and brow dye that contained paraphenylenediamine (PPD), a chemical that can cause acute allergic reactions when used around the eyes due to the skin being thinner in those areas. Between 1933 and 1934 the Journal of the American Medical Association reported the cases of 5 women who went blind after using Lash Lure and one more who developed abscesses after using the product, contracted a severe bacterial infection and subsequently died. In 1938 the Food, Drug and Cosmetic Act was finally passed, and the first product it removed from shelves was Lash Lure.
The FDA prohibited PPD from being used in cosmetics in the U.S., but it's still widely used in hair dyes; however, the risk of death is considerably lower than in the '30s. The scalp is thicker than the skin around the eyes and less prone to irritation, and if severe reactions like abscesses and infections did occur, there are treatments available. In the early 1930s allergy remedies and most antibiotics hadn't been invented. Having said that, PPD is derived from coal tar, which doesn't seem like a good thing to put near one's eyes in any case.
Automatic Lipsticks 1930s-2015(?)
In doing the research for the presentation I made for the Art Deco Society UK back in March of this year, I came across many fascinating so-called "automatic" lipsticks. They expressed the design proclivities of the time in that they were intended to be streamlined, cutting-edge devices that only took a fraction of a second to open for the busy modern woman. No need to use both hands turning a slow-moving swivel tube or one with a traditional cap – the new automatic lipstick was here to save the day!
I was hoping to get to an in-depth discussion of automatic lipsticks for National Lipstick Day back in July, but obviously that didn't happen. Maybe in 2024.
Anyway, I think there's a reason the swivel remains the most common lipstick mechanism. This is purely anecdotal based on the automatic lipsticks I've added to the Makeup Museum's collection, but they tend to get stuck easily. I noticed that vintage swivel lipsticks still work pretty well despite their age. The automatic ones, not so much; many of the ones available for sale are broken. Additionally, even when they do work as they should, they were really no quicker or easier – for the Coty Periscope and its copycats (Constance Bennett Flipstick and the So-Fis-Tik), for example, I found two hands were still necessary.
Vibrating Mascaras 2008-2009 Vibrating mascara wands existed at least as far back as 2005, but it was around 2008 that the major cosmetic companies began taking the gadget mainstream. Estée Lauder's Turbo Lash was introduced in July 2008, followed by Lancome's Oscillation (with 7,000 "micro-oscillations per second") that fall. Maybelline's Pulse Perfection arrived in spring 2009. Unlike, say, an electric toothbrush, which actually can help ensure a more thorough cleaning, most reviewers agreed that a vibrating mascara does not significantly improve application. It also seems users had to learn how to maneuver the wand carefully so as not to poke their eye or create a mess. As one PR exec explained, "[The customer] needs to understand how to use it." Some makeup techniques are worth putting the effort into figuring out, but mascara application should not require a learning curve – like lipstick, a basic level of application is intuitive. As I predicted, vibrating mascaras were indeed a flash in the pan.
My appreciable nearsightedness greatly impedes my ability to apply makeup – a big reason for switching to contacts 30 years ago. Back in the 1960s, however, contacts were not as commonplace. So what was the gal with glasses to do? Enter Revlon's flip-up magnifying glasses, which were intended specifically for wearing during makeup application. Rest assured I have tried them out, along with magnifying mirrors and such, and nothing works quite like getting about 1-2 inches away from a regular mirror and applying with short-handled brushes and mini-sized pencils (regular sized products prevent you from getting close enough to see what you're doing as the handles keep poking the mirror.) Other companies make similar versions of these glasses today, so I guess maybe they're not a total fail, but trust me when I say there are much more efficient ways for nearsighted folks to apply makeup.
Lipstick Tissues 1930s-1960s
You can check out my post from 2017 for the full scoop on lipstick tissues, but suffice it to say they failed because they were largely useless. To pull in more dollars, in 1937 Kleenex, building on previous patents, invented a solution to a completely fictional problem: the social crime of leaving lipstick traces on linens and towels, or heaven forbid, a woman's (male) significant other. As I noted in my post, there was no reason why one couldn't use regular facial blotting sheets for lipstick as they work just as well – separate lipstick tissues were wholly unnecessary.
I'm a bit hypocritical, however, since I think it might be fun to bring them back. I even had the husband make a little mockup of Makeup Museum branded lipstick tissues. Would you buy these if you saw them in the museum's gift shop?
With much fanfare, in 2016 Estee Lauder unveiled a diffusion line targeted at the Millennial generation. Despite an extensive campaign starring the hugely influential Kendall Jenner and a whole brick-and-mortar store in London, the Estée Edit folded roughly a year after its initial launch.
So what went wrong? The official stance was that the Edit didn't sell because Estee Lauder already had Millennials buying their products, so a separate line wasn't necessary: "Estée Lauder created The Estée Edit collection for Sephora to recruit millennial consumers. Simultaneous efforts by the core Estée Lauder brand have recruited millennials via digital and makeup at an unprecedented rate. Therefore, after a year of valuable insights and learnings, we have decided that a separate brand in North America dedicated to recruiting millennials is no longer necessary."
Sounds like Estee was just trying to save face. What really happened is that customers saw through their pathetic attempt at being "edgy" to court a younger demographic. Frankly, the Edit reeked of desperation to revamp Estee Lauder as a youth-oriented brand, and customers could smell it a mile away. Devoid of any real innovation or inspiration, the Edit was also out of touch with the needs and wants of Millennials – the whole shebang was basically this classic scene from 30 Rock.
Lipstick Matches 1920s-1950s
As the makeup industry grew exponentially in the early 1920s, companies explored many different designs and packaging. The Parisian firm Fracy introduced "allumettes" lipstick matches around 1924. These single-use items were advertised as being more sanitary than regular tube lipsticks and portable due to their miniature stature. And, like lipstick tissues, they made great hostess gifts or customer freebies for businesses. But were they superior to regular lipsticks? Probably not. Water or saliva was needed to get the dry pigment to adhere so the formula probably wasn't the most comfortable, and the packs sold without a fancy mirrored case negated the "on-the-go" aspect. (I don't know about you, but I find it impossible to apply lip color without a mirror.)
Fracy salesperson kit with sample lipstick matchbooks, ca. late 1920s-early '30s
By the 1950s, companies shifted to advertising lipstick matches not as more sanitary, but a fun way to try new lipstick shades without committing to a full tube.
Still, mini versions of products with the same or similar packaging as their full-sized counterparts proved much more popular for sampling makeup, and they were easier to produce. With all angles of promoting matchbook makeup as better than other designs exhausted, it quietly faded from the market.
Mainstream Men's Makeup Brands ca. 2000-2008
I'm not going into a whole history of men's makeup here – it's another topic the Makeup Museum will tackle eventually – but I did want to highlight the failure of men's makeup to become as ubiquitous as that for women. Makeup has been worn by all genders for millennia, but you would never know it looking at most 20th century cosmetics. Makeup was advertised as being strictly the domain of women. While it was acceptable for men to wear makeup for the stage and screen, it was largely frowned upon for the average cis-het man. Cosmetic companies managed to profit from men by introducing toiletries such as after-shave, hair gel and cologne and developed entire grooming brands exclusively for men, but color cosmetics were still a no-go. However, much like makeup for Black customers, some of the larger companies launched men's makeup to tap into what they thought could be an additional cash cow. For the most part, unlike other grooming products, big brands' attempts at makeup for men consistently failed. It's not clear when the first men's makeup brand on the commercial market was introduced; there were some individual products such as concealers to cover beard stubble and "after-shave talc" used as face powder as far back as the 1930s, and some brands added one-off men's makeup items to their regular lines – for example, Aramis Bronzing Stick and Mary Quant's Colouring Box in the '70s and Guerlain's Terracotta Pour Homme in the '80s. And there were companies like Biba and Manic Panic and later, MAC, that intended their products to be genderless.
But it seems the first complete lines of makeup for men by a mainstream, non-niche company did not appear until the 2000s in the U.S.* And neither of these are still around. Aramis released Surface in 2000, which contained "correctors" (concealers), a bronzing gel and mattifying gel, followed by Jean Paul Gaultier's Le Male Tout Beau in 2003. Tout Beau was discontinued and relaunched as Monsieur in 2008.
Gaultier Le Male Tout Beau lip balm and concealer/eyeliner pen
Indie brands that were started around the same time such as 4Voo somehow managed to outlast their big league competitors. With so many more resources than small companies, why did Aramis and Le Male/Monsieur fail? I think the industry shot itself in the foot, so to speak. Perhaps if it hadn't spent roughly 100 years and billions of dollars enforcing makeup usage along a rigid binary and making it socially acceptable only for women, more mainstream brands for men would be successful. The modern industry really entrenched the ancient notion of everyday makeup as solely a feminine pursuit, and it's going to take a long time to undo that sort of brainwashing on a mass scale.
So that's just the tip of the makeup failure iceberg. These were interesting, but it's equally fascinating to see what has actually stuck around.
What do you think? And did you ever experience a makeup fail?
*Japan's Kose had introduced a line in Tokyo in 1985, and this hunky gentleman prepared to launch a small brand in 1993, which never came to fruition. Other niche brands included Male Man Unlimited (1980), Marcos for Men (1996), Menaji (1997) and Hard Candy's short-lived nail polish line for men called Candy Man (1997).
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.)
CW/TW: racist imagery and slurs for Indigenous, Asian, Latinx, and Black populations as well as those of Middle Eastern descent.
It's been nearly a decade since I discussed one of the many ugly parts of the beauty industry: cultural appropriation in makeup advertising and collections. The purpose of this post is to see what's happened on that front since 2013, highlight yet more historic examples and examine where we are now and where we're going. Is the industry moving in a positive direction with respect to cultural appropriation? How about the broader makeup wearing community and artists? The usual caveat applies, which is that cultural appropriation in makeup could be an entire book, but I think at least scratching the surface might be helpful in terms of reminding people about this issue and informing future research.
As covered in the previous post on this topic, cultural appropriation within a fashion and beauty context is defined as companies taking a culturally important symbol or idea (usually of a non-dominant or marginalized group) and using it for profit rather than true cultural appreciation. (This primer is still really good). Cultural appropriation is marked by a failure to acknowledge the significance behind a cultural artifact/practice or the reduction of a group to a harmful stereotype. Something that I didn't clarify in 2013 is that cultural appropriation is not different than racism but rather a form of it, along with stereotyping, fetishization and othering of BIPOC cultures. I mistakenly stated that appropriation "ties into racism", but that's not accurate. It IS racism, full stop.
So what are some of the culturally appropriative ads and collections that have been released in the past decade or so? Summer 2016 brought both Essence's Lights of the Orient and MAC's Vibe Tribe collection. In Essence's case, the design appears to be a mishmash of a watered-down Middle Eastern-looking pattern and a Greek key border for some reason. The packaging for Vibe Tribe, meanwhile, looks vaguely Navajo but does not reference any particular Native American tribe.
With the 2017 Lise Watier Luxotikka and Givenchy's 2018 Africa Light highlighter, it's not clear which culture they're ripping off. Once again, Africa is not a monolith. Some "tribal" print and a Black (?) model do not automatically refer to Africa. What is clear is Watier's portmanteau of "lux" and "exotic", and the latter word should not be used in this context.
Nomad's Shanghai palette was more complicated. As the company name suggests, Nomad is dedicated to creating palettes and collections named for the two (white, European) founders' globe-trotting adventures. Some argued that their products are meant to represent their experiences in the places they've visited rather than capturing the spirit of a particular locale. And travel-themed collections and lines are generally innocuous. But unlike Nomad's other releases, most agreed that the Shanghai palette seemed completely ignorant of the city (despite Nomad's claim that they worked with Chinese colleagues living there) and reduced it, along with much of Chinese culture, to stereotypes. People also felt it was tone-deaf given the rise of violent attacks against members of the AAPI community in 2021, which Nomad did not acknowledge at all.
And now for some vintage pieces I've come across. Cutex's Aztec Treasures refers to "pagan" colors, which in this instance is synonymous with some other racist terms ads love to use when describing ancient, non-white cultures: savage or primitive. The sculptures and architecture are reduced to props for white ladies. Using art to sell makeup is not new, nor is it problematic for a brand to be inspired by white/European artists since they are referring to a dominant culture, but in this context and combined with the ad copy, it is most definitely appropriation.
Revlon's 1969 Mexicolor collection ad isn't the most offensive, but inventing words like "Mexicolor" and the model's styling contribute to stereotyping. And once again the art serves as a backdrop.
I don't even know where to start with Yardley's China Brights ad from 1972. The shade names, the styling and the entire concept are just…awful.
The assault on Native American cultures ranges from garden-variety offensive to OMG-how-did-they-get-away-with-this-even-back-then. Embarrassingly, I purchased this Richard Hudnut compact a while ago. I knew it was named Thunderbirds, but because it was released in 1941 I believed it was referencing the U.S. air force group, which, in turn, I thought was named from the fact that planes were sometimes called birds and military jets make a ton of noise – I literally thought thunderbirds referred to WWII planes and the compact's imagery was an interesting representation of the name. I usually don't find military themes appealing and tend not to buy them for the Museum, but I honestly enjoyed this particular design. Little did I know that thunderbirds are mythological creatures from the folklore of many different Native American tribes. (According to this museum, the air force group's adoption of the thunderbirds name and symbol in 1939 was a result of their previous insignia – a swastika – being synonymous with Nazis by that point.) In any case, I don't think this compact had anything to do with the U.S. Air Force, but even if it did, it would still be appropriation.
It's bad enough that Tussy refers to the "Pow Wow" face, but to equate Native American speech with that of a Neanderthal is truly abhorrent. The ad copy reads like a cave man cliché.
The copy for Revlon's Sun Canyon Colors collection, meanwhile, erases the fact that land was outright stolen from Native Americans, instead opting for the narrative that the West was a "new frontier" to be "discovered". And let's not ignore the fact that the white model is appropriating Native garb as a costume.
Cutex seemed to be on a cultural appropriation streak in 1961.
Well-to-do, London-born Madeleine Mono made her entire cosmetics career off of a product she introduced in 1974 named Indian Eyes, a kajal pencil liner. Mono copied a genuine Indian formula she had purchased in an Indian-owned store in London, put it into pencil form, added a sizeable price markup and shopped it around to department stores. By 1981 the company had sold over 500,000 Indian Eyes pencils and was worth $8 million. I guess Mono couldn't get quite as rich if she had imported original ingredients from India or worked with an Indian business partner, so she opted for appropriation. Like white-owned brands that sell traditional Asian skincare tools, Mono really didn't have any business profiting off of Indian cosmetic practices in this manner. While there is a vast array of kajal pencils from non-Indian owned brands on the market these days, Mono's exotification of India made the product problematic, and while it's not her fault she was born in England, the whole operation smacks of British imperialism. (As a side note, I'd love a full history of how kohl and kajal pencils became normalized in the Western makeup world…but that's a project for another time.) The company also managed to branch into stereotyping Middle Eastern heritage with their Arabian Lights highlighters – shade names included Genie Gold and Bagdad Blue – and further mined Asian culture by releasing brushes with bamboo-shaped handles.
Around the same time, Mary Quant's Desert Chic collection similarly appropriated cultures from Middle Eastern countries.
So why do makeup companies engage in cultural appropriation? Obviously they're out to make money, but why was/is plundering various cultures such a common tactic, especially when there are other options available such as working with an artist or consultant who hails from that particular culture? I can think of a few reasons. One is the over-saturation of the cosmetics market. As noted in the Museum's post on Tattoo, so many brands and collections, companies seem to think that anything marketed as "exotic" will stand out from other products and catch the customer's eye. Second, the industry still misses the mark in terms of racial and cultural diversity in the U.S. The people responsible for creating and marketing collections aren't necessarily sensitive to cultural appropriation because the majority of them have never had to deal with it.
Another question is what to do with culturally appropriative objects and trends. Should they be purchased/participated in? On the one hand, it pains me to spend money on anything that's overtly bad and I certainly would not knowingly engage in an derogatory trend. On the other hand, basically all makeup is problematic on some level; it's a matter of which brands and influencers get exposed for their wrongdoings and the relative level of offensiveness. From a museum standpoint, I think it's necessary to discuss and display everything. If a museum is going to cover makeup from all eras and cultures, it has a responsibility to call attention to the bad along with the good. However, there's a line between educating museum visitors and traumatizing them. So more importantly than purchasing, how does a museum go about displaying and talking about the really awful stuff and acknowledging that the whole industry was built on racism and discrimination, worker exploitation, harmful ingredients, animal testing and the negative impact beauty packaging has on the planet, while also highlighting the things that aren't quite as egregious? I don't have an answer yet, but I hope to sort it out in the next MM Musings, which will discuss museums as agents of social change.
Anyway, it may be naivete on my part, but I believe makeup is moving in a positive direction with respect to cultural appropriation. The general public seems more aware of appropriation and in some cases, this leads to companies actually working to remove appropriative products from shelves and ads. Colourpop's Sandstone collection was repackaged after people spoke out about its questionable design, and in 2019 Fenty's Geisha Chic blush was pulled immediately from distribution and renamed. Nomad also shut down production of its Shanghai palette within days of revealing images of it and the ensuing backlash on social media. Arguably companies felt pulling a product hurt their bottom line less than a controversy, so they most likely removed or repackaged products to protect their reputation, not because they genuinely learned why they were wrong or felt any remorse. Still, makeup enthusiasts who are not industry professionals are now debating whether it's permissible to wear ancient Eyptian-inspired makeup as well as looks from a variety of cultures. Along those lines, over the past few years there's been more dialogue among consumers regarding collections and looks inspired by Lunar New Year and Day of the Dead celebrations. Slapping red packaging on a random product and marketing it for Lunar New Year, especially by a non-Asian brand that does not acknowledge the holiday's traditions or the larger Asian community, is a mindless cash grab. Some argue that the commodification of Lunar New Year can help raise awareness of Asian heritage, while some feel that any products sold specifically for the holiday are appropriation. (For the record, I'm still not sure of where I stand on this…I used to think the majority of LNY items were more cultural appreciation, but now I'm not sure. I know that in 2022 I purchased much less LNY makeup than in previous years because a lot of it was so uninspired and there were more non-Asian brands who don't even have a sizeable market in Asia releasing it, which didn't sit well with me.)
Cultural appropriation is still happening, of course, but anecdotal evidence suggests it does seem that people are more educated and speaking up. While it's going to be many more years before we don't see any instances of cultural appropriation or other more overtly racist collections and ads, it appears there's been infinitesimal improvement as compared to 2013. When I wrote part 1 of this post there were few major publications calling out cultural appropriation in the beauty sphere. Most of the links included in that article were from beauty bloggers who, like the Museum, had a relatively small following. But as of this writing, a quick Google search for "cultural appropriation cosmetics" shows at least 5 pages of articles by trade publications and mainstream media, including WWD, Brydie, Beauty Independent, and Teen Vogue. What needs to happen, as I've noted previously, is structural change. Until there is true diversity and inclusion at the upper echelons across the entire industry and major media outlets, there will still be cultural appropriation. One last point is that there's been significant growth of brands whose cultures have been ripped off. I don't think new makeup companies or products are a solution to cultural appropriation – the planet is drowning in beauty waste – but newcomers such as Prados and Florasis are helping raise awareness of their respective cultures while also reclaiming them from an industry that historically mistreated or ignored them. And I do think they contribute to structural change in the business in that they help offset the endless onslaught of white-centered brands, particularly those by celebrities. If there are new brands entering the scene, they should be culturally diverse.
Thoughts?
*Interestingly, a 1955 press photo for Arden's Eye Kohl was used on the cover of Kathy Peiss's Hope in a Jar.
Today the Museum is featuring a flash-in-the-pan brand from the 1940s. Shem el Nessim was a very short-lived line, lasting only about 6 months during the second half of 1946. I couldn't find much info, but one thing I can say is that it's not related to the fragrance of the same name by British perfumer Grossmith. The collection consisted of a lipstick, lipstick set with 2 refills, face powder, and a face cream.
Let's talk about the cultural appropriation aspects first. Shem el Nessim appears to be an incorrect, or at least outdated, spelling of Sham el Nessim, a roughly 5,000 year old Egyptian festival/holiday that is celebrated the day after Orthodox Easter (which, this year is today…yes, I've been planning this post for a while). The day marks the beginning of spring and is accompanied by several traditions, including dyeing eggs and enjoying picnics and other outdoor activities. Shem el Nessim loosely translates to "smelling the breeze". Why Grossmith spelled Shem with an "e" is beyond me, but it seems this new brand did too. And while Grossmith engaged in cultural appropriation to market this fragrance and others, they came relatively close to understanding the holiday and translating it correctly. The Shem el Nessim cosmetics line, meanwhile, claimed it was Arabic for "bloom of youth," which is totally off. Also, the name of one of the three lipstick shades appears to be nonsense. "Garfoz" does not seem to be an actual word in any language.
Next, the face cream container is shaped like an "Aladdin lamp"?! No information turned up about the brand's founder, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Shem el Nessim was started by a white American who wanted to capitalize on Western fantasies of the "exotic" Middle East. It's certainly an eye-catching design for a face cream , but completely inappropriate for a brand with no roots in or discernible connection to Egyptian or Middle Eastern heritage. Not to mention that if the entire jar was filled, it would be cumbersome to dig out product from the pointy front part of it.
In addition to using an existing product name, Shem el Nessim may have been looking at Amor Skin's lamp-shaped face cream, which debuted in 1927. It seems Amor Skin's lamp was originally a "Pompeiian" design, but by 1929 they were largely marketing it as an Aladdin Lamp.* Additionally, in the fall of 1946 Amor Skin heavily increased their advertising for the lamp and emphasized the Aladdin aspect, perhaps as a direct response to Shem el Nessim. Of course, the uptick in advertising may have been a simple coincidence, as Amor Skin had just returned to the market in the fall of 1946 after temporarily shutting down production during the war.
Lastly, the collection, or at least the lamp, was allegedly designed by a "Viennese sculptor" named Peticolas.
After a fairly exhaustive search, it seems this artist did not exist. There was a Sherry (Sherman) Peticolas who lived in L.A. and was active in the 1930s-40s, but as far as I know he was American, not Austrian. Additionally, his style was markedly different from the pieces in the Shem el Nessim line, and I couldn't find a record of Peticolas designing cosmetics.
So while it's certainly possible Peticolas was involved in the design, there's no concrete evidence to confirm. As of July 1946 Shem el Nessim had hired advertising agency Klitten and Thomas, so I'm wondering if the claims about the meaning of Shem el Nessim and the Peticolas design in the ad copy were entirely their doing. In any case, there doesn't seem to be any mention of Shem el Nessim after December 1946. I'm guessing Grossmith put a stop to the company very quickly, as the Shem el Nessim fragrance was most likely trademarked, and perhaps Amor Skin also told them to back off. Or it could have happened in the reverse: Shem el Nessim's owner(s) were unaware of either the Grossmith fragrance or Amor Skin lamp when creating the line, quickly realized their missteps and abandoned the business. What's interesting is that the Shem el Nessim Sales Co. did not seem to change names, they simply disappeared. Oh, if only all businesses that ripped off existing brand names (knowingly or not) would go away forever…the world would be much better off, yes? I also suspect the price points for a fledgling brand that was not an offshoot of a fashion/perfume house or other well-known entity were too high. A more established brand, or one started by a big fashion name or celebrity might have had better luck charging the 2022 equivalent of $110 for a lipstick. Per the ad copy, Shem el Nessim was intended to be "exclusive" and not mass market, but that may not have been a profitable tactic to start with.
Cultural appropriation and unoriginal name aside, the Shem el Nessim lipstick case remains a unique specimen of makeup design. The style recalls both classical busts and Surrealist art, with a dash of Camille Claudel in the graceful tilt of the head, dreamy, far-away expression and rendering of the hair. It could also be considered a more sophisticated and artistic precursor to the doll-shaped lipsticks that would prove popular some 15-20 years later.
Finally, while I haven't seen actual photos of the other items, the lipstick looks to be the most elegant, albeit impractical, design – certainly more visually appealing than the powder urn (the poor woman looks decapitated) and lamp (overtly culturally appropriative and the figure's silhouette and pose are a bit tacky).
Thoughts? If anyone can contribute any other information on this brand I'm all ears. 🙂
*While nearly all of the newspaper ads between 1946 and 1950 referred to the Amor Skin lamp as Aladdin's, a handful of them along with the November 1946 issue of Drug and Cosmetic Industry used the previous Pompeiian description.
On average, the Museum receives one inquiry a week. It doesn't seem like much, but if it's something that can't be identified easily or a broad question about historic trends, they can take up quite a bit of time. Here are a handful of inquiries I worked on over the past year or so.
First, we have some questions about wartime makeup. One of the Museum's Instagram followers asked about this lovely set she had purchased on eBay. She suggested it may have been a kit provided to service women during the war.
The following week, by pure coincidence, another person got in touch with an identical kit in red.
As it turns out, the hunch from the tan kit's owner was spot-on: this is Elizabeth Arden's service kit, which dates to about 1939-1956. I don’t think the company provided them for free, but it seems like the kit with Stop Red was recommended specifically for the women in the Auxiliary Fire Service in the UK, at least initially. A book called the Home Front Pocket Manual contains an excerpt from the Nov. 1939 issue of a British publication called Britannia and Eve, and it mentions the set.
The kit was sold in Canada starting around 1942 and continued to be sold there into the 1950s, but was advertised just as a regular travel kit for the “busy” woman, not service women. It also looks like the red leather was not available until 1942. In any case, it's a compelling piece of wartime women's history – kits were actually created to help women adhere to the "beauty is your duty" motto.
So this was mostly solved…except for the number that appeared on both kits. If anyone knows what "R.D. 1941" means please get in touch. The only possibly relevant thing I found was "Reserve Decoration" which is an award for the Royal Navy Reserve in the UK, but it doesn't seem like that would be appropriate to put on this particular kit.
Next up, a vintage enthusiast and YouTuber, Katie May, asked about the use of gravy browning as leg makeup during the war. As silk and nylons were scarce, liquid leg makeup was sold as a substitute for stockings.
But in the UK, where shortages were even more dire and cosmetics prohibitively expensive, more women tried to DIY liquid stockings through a number of substances. According to some sources, ladies tested out a bunch of things to mimic the look of stockings. Along with gravy browning, cocoa, wet sand, tea, iodine, walnut juice and brown shoe polish were all experimented with. Katie wanted to know how the gravy was applied and whether it was a widespread trend. I'm afraid I couldn't turn up much concrete information given the limited access I have to resources, not to mention I know very little of where to begin looking for sources on WWII history in the UK. This BBC archive provides a brief 1st person mention of the stockings, but my findings consisted mostly of newspaper snippets and book excerpts, which may not be reliable and don't provide exact figures as to how many women were actually partaking in the practice.
So it's really difficult to say how widespread DIY leg makeup was, at least on a regular basis. It must have been so cumbersome to mix and apply, and it definitely was not waterproof. Even the expensive pre-made leg makeup sold by cosmetic companies were not necessarily waterproof formulas despite their advertising. The gravy browning in particular was rumored to attract dogs and flies. I can't envision women applying it themselves or going to the leg makeup "bars" to have others apply it every day, but maybe they did. It was a very different time; one woman remarked that it was "embarrassing" to go without stockings, so perhaps the social stigma was strong enough to force women to try DIY alternatives, and the cosmetics shortage in the UK was a lot worse than in the U.S. As for face makeup, the same ideas apply – I'm skeptical of how widespread DIY makeup was, but it seems most women in the UK could not afford cosmetics during the war even if they were readily available (which, again, they weren't…lots of shortages. While the UK government believed that cosmetics boosted morale so they didn't completely stop producing makeup, it was still difficult to obtain.) I must point out that men enjoyed making fun of us silly, shallow women's efforts to keep up with the constant societal expectation of beauty. And of course, they always had it worse. I can't roll my eyes hard enough at these clippings.
In any case, some sources state that beetroot juice was substituted for lip makeup and blush, shoe polish or soot (!) for mascara, and starch for face powder (NOT flour, as proposed by the sexist windbag above). Some women melted down whatever was left of their existing lipsticks and mixed them with Vaseline to make a balm. The two sources I found to be most useful on DIY makeup were 1940s Fashion by Fiona Kay and A People's War by Peter Lewis. Madeleine Marsh's book Compacts and Cosmetics (p.124) and Geoffrey Jones's Beauty Imagined (p. 136) also have brief mentions of DIY wartime makeup. Finally, I also recommended to Katie that she reach out to Kate Thompson, who has written several historical fiction novels about women who worked at the Yardley cosmetics factory in the UK during the war, and my understanding is that she's done quite a bit of research into WWII makeup. Anyway, Katie bravely tried out the gravy browning and a bunch of other homemade wartime beauty substitutes! Kudos to her for re-creating these unusual and rather messy cosmetic practices.
Next, an antique store owner asked about some old cosmetics sales kits by the name of Velens that she had come across. I didn't turn up much on the brand's products, but here's what I was able to find. The company was founded in 1930 by a Swedish ex-pat named Leo B. Selberg. Selberg had a background in chemistry and previously worked for Luzier, another cosmetics brand at the time. The Velen's Educational Cosmetics name was copyrighted that same year, as well as something called "Paul Velen's Color Harmony Chart". As it turns out, a man by the name of Paul Velen (based in Kansas) had actually come up with all the formulas prior to Selberg's involvement. The relationship between Selberg and Velen isn't clear; however, from newspaper clippings it seems that before moving to Missouri, Selberg socialized frequently with an older brother of Paul, A.R. (Reuben) Velen, so I'm assuming they knew each other. Paul also had a degree in chemistry, although what inspired him to start a beauty business remains a mystery. Maybe Leo approached Paul about being the owner of the business while continuing to sell under the Velen name and keeping the formulas, but it doesn't seem like either of them were too involved/hands on with the line. Selberg sold Velen's in 1959 to a company called Greer and Associates, but I couldn't find any mention of Velen's Cosmetics after 1955 so it may have been on its last legs by that point anyway. Paul Velen died in May of 1969 at the age of 68; Selberg in 1979 at the age of 83. There was also a man named Albert Colborn who served briefly as Chairman of the Board of Velen's Cosmetics from 1930-1933 and started his own beauty company called the Modernistic Beauty Service in 1933, but I couldn't turn up much about him other than his obituary.
Anyway, the Velen's line wasn't used for training at beauty schools but rather for demonstrations in salons to sell to salon customers. In fact, it was almost exclusively sold in salons with some direct sales (door-to-door/traveling) agents, not in department or drug stores. The "educational" part of the name meant that beauty salon employees would "educate" their clientele on the best products for them and how to apply them. It looks like it was sold primarily in the Midwest and Texas, with some salons as far away as California and New Hampshire, which is why it's a little surprising there aren't more records or product photos. So this was quite a find and an interesting tidbit.
Skipping ahead to the late 1950s, the Museum received a few questions about Helena Rubinstein's Mascara-Matic. First, someone sent in a box with some adorable packaging, which was released for the holiday season in 1958.
I couldn't find a magazine ad, but there were a couple of newspaper ads. A year later Rubinstein released another holiday edition of Mascara-Matic with a Christmas ornament design on the box. As far as I know the "harlequin" style in the photos sent in to the Museum was only released in 1958, and it doesn't seem like Rubinstein released any other holiday edition boxes of Mascara-Matic except for 1958 and 1959.
Then another person wrote in asking about the value of an original Helena Rubinstein Mascara-Matic, believing that the one she had found was from its first production run and worth a whopping £3,000 according to this Daily Mail article. It's hard to say with certainty whether any Mascara-Matics are from the first run. Perhaps those had the patent number and everything after that was marked "waterproof" or did not have any markings around the middle. However, the one I purchased for the Museum has the patent number but also came with a refill, and refills were not sold until 1958, a year after the mascara's debut. Even if the one the person had was original, it's not clear where the figure of £3,000 comes from. The Museum does not do valuations, but I will say Mascara-Matics, either with patent numbers or marked "waterproof" typically sell for about $50 so I can't see an original being worth 60 times more, unless there was proof it belonged to a celebrity or something like that. There was also a listing for one with a patent number at eBay – from what I can tell it was unsold with a starting bid of £49.95. If it was in fact sold, again, I can't see it going for £3,000 even in mint condition.
Lastly, another vintage store owner inquired about a skincare kit sold by blender brand Osterizer. (There are larger photos of the jars at Etsy.)
Based on the coupon included in the photo and some newspaper ads it was sold between 1971 and 1975. It looked like quite the gimmick. There wasn't a ton of information on it, but it seems Oster was trying to cash in on the "natural" cosmetics trend of the late '60s/early '70s and sold these kits for those who already had a blender and wanted to make their own organic skincare with fresh ingredients.
But who really needs brand name pink jars and labels for homemade cosmetics? One could go to any craft store and get their own supplies. And while Google didn't exist back then, the recipes would have been pretty easy to find as well. I'm just a bit astounded at what they were trying to sell, as it really seems to be a cash grab. Anyway, it's a fascinating bit of beauty history and definitely an expression of the era.
Which one of these were you most intrigued by? While I'm not the best at solving makeup mysteries I do enjoy receiving them, so please don't hesitate to send any objects or questions to the Museum!
As in years prior, the Makeup Museum received some incredibly generous artifact donations in 2021. The Curator is so very grateful to everyone who believes the Museum is the right home for these objects. Most of these beauties were donated by the Museum's Instagram supporters…as much as I despise Instagram at this point, there are some really nice people on there with whom I've had the good fortune of connecting.
First up is a spectacular Paloma Picasso lipstick from the very talented and sweet @Sarahjeangirl. It has the original box and it's so fabulous! Paloma Picasso's line is also pretty rare, so I was elated a piece of it is with the Museum now. I hope to write something about this brand along with many others from the late '70s and early '80s.
Speaking of which, I went down quite a rabbit hole in fall 2021 trying to find information on Diane Von Furstenberg's various beauty endeavors. I discovered that she had not one, not two, but three beauty lines throughout her career. This brand new lip gloss set was donated by the wonderfully supportive Nita and dates to about 2003. I was so thrilled because despite the fact that DvF had tried expanding into the beauty realm three times, the objects prove rather elusive. And makeup from the late '90s/early 2000s in general is tough to find, so I was overjoyed to add this to the Museum's collection.
Next are some more contemporary artifacts from Sharon, a.k.a. @Metromakeupmaven. I had no idea Thierry Mugler had makeup until she offered to send me this gloss along with some other awesome items, including a blush from Chinese brand Catkin (love the bird print), macaron shaped sponges and cocoa blush from Kiko (you know my obsession with dessert-themed makeup), a cute little winking blush from Asos, and a L'Oreal x Isabel Marant highlighter. Can you believe this bounty?
We also have yet more vintage makeup postcards and memorabilia from the lovely Carolina Masseo, who sent these all the way from Argentina! Once again I was blown away by her generosity. I love ads just as much as the makeup itself.
Another second-time donor is the awesome Caroline of @eye_wonder_eye, or as I call her, the powder box queen. She was paring down her extensive, world-class collection of powder boxes, so I purchased a few she had listed on ebay. Once she realized I was the buyer, she included some amazing objects for free. As with last year's donation I just about died when I opened the package! The rouges are the perfect addition to the Museum's blush collection, and the sphinx box label is particularly thoughtful as the Museum has the matching compact. Plus it'll look great in the Egypt-inspired exhibition. I was also ecstatic over the very old Sephora catalog!
You might remember how much I enjoyed MAC's spring 2010 Liberty of London collection. I posted a picture of it in spring 2020 on Instagram reminiscing (and also not believing it was 10 years old at that point!) and the wonderful Jen of Coffee Sundays (and @tinypannation) mentioned she had a MAC Liberty poster she would be happy to send. The only issue was that it was located at a relative's house some 3,000 miles away and due to the pandemic she would not be traveling any time soon. Fortunately things had improved enough so that she could visit her family for the holidays in 2021, and she remembered – even after well over a year! – to find and mail the poster. Not only that, she included what we suspect is a hair tie and also some yummy candy, just because. How awesome is that?!
This box of vintage lipstick tissues is really special. The donor emailed and explained that a dear friend of hers, a woman named Bette, had passed away, and she thought it would be nice to donate the lipstick tissues Bette had collected. Because I'm always curious to try to get to "know" the people to whom these artifacts once belonged, I asked the donor if she could provide any information on Bette. And so she kindly included a detailed obituary and a brochure advertising Bette's pet portraits. She led a very interesting life and I'm so happy the Museum acquired her lipstick tissues and brief biography.
I was totally smitten by this gigantic NARS lipstick that bloggers received as PR even though, like similar PR packaging, it was pretty wasteful. Turns out that wastefulness works in my favor, as the donor said they were cleaning out their office and had no room for something so huge, so they offered to give it to the Museum! I was overjoyed they didn't just throw it out. Should the Museum ever occupy a physical space I think it would be smashing as entryway decor (and that's how I've placed it now. The green fellow to the left was my great grandmother's and is our guard dog.) As for the donor, they requested to stay anonymous so as not to get in trouble with NARS or have people bugging them for freebies, but I will say they are pretty famous. 😉
Another trip down memory lane: several years ago I wrote a Makeup as Muse post on local artist Gloria Garrett and remarked how much I liked her Mother and Child in the Park painting. Last summer one of Gloria's friends got in touch and explained that, sadly, Gloria had lost her husband and was having some health troubles of her own, and that she had moved out of her house and studio to an apartment closer to her daughter. This friend helped clean out Gloria's house and found the Mother and Child painting. Thanks to Google she spotted my post on Gloria's work and in a truly stunning display of kindness, offered to send it to me completely for free. I was totally bowled over and so honored to acquire one of Gloria's makeup paintings. I'm still trying to find the perfect spot for it. I am also obviously thinking of Gloria and hoping she's doing better.
Last but certainly not least, I wanted to mention that the Museum also received a gorgeous vintage dusting powder box and an adorable children's dusting mitt, but embarrassingly, I can't locate them at the moment. Losing track of artifacts has been quite a problem recently and I plan on remedying that with proper collections management software. I did a ton of research and demos in 2020 and 2021 and I've found at least a temporary solution which I hope to implement this year. Anyway, while the Museum tends not to collect bath and body products, I couldn't turn these away! Not much turned up on the Vida Ray dusting powder, but what I was able to find proved very confusing. Based on newspaper ads Vida Ray powder in the Gallivanting scent dates to about 1943-1949, but a dusting powder called Vita Ray was sold as early as 1934. The container that was donated lists both Vida with a d and Vita with a t, so what was actually the name? Vida Ray allegedly went out of business in 1948 and continued to sell the last of its stock in 1949, but there were still some mentions of Vita (with a t) in 1953. Pure speculation on my part, but it may have been fairly short-lived due to the fact that the company couldn't seem to agree on the spelling of its own name, as Gallivanting was advertised both with Vita and Vida Ray. Maybe the company was selling Vita Ray in the early '30s and for whatever reason changed their product name to Vida while still keeping the Vita company name. In any case, I'm guessing that customer confusion may have led to the line's lack of longevity.
The "Little Miss" powder mitt dates to about 1950. Le Sonier produced these mitts starting around 1944, but it looks like they changed the image on the box to the one below by 1950. In 1953 it changed again, and that seemed to be the last mention of Little Miss I could find.
In conclusion, thank you so so SO much to everyone who donated and help build the Museum's collection. I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank the Museum's dedicated volunteers, as well as others who consistently engage with the Museum. Time and expertise is every bit as valuable as artifacts, and I'm so grateful for those who support the Museum via social media comments, email, etc. As you know, things have not been easy the past few years – unfortunately there are many nasty people who want nothing else than to see the Museum fail – but I feel very heartened by the few who are there for me. You know who you are. 🙂 Oh, and if you have any old makeup you think you would be a good fit for the Museum, check out how to donate it by visiting the Support page.
Thoughts? And what's the best gift you received in 2021?
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.
I really enjoyed the shorter bits of history that appeared between chapters in Lisa Eldridge's Face Paint. I liked the idea so much, in fact, that I decided to steal it and use it for my '90s makeup history book. Prom makeup is just one of the many featurettes I want to include. And I realize that prom season has come and gone by this point, but I'm still thinking how crazy it is that I graduated high school and attended my senior prom 25 years ago this spring! So with that, let's see what pop culture and magazine editorials were recommending in terms of prom makeup. Obviously this isn't meant to be an exhaustive list of every '90s prom look ever and how they compare to today's styles, nor is it a philosophical examination of prom and its greater cultural or social significance, especially for teenage girls. This post is really more of a nostalgic snapshot, especially since sources were hard to find. There are tons of vintage prom photos online but the makeup is barely visible, either because analog photos rarely translate well to digital images or because they were taken at a distance. Very few clear, closeup images of old prom makeup exist, so I had to rely mostly on magazines, movies and TV episodes and they weren't great quality either. Also, I credited where I could, but not all information was available for every photo.
Overall, the decade followed the general makeup trends of the time. As a sort of backlash to the bright colors and general excess of the '80s, from about 1990-1994 the majority of prom looks featured minimal, barely perceptible makeup.
Minimal prom looks from Seventeen Magazine, 1992 (left) and 1991 (right). Credits for 1992: Hair – Hubert Cartier and Gili. Makeup: Timothy Metz. Photography: Wayne Stambler. Credits for 1991: Hair – Rodney Groves; Makeup – Timothy Metz; Photography – Tierney Gearon.
Sassy Magazine, 1993. Hair – Daniel Howell; Makeup – Wei Lang; Photography – David Jensen
Are these girls even wearing makeup?! I guess they are since the credits list a makeup artist, but it's nearly invisible.
YM Magazine prom edition, 1994. Credits for top photos: Hair – Christopher Lockhart for Sarah Laird; Makeup – Christy Coleman for Jed Root, Inc. Credits for bottom photos: Hair – Brent Lavent for Celestine; Makeup – Laura Jadro for Visage; Photography – Carlo Dalla Chiesa
YM Magazine prom edition, 1994. Hair – Christopher Lockhart for Sarah Laird; Makeup – Mathew Sky for Vartali Salon. Makeup by Maybelline.
Sassy Magazine, March 1994. Hair – Daniel Howell for Oribe; Makeup – Regina Harris; Photography – Cathrine Wessel
Julia Stiles's character in 1999's 10 Things I Hate About You opted for a minimal look for prom, but this might have been more of a stylistic choice to go match her personality rather than a reflection of late '90s trends. Kat Stratford would never go for the glitter, frost and pastel colors that were popular towards the end of the decade.
Julia Stiles as Kat Stratford in 10 Things I Hate About You, 1999. Makeup artist: Martin 'Vinnie' Hagood
Another trend early on was a return to old school glam. Red matte lips, with or without a winged liner but always keeping the rest of the face neutral, was a popular choice.
Kelly (Jennie Garth) and Brenda (Shannen Doherty) in Beverly Hills, 90210 "Spring Dance" episode, 1990. Key makeup artist – Sheree Morgan; makeup artist – Alex Proctor.
Seventeen Magazine, March 1991. Hair – Gabriel Saba for John Sahag Salon; Makeup – Jacqui Lefton; Photographer – Dewey Nicks; Model – Limor Luss
Kellie Martin in Seventeen Magazine, March 1992. Hair – Patrick Melville for MCM Salon; Makeup – Tracy Sondern; Photography – Bico Stupakoff
Sassy Magazine, March 1995. Hair – Diane Wiedenmann; Makeup – Sharon Gault for Cloutier
Again, as with 10 Things I Hate About You's Kat, I think Heather's (Mena Suvari) red lip more a stylistic choice to better suit the character rather than part of a real-world trend. (Sorry about the lack of quality in this photo, I couldn't find a decent shot anywhere. Also, no fewer than 7 makeup artists for American Pie are listed at IMDB so it's not clear who chose her look.)
Just based on these candids from YM's prom issues, it seems like a lot of girls opted for a red lip or the minimal look for prom for 1993 and 1994.
YM Magazine prom edition, 1993
YM Magazine prom edition, 1994
There was also a somewhat odd combination of soft smoky matte grey or brown shadow and a desaturated but noticeable lip color. I don't really remember this look, probably because I can't say that the early '90s take on a smoky eye is a look I enjoy. It just looks flat and muddy, plus very amateur despite the professional application. It's like someone dipped their fingers into shadow, swiped them across their lids, added a touch of mascara and declared their eye makeup finished. Which would be fine with different textures and shades, but matte shadow in these colors requires some definition.
Seventeen Magazine, March 1992
YM Magazine prom edition 1993
My opinion is that it suits nobody, not even Heidi Klum.
YM Magazine prom edition 1994. Credits for left photo: Gerald DeCock for Louis Licari Color Group; Makeup – Christy Coleman for Jed Root, Inc. Credits for right photo: Hair – Lawrence DePalma for Pierre Michel Salon; Makeup – Christy Coleman for Jed Root, Inc. Model: Heidi Klum
A monochromatic face is surprisingly artistic and flattering if there's variation in textures and finishes between eyes, cheeks and lips. Matte brown shadow with seemingly no other eye makeup besides a hint of mascara and paired with a warm, orange-brown lip isn't great on most people. Case in point: these prom looks from the March 1994 issue of Seventeen. I know they were really meant to show the hairstyle, but they are so boring! Plus it looks awful on the skin tone of the particular model that was chosen – the poor thing looks like the life got sucked out of her. This combination only works on very specific coloring.
Seventeen Magazine, March 1994. Hair – Mara Schiavetti; Makeup – Cindy Joseph
Matte, one-dimensional shadow works if the eyeliner is noticeably darker and there is a contrast in tone for the lip color, as in YM's 1993 prom editorial.
YM Magazine prom edition, 1993. Model: Lana Ogilvie. Makeup Artist: Craig Gadson for Cover Girl.
But there is hope. Around 1996 is when we start to see a move away from matte textures and neutral shades. Bring on the metallics, the frost, the GLITTER!!
Seventeen Magazine, March 1997. Hair – Dennis DeVoy for Garren New York; Makeup – Kiyoshi for Oribe Salon; Photography – Iris Brosch
Seventeen Magazine, March 1999
Seventeen Magazine, March 1999
Seventeen Magazine, March 1999
Seventeen Magazine, March 1997. Hair – Matthew Williams; Makeup – Virginia Carde; Still life photos – Aimeé Herring; Model photos – Olivia Graham
There were literally dozens of makeup artists who worked on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, so I'm not sure who was responsible for Buffy's prom makeup, which consisted of a soft silvery grey eyeshadow and pearly pink gloss.
Sarah Michelle Gellar in "The Prom" episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 1999
Complexion-wise, foundation was less heavy and flat. Even though the early '90s embraced the minimal look, skin still looked a bit dull. There were also few glossy lips to be found. The later part of the decade witnessed a shift towards fresher-looking skin (perhaps more blush added to this effect) and the rise of super shiny lips, which would continue into the early 2000s.
Seventeen Magazine, March 1997. Hair – Matthew Williams; Makeup – Virginia Carde; Still life photos – Aimeé Herring; Model photos – Olivia Graham
Also, there was interest in color again – no longer was the palette limited mostly to red, pink, grey and brown. Blue, peach, yellow, violet and green peeked their eager little faces out for the first time in what seemed like ages.
Sassy Magazine, March 1996
Sassy Magazine, March 1996
Sassy Magazine, March 1996
Seventeen Magazine, March 1997. Hair – Dennis DeVoy for Garren New York; Makeup – Kiyoshi for Oribe Salon; Photography – Iris Brosch
Seventeen Magazine, March 1998. Hair – Kevin Woon; Makeup – Kiyoshi; Photography – Marc Baptiste
Seventeen Magazine, March 1998. Hair – Kevin Woon; Makeup – Kiyoshi; Photography – Marc Baptiste
I really wish I could have found better photos of the makeup in prom scenes from movies and TV. (Seriously though, what was up with all the prom sequences in films from 1999? It seems nearly every teen movie made that year had one.) In these stills that I screenshotted and tried to brighten from She's All That you can sort of make out Laney's violet eyeshadow and browbone highlight.
Rachel Leigh Cook as Laney Boggs in She's All That, 1999. Head makeup artist – Felicity Bowring; Makeup artists – Raqueli Dahan, Jane Galli and Lisa Layman
Meanwhile, mean girl Taylor Vaughan (Jodi Lyn O'Keefe) rocked a monochromatic gold look, complete with face and body glitter. Peak '90s!
And let's not forget Courtney's epic frosty blue eyeshadow in 1999's Jawbreaker. Once again there was a huge makeup department so whose idea it was I'm not sure.
Now there were some trends that appeared in various iterations throughout the whole decade rather than being confined to certain years. Pink reigned supreme for prom makeup in the '90s. Whether it was full-on bubblegum or a more natural, "romantic" look, rosy hues were a staple.
YM Magazine prom edition 1992. Hair – Brian Devine, Oribe at Elizabeth Arden; Makeup – Melissa Rogers
Kellie Martin in Seventeen Magazine, March 1992. Hair – Patrick Melville for MCM Salon; Makeup – Tracy Sondern; Photography – Bico Stupakoff
Sassy Magazine, March 1992. Hair – Colleen Creighton for Pierre Michel; Makeup – Lutz; Photography – Steven Miller
Sassy Magazine, March 1992. Hair – Colleen Creighton for Pierre Michel; Makeup – Lutz; Photography – Steven Miller
Sassy Magazine, March 1994. Hair – Daniel Howell for Oribe; Makeup – Regina Harris; Photography – Cathrine Wessel
YM Magazine prom edition, 1994
YM Magazine prom edition, 1994. Hair – Gerald DeCock for Louis Licari Color Group; Makeup – Mara Schiavetti for Jean Owen
Sassy Magazine, March 1995. Hair – Diane Wiedenmann; Makeup – Sharon Gault for Cloutier
Sassy Magazine, March 1996
Seventeen Magazine, March 1997. Hair – Matthew Williams; Makeup – Virginia Carde; Still life photos – Aimeé Herring; Model photos – Olivia Graham
Seventeen Magazine, March 1999
Sixties-inspired makeup also seemed to be a popular pick in both the early and later parts of the decade.
Seventeen Magazine, March 1991. Hair – Gabriel Saba for John Sahag Salon; Makeup – Jacqui Lefton; Photographer – Dewey Nicks
Seventeen Magazine, March 1994. Hair – Debbie Horgan; Makeup – Lorraine Leckie; Photography – Troy House
The most outrageous example is possibly from 1999's Never Been Kissed. It's like '60s mod meets Evening Gown Barbie, Disco Barbie and Malibu Barbie, respectively (at least, according to the characters).
Never Been Kissed, 1999 with Kristin (Marley Shelton), Kirsten (Jessica Alba) and Gibby (Jordan Ladd). Makeup dept. head – Kimberly Greene; Makeup artists: Joni Powell and Lyssa Wittlin Baumert
Yours truly opted for the more subtle look. Yup, that's the Curator at age 17, doing her best impression of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's for her senior prom. I eschewed my usual dark plum lip in favor of Holly Golightly's pale pink, and though you can't make it out in this old picture, I also had some pretty serious feline eyeliner. (I actually am a disaster at winged liner; my sister's friend did my makeup). Too bad I had to ruin my updo by adding the ever-present '90s tendril…then again, the bangs were already atrocious. But I loved my makeup, gloves, jewelry (shout-out to Y necklaces!), and dress. I really regret getting rid of those last two.
Finally, grunge, goth and punk influences occasionally emerged from subculture status on a decade-wide basis.
Sassy Magazine, March 1993. Hair – Daniel Howell. Makeup – Wei Lang. Photography – David Jensen
Seventeen Magazine, March 1997. Hair – Pasquale Ferrante; Makeup – Susan McCarthy for Shu Uemura; Photography – Grey Zisser
The models aren't named in these next two photos but I'm almost positive I spy Alexis Bledel.
Seventeen Magazine, March 1998. Hair – Kevin Woon; Makeup – Kiyoshi; Photography – Marc Baptiste
Seventeen Magazine, March 1998. Hair – Kevin Woon; Makeup – Kiyoshi; Photography – Marc Baptiste
There were a handful of exceptions to all the usual looks. In one feature from YM's 1993 prom edition, a red lip was paired with a pale gold shadow rather than brown or grey and it actually looks like some blush was applied. I would absolutely wear this today (minus the skinny brows, of course.)
Hair – Howard Barr for Celestine; Makeup – Wendy Osmundson for Cloutier; Model – Melissa Billingsly.
These next two looks had some appealing contrast between eyes and lips. While the eyebrow shapes are firmly '90s, the mix of either cool purple or silver shadow with a satin-finish plum or pink lip falls outside the usual trends from the era.
YM Magazine prom edition, 1993. Hair – Phillippe Barr for Salon Ziba; Makeup – Kelly Quan for Sarah Laird.
YM Magazine prom edition 1992. Hair – Brian Devine, Oribe at Elizabeth Arden; Makeup – Melissa Rogers
And here's another monochromatic gold look, but it's several years ahead of its time.
Seventeen Magazine, March 1994
But there weren't really many outliers. Overall, prom makeup in the '90s seemed very much a microcosm of the larger trends of the decade. It was a little disappointing not to uncover any totally atypical looks (although I do think the late '90s was way more fun than the start of the decade). But I'm guessing the big magazines and movie studios/TV shows weren't going to push much unconventional prom makeup or feature anyone who wore it, and those who would opt for more daring looks on a regular basis probably weren't going to prom. Fortunately, mainstream media has somewhat caught on to a new aesthetic. The styles are very safe in most magazine covers and online content. The looks are nice and definitely updated from the '90s, but they are, shall we say, basic, or mimicking "Instagram" style makeup. However, a closer look suggests there is experimental, Euphoria-type makeup being recommended, such as the incorporation of embellishments (flowers, gems, etc.), graphic liner in a bright color, or creative use of glitter. For example, compare several of Seventeen's recent prom covers with their online recommendations, or the fairly unremarkable cover look on Teen Vogue's 2014 prom issue with the far more interesting editorial inside. (Diversity in terms of race and body shape/size still needs work.)
Seventeen Magazine prom edition – 2015, 2016 and 2019 covers
Seventeen Magazine prom looks featured online, 2020
I was very relieved to see these looks, as I was horrified at the possibility of Gen Z'ers receiving the same advice that me and my fellow Gen X'ers did, i.e., to play it safe. In my day prom was akin to one's wedding in terms of makeup (which is another whole disturbing can of worms that I don't want to open right now.) The most common tips for both occasions were to play up one feature only, stay away from using multiple colors, and don't deviate much from your everyday look, along with a bunch of tricks to help one's makeup last longer. Ho-hum.
Not surprised by Bobbi advocating for safe makeup.
If simple and natural is your style, or you don't want to try anything too wild for a big occasion, great! But I'd like it if makeup that actually takes risks were as normalized as looks featuring minimal makeup.
While this hasn't been the most insightful post, a glimpse of '90s prom makeup serves as a good refresher on the decade and helps give more context to the trends. Plus as a print junkie, it was insanely fun to flip through old magazines. (The movies did not hold up well..although honestly even at the time they were fairly problematic.) It kind of makes me want to do a whole book or exhibition on prom makeup from all decades. 😉
Any favorite looks here? Did you attend any proms or formals in high school and if so, do you remember your makeup or have any photos you'd be willing to share?
I'm always so honored to hear from people wanting to know more about the (usually) vintage objects they come across. While the volume of inquiries can be a bit overwhelming sometimes, it's so interesting to see what's out there and I enjoy expanding my knowledge. For this installment of MM Mailbag, I'm looking at a few inquiries that I managed to partially solve. I wish I could have answered with 100% certainty, but at least I found a little information.
First up is a metal clutch containing a multi-use compact. The submitter lives in California and was cleaning out a house of a family member who had passed away when she stumbled across these items. At first glance I thought the compact was physically embedded in the clutch somehow, but they're separate.
The compact was easy to identify. It appears to be one by Mondaine, a compact manufacturer in the 1930s that was better known for their book-shaped compacts. Here's another example of it. (The interior has the same layout and products as the one that was sent to the Museum…I'm just too lazy to add photos.)
The metal clutch, however, was trickier. I couldn't make out the monogram or figure out what the "Mitzah" engraving was, but my best guess is that someone selected a clutch to put the Mondaine compact in, had it engraved and presented it as a gift – maybe for a birthday, or perhaps a wedding anniversary given the June date. Or maybe someone just had an old engraved metal case and decided to put the Mondaine in there to store it. They may be totally unrelated.
So I wasn't able to definitively conclude anything about the metal case. But it's certainly pretty and I wonder what the story was behind it.
Update, 6/4/2021: Some incredibly exciting news! Sarah Jane Downing (yes, THE Sarah Jane Downing who wrote Beauty and Cosmetics, 1550-1950), kindly reached out and provided some information on the mysterious "Mizpah" engraving on the metal clutch. Here's what she had to say:
"During the 19th century the Regency taste for sentimental jewellery developed into an obsession by the Victorian era and there were many pieces (in the UK at least) that bore the inscription 'Mizpah' or 'MIZPAH' which I suspect is the inscription on the clutch. This would substantiate your theory that it was sent as a gift to a loved one. Mizpah was a derivation from a Hebrew word meaning something akin to 'watchtower' which was used in jewellery to mean 'the Lord watch between me and thee', an innocent religious reference used to convey a far greater depth of meaning. This could be used in mourning jewellery to refer to the distance of a loved one sadly departed or as an early form of sweetheart gift for a loved one far away. It was also a wonderfully romantic way to exchange tokens with a secret or forbidden love without fear of accusation or discovery!"
How fascinating is that?! So now I really do wonder whether the clutch was intended as a wedding keepsake. Thank you so much, Sarah, for sharing this amazing bit of history!
Next up is an antique store find. It's a round metal compact featuring a peacock or pheasant perched on a cherry blossom tree. The characters on the front appeared to be Chinese and the submitter seemed to think it was someone's name. The only other marking it had was the word "lovely" (in English) on the powder puff in the compact (no photo of the puff was provided.)
I posted it on Instagram stories because I know a few very supportive Museum friends read and speak Chinese. I must give a huge thanks to Mimi of Makeupwithdrawal and Mina of Citrine's blog for kindly translating the characters for me! As it turns out, the first character means "beautiful" and the second means "peak" or "summit", so they believed the inscription is the name of the company that made the compact. Also, Mimi thought the compact dated to the 1960s or later, as simplified Chinese was standard by the '60s. How the English word "lovely" got on the powder puff I'm not sure, but perhaps it belonged to a different compact.
Unfortunately I don't know of any vintage Chinese compact companies or makeup brands – I'm only familiar with 21st century ones – but it's a pretty design even if we don't know exactly who made it.
Next up we have the opposite problem: the company was identified, but it's a strange find that I'm not entirely convinced is even a cosmetics object. It's made of velvet (unusual for a powder box) and paper (unusual for a compact). After a little digging I learned that it's a box by Tanfani & Bertarelli, who supplied papal jewels and religious accoutrements – basically they were the Vatican's official supplier of decorations starting in 1905. From the few documents I found online (ads and receipts) it appears Tanfani and Bertarelli were at the address listed on the box from at least the 1920s to the early 1960s. The company changed its name in 1967 so we know it dates prior to that. I asked the husband about the font of the company name since he's a graphic designer, but he indicated it's pretty generic so I'm not sure what decade it's from.
I'm questioning if the box was meant to be a compact given that I couldn't locate any examples of this company making cosmetics or toiletries – they seemed to produce papal jewelry/clothing and medals, so I'm wondering if this box held something else. Perhaps it held a gift or souvenir that the public could purchase at their shop. Especially since the writing on the box translates to "objects of devotion memories" whereas other boxes for official papal medals say "sacred objects" – maybe people could go in and buy a souvenir like a rosary or coin or something and this was the gift box. But it's possible it's a compact or was the gift box for a compact since souvenir compacts were popular back then, and the dimensions look similar to a compact, plus it opens the way a standard compact would. I'm not sure if there was an actual powder puff or if what's shown here is just a wad of cotton, or if there was any powder residue. Those details would help identify it as a powder box or compact with more certainty.
Let's take a quick break from compacts with an old lipstick. The submitter had the brand's name on the tip of his tongue but couldn't remember, so he asked me to take a crack at it. The silhouette of the case is rather common and used by a lot of brands so that's not much help, but there's an L on the cap and the fleur de lis motif would suggest a French brand. Based on other vintage lipsticks and ads, I eliminated Luxor, Luzier, Lucien Lelong, Lancome, Louis Phillipe and Lady Esther. I thought L'Oreal was a possibility based on this blush compact as it incorporates the fleur de lis, but the photos of the lipstick indicate it's a metal case, which means it most likely dates to before 1960. To my knowledge L'Oreal did not sell cosmetics (only haircare) in the U.S. until the late '60s.
My best guess is Lentheric, based on this mascara case which has a similar logo of an L and 3 fleur de lis symbols. This logo dates to the early '50s.
Lentheric appeared to have undergone a lot of packaging changes, so it's unclear when the lipstick in question was made. The company had an interesting fold-out case in the late 20s/early 30s, then a black case with a gold ribbon encircling it, then during the war they shifted to plastic. This one could be a variation from the mid 1930s to early 40s…that is, again, if it's actually Lentheric. I also asked the extremely knowledgeable expert at Cosmetics and Skin to take a peek and he thought it could be Lentheric as well. So that's what I came up with but I don't know for sure. Maybe the letter is actually a T and not an L, but that didn't align with any of the brands of the time (Tangee, Tattoo, Tussy, etc.)
Getting back to compacts, here's one someone dug up at an old bottle dump in Western Montana. This was another that at first glimpse I wasn't sure if it was a compact. The shape and depth seemed to indicate that it could be a snuff box.
The submitter thought the EA on the monogram might stand for Elizabeth Arden, but it didn't look like any of the ones from Elizabeth Arden, and as far as I know the company was never referred to as Elizabeth Arden Co. or E.A. Co. After poking around a bit I have come to believe it's the mark of the E.A. Bliss Co., which eventually became Napier Jewelry.
This particular mark, with a bee at the top, was used from about the 1890s through 1917, according to a listing at Ruby Lane. (Other listings indicate the mark was phased out in 1915…either way, this piece is much older than I originally thought!)
As they were a jewelry company that made tons of accessories – everything from hairpins to belt buckles – knowing the brand and the approximate dates didn't really help determine for sure whether it's a powder compact or snuff container. My hunch is that given the depth, relatively plain design and the lack of a mirror is that it is a snuff box. Ladies' powder containers tended to have more decorative details. For comparison's sake, here's a powder compact by the company from the same era. It is fairly plain, but it has a mirror and it's not as deep.
I really can't say for sure what it is, but we know it's over a century old, so it's a true antique. I'm also not certain about the materials. E.A. Bliss was essentially a fashion jewelry company (i.e., not high-end like Tiffany's) so there were a lot of gilt and silverplate accessories. So this one could be all brass or gold-plated brass. While I couldn't completely unravel the mystery of this object, I was pleased at figuring out who made it and the approximate dates. There's a whole book on the history of Napier too, so maybe there are photos or ads of snuff boxes and powder compacts.
The last one for today is one that I think is 99.9% solved. A very nice Museum supporter in Australia emailed to say that sometime in the late '90s she spotted a Stila compact in David Jones, a department store down under. As with my memory of a Stila mermaid, she thought maybe it was a figment of her imagination. "It was circular, with the rounded lid and relief design, and it was obviously for bronzer since it was a copper colour. This is the part that is driving me crazy: I swear it had a Stila girl on the lid! She closely resembled the girl on the Sun Gel tube (with the sun behind her) but the girl on the compact had a loose braid falling on her left shoulder instead of loose hair, and freckles. I have never seen this compact anywhere since. The only bronzer rounded relief compacts I've seen have the sun's rays or the little scattered stars. Did I imagine it?? I would so appreciate if you could please tell me if this compact exists!"
Fortunately I had good news for her. I'm not sure whether the compact in question was available in the U.S., but something nearly identical was sold in Asia and obviously in Australia where she spotted it. This one is very close to what she described, but the design does not appear to be in relief, just printed on the lid. So perhaps there was a slightly different product with the same Stila girl image but with a relief lid.
There were a couple of Stila compact designs with stars and one was relief and one was flat, so it's entirely possible the same thing happened with this design. As we know, just because an image can't be located online doesn't mean an object didn't exist. But the submitter replied to my findings and after thanking me profusely (always appreciated!) she confirmed that this was in fact the compact she had seen – she was quite certain that she was getting it slightly confused with the others that had a relief design.
And that wraps up today's edition of MM Mailbag. I have so many more inquiries to share…recently I tried to organize all of them into several email folders and noticed that the Museum has received over 320 inquiries since 2009! No wonder I feel like I can't keep up. But your queries are always welcome, so if you have an object or topic you'd like to know more about just send it my way. 🙂 And if anyone can help fully solve the makeup mysteries outlined in today's Mailbag, I'm all ears!
This post has been in the making for literally years. I finally conceded that I couldn't find a complete history of either Benefit's Glamourette compact, released in 2002, or the vintage compact it was based on, House of Platé's Trio-ette (ca. 1944-1947). But I did turn up a few nuggets of information, so figured I'd share the little bit that was readily available.
The House of Platé company was established in 1944 by Robert T. Plate in Detroit. From what I was able to piece together from various archives, it seems Plate was born in 1897 in Lima, Ohio and received a Bachelor's degree in mechanical engineering from the University of Michigan in 1923. Specializing in automobile design, his first job was draftsman for the Willys-Overland Company in Toledo. Beginning in 1932 Plate worked for General Motors, and in 1938 he was doing business as the Plate Manufacturing Company. In 1945 he trademarked the Trio-ette compact under Curly Lox Products. The biggest mystery for me is why Plate decided to market cosmetics. I'm assuming it was a side hustle to earn a little extra cash, or maybe he thought he could become the next Max Factor. (As a side note, Plate moved quite frequently throughout his life, bouncing around from Ohio to Michigan to New York to LA…if it's the same Robert T. Plate, I'm not sure whether he was trying to help his business take off across the country or moving for engineering jobs.)
The design of the compact was based on a "quaint Victorian rose cameo hand mirror" according to one ad. This one is reproduced in Roselyn Gerson's book Vintage and Vogue Ladies' Compacts (2nd edition).
It's really fascinating to see how a mechanical engineer who designed cars approached makeup. Compacts with powder, rouge and lipstick had existed for years, but few had the novelty and charm of the Trio-ette's design. (However, one can definitely tell an engineer also thought of the rather unimaginative House of Platé name. I guess Plate thought adding an accent over the "e" would make it sound vaguely French and therefore instantly appealing.) I'm so disappointed that I wasn't able to find patent drawings despite having the serial number. But maybe the trademark is different than patenting the actual design.
The name on the handle is such a sweet little detail.
As the Trio-ette was conceived and launched during WWII, it was made of plastic, specifically tenite, instead of metal. Tenite apparently is the trade name for a cellulosic plastic created by Eastman Chemicals in 1929. (I wish I knew the difference between tenite, bakelite, and celluloid. Alas, I have no clue.) The Trio-ette was also refillable. This snippet from Drug and Cosmetic Industry shows the refill kit, but the really interesting thing about this blurb is that the journal was not falling for the Trio-ette's hype, claiming it was nothing more than a "gadget" and citing the more "streamlined" designs from established big-name brands. It's true: companies had been making triple compacts for a good 20 years by that point.
Whether it was a novelty or a truly handy compact to carry, the Trio-ette seemed popular, or at least, it was readily available across the entire country in department stores as well as drugstores. Plate, though not a businessman by trade, understood the importance of advertising. In late 1945 he hired NY-based firm Norman D. Waters and Associates to oversee a national campaign they would launch early the following year. The Trio-ette allegedly reduced "bag fumbling" and "makeup fatigue".
As with lipstick mirrors, it was considered a social faux pas to be digging through one's purse to look for your makeup, mostly because it was a potential inconvenience for men. Ladies, with the Trio-ette he won't mind waiting for you to touch up since it won't take long at all – all your makeup is in one place so you won't waste his time searching for it. *eyeroll* These ads certainly paint a picture of gender norms, don't they?
There were other products from House of Platé, including a double-ended lipstick called the Duo-ette and the Vista, a lipstick with a built-in mirror (again, you can see my post on those.)
The Trio-ette came in a variety of colors as well as black ones with a pink rose or a rhinestone border. According to collector's guides, the most valuable colors are blue, pink and green. Personally, while I love all the shades, my most-wanted would be the rhinestone version followed by the green and mock tortoiseshell.
The Trio-ette was quite short-lived. I'm not sure why exactly; it could be that Plate had run into a trademark issue with Curly Lox, or maybe after the war a return to metal compacts was all the rage and plastic fell out of favor. Or it could also be that a copycat was released around the same time. In the UK, a company named Jason released a nearly identical compact in late 1947. The only difference I can see besides the name is that the front of the compact is plain instead of bearing a sculpted rose.
According to the British Compact Collectors Society, the Jason Trio-ette was also known as a "three-in-one" and available in blue, green, ivory, black and tortoiseshell and could be ordered by mail from Targett Tools Ltd., London. It's not clear what, or even if, there was a relationship between House of Platé and Jason.
What's undeniable is the impact the Trio-ette had on future compact designs for the bigger brands. Volupté launched a compact with powder, lipstick handle and outer mirror in 1951 within its Demitasse line, and by 1953 it was advertised as the "Lollipop".
Perhaps another reason for the Trio-ette's brevity was simply that Plate couldn't compete with the more well-known brands, who in addition to name recognition, also had a far bigger advantage in terms of marketing savvy. Coty's Parisienne, for example, was somewhat misleadingly advertised as a "4-in-1" even though it actually only contained two products – the mirror and puff were considered the 3rd and 4th items. While some ads describe the design as a miniature hand mirror just like the Trio-ette, some others claim the Parisienne to be a "replica of a Cartier-designed original," which sounds way fancier than a Victorian hand mirror. Maybe if Plate had hired an agency with sneakier copy writers to advertise the compact differently, it might have had some longevity. As I noted earlier, he was educated as a mechanical engineer and not a businessman, so navigating the world of ad agencies and cosmetics marketing was a tricky prospect.
Anyway, House of Platé dropped the accent over the "e" and inexplicably shifted to making plastic toys by mid-1948, which continued through 1951.
Unfortunately Plate was no longer running a legitimate business at that point. According to a 1951 FTC ruling, essentially the House of Plate was mailing people products they did not order and then demanding payment. It's a common scam that persists today in the form of "free trials" of various products. (A few years ago my own mother was the victim of one of these schemes in the form of a trying out a "free" face cream she was sent.) In 1951 the company was officially dissolved. Plate passed away on December 10, 1966 in Athens, Greece.
Now let's investigate Benefit's Glamourette. First, a little background. Founded as a San Francisco boutique called The Face Place by twin sisters Jane and Jean Ford in 1976, the company was renamed to Benefit in 1990 and launched at Henri Bendel in 1991. The cheeky names and retro vibe quickly made their products best-sellers across the country. In 1997 Benefit made its international debut and was acquired by LMVH in 1999. Using vintage mannequins as their mascots and creating packaging inspired by everything from '20s face powders to '70s lip glosses, Benefit was widely recognized as a fun brand that lightheartedly saluted beauty products of yesteryear.
The company had firmly established its playful kitschy take on cosmetics by the early 2000s, but why they decided to draw on the Trio-ette specifically is unclear. None of their other products seemed to be literal remakes of a particular piece of makeup from earlier times. As with the Trio-ette, I wish I could hunt down the patent drawings for their version of the compact. I also wish I could find anyone who worked for Benefit during that time and see if they have any inside information as to what inspired the company to update the Trio-ette. We know that the Ford sisters were vintage collectors, so maybe one of them came across a Trio-ette and thought it was the perfect compact to use in their line, but why?
Let's compare the Glamourette with the Trio-ette. I would have done a smackdown because they are nearly identical but pitting a spry 20-year-old against a 70+ relic didn't seem like a fair fight. Obviously the formulas for the makeup itself were updated with newer ingredients.
The lace pattern on the inside of the lid is a nice nod to the pink floral pattern that appears on the insert included with the Trio-ette.
Instead of a rose on the lid Benefit used an abstract squiggle design. Also, I don't think the Glamourette was offered in other colors; to my knowledge, only black plastic was available.
The lipstick mechanism appears to be the same between the two compacts, but Divine's rosy brown hue is unmistakably '90s/early 2000s. Instead of the company's name on the cap there's a sticker saying "lipstick". I would have strongly preferred Benefit's name rather than a totally unnecessary sticker. I know people are dumb but it's pretty obvious it's lipstick…no need for a sticker.
Interestingly, the powder and blush are reversed from the Trio-ette, i.e. the blush is on the inner part of the compact and the powder is on the outer side. You could also swap out the powder for Fancy Lady cream highlighter.
The shade range for the face products had not improved since the 1940s. In fact, I suspect the Glamourette's was even worse. I'm not 100% sure, but it's my understanding from reviews that Fancy Lady didn't come in any other shades besides a pale ivory/champagne. And while I can't make out this tiny photo, it looks like Fascinating Finish powder, appallingly, also only came in one very light shade.* I know it was 2002, but I was pretty into makeup by then and I distinctly remember just about every line having at least 3 options for face powders and tinted moisturizers by then: light, medium and dark. It's absolutely inexcusable that Benefit didn't offer the bare minimum for face powder shades in the Glamourette compact.
Getting back to comparing the two, unlike the Trio-ette, the Glamourette came with a wristlet that could be used as a storage pouch. It's a very sheer piece of organza that I don't think would have been too helpful in terms of preventing wear and tear, but interesting to note.
Obviously the advertising for the Glamourette was similar to its 1940s counterpart. Both touted ease of use, refillable products and chic, vintage-inspired packaging. Bag fumbling was still presented as a tedious time waster for the new millennium's busy modern woman. Perhaps as a sort of snooty counterpoint to the golden age of trashy reality TV and super glossy, frosty makeup finishes that appealed more to teens than adults, the Glamourette was also described as "discreet" and something a "real lady" would carry, whatever that means.
The Glamourette was generally well-received. There are a few reviews on Makeupalley gushing over its cuteness and convenience while acknowledging it was a gimmick. One reviewer mentioned she would pass it on to her 11 year-old daughter in a few years, so Benefit helped rekindle the notion of makeup as a keepsake. While most MUA'ers felt the amount of product was a bit stingy for the price point, overall they loved the style and found the compact practical for a night out. Several reviews also pointed out the similarity to the black plastic packaging of Anna Sui's line.
Speaking of product amounts, I don't have the exact numbers for the Trio-ette, but if they were the same as the Glamourette, the latter was actually a better deal. The Trio-ette retailed for $5.50 in 1946, and according to an inflation calculator it would have cost about $51 in 2002 when the Glamourette was being sold. Glamourette's retail was $38 ($55 CAD and £32.50 in the UK). I also find it amusing that the reviews commented on how streamlined and tiny the compact was when Glamourette is actually a smidge larger than the Trio-ette, which was described as "bulky" in the Drug and Cosmetic Industry article. As we know, makeup packaging gradually got bigger over the years, so the Glamourette demonstrates how both design and consumer expectations changed.
Despite the amount of press and good reviews, the Glamourette was a limited edition item that did not return to the market after its brief two-year stint. Even against the backdrop of '90s/early aughts' nostalgia for mid-century styles (see also Too-Faced's Quickie Chronicles) maybe the Glamourette was too retro for most customers. I know when I laid eyes on it I thought it was cute but overly vintage-looking for my taste. It could also have been the type of products included. While there absolutely was and will always be a demand among those sticking to simple polished looks and makeup classics in neutral tones, in the early 2000s traditional lipstick, face powder and blush weren't the most wanted product categories among the younger crowd. Says one Makeupalley reviewer, "It has powder and blush which I never use to touch-up, so I'd never carry this with me. And it also has lipstick, and I'm not a fan of lipstick. If they replaced it with concealer, bronzer, and lipgloss, I'd sell my soul for it!!" Perhaps a tiny sifter of body glitter may also have been more palatable for a Y2k audience. Finally, the lack of shades for anyone whose skin was deeper than mayonnaise obviously eliminated a good portion of the market.
I still can't wrap my head around why Benefit chose this exact compact. I'm just spitballing here, but maybe it's precisely because House of Platé wasn't a well-known brand that's still sold today. Perhaps Benefit didn't want to risk running into copyright issues that may have occurred if they chose to release an updated version of, say, Revlon's Futurama cases. The patents for those designs may have expired, but the companies are still around and significantly larger than Benefit was – although it was owned by LMVH by that point, Benefit's rivals had the potential to take legal action if the company tried to update an iconic product from their archives.
Even though there's a 55 year age gap between the Trio-ette and the Glamourette, their advertising and reception were remarkably similar. So much had changed between 1947 and 2002, yet the design appealed to totally different audiences. As Drug and Cosmetic Industry noted with the Trio-ette, people love a novelty product even if the underlying concept – in this instance, having three makeup products in one attention-getting case – has been done before. It got me thinking about how a third iteration of the compact would be marketed and received today. The small sizes and refills would be attractive to today's makeup consumers, but the compact would have to be made out of sustainable packaging; plastic won't play well. Maybe the products could be even smaller to make space for brushes rather than puffs. There would probably have to be some kind of emphasis on "wellness" and "self-care" or at the very least, "clean" (sigh), vegan and ethically-sourced ingredients. Most importantly, the shades would need to accommodate all skintones. One parting thought: I'd also be curious to see what would happen if a company released it not today but 55 years after the Glamourette. I wonder how makeup customers in 2057 would react.
What do you think of the designs of these compacts? Do you have a preference for one or the other? And do you like having your makeup all in one place? I could see using something like this for touch-ups, but it would still fall short. Until a product is developed that combines concealer, powder, blotting sheets and lip color all in one, I'm destined to dig around in my bag.
*There was an article in Global Cosmetic Industry from 2002 that lists the following colors for Glamourette blush and lipstick refills. It doesn't make any mention of multiple shades being available for the highlighter and powder. "Rouges in Divine, Fickle and Coy, Fascinating Finish Translucent Powder and Fancy Lady Highlighting Creme are priced at $11.00 each. The line offers Lip shades priced at $9.00 each in Keen (champagne pearl), Vain (vibrant red), Divine (rich plum), Swell (dusty rose), Prim (pink-cocoa pearl), and Coy (mocha apricot) varieties." I cannot for the life of me locate the article now but I know it existed!