As usual, I forget exactly what I was searching for at newspapers.com when, about a month ago, I stumbled across a very interesting article from 1938. I know the search term must have included Richard Hudnut’s name, but beyond that I can’t remember. In any case I was delighted to uncover a profile of a rather remarkable man. Thomas R. “Tommy” Lewis apparently designed many of the compact cases for perfumer Richard Hudnut from possibly the mid-1920s through at least the ’30s. Both Collecting Vintage Compacts and Cosmetics and Skin have excellent histories of the brand, so you can check them out there. I, however, will be focusing on Lewis and some of the compacts he may have created. The reason why I felt such a compelling need to share his story is a matter of race: Lewis was one of very few American Black jewelers in his day, and one who overcame both racism and poverty to establish his own very successful jewelry firm. In honor of Black History Month I thought it would be appropriate to share as much information as I was able to find on Lewis, and hopefully I can do it without whitesplaining or tokenizing. I offer my sincere apologies in advance if I offend! (Constructive criticism is welcome; mean comments are not).
According to another article written in 1935 that I found online, Lewis was born into an impoverished family in Providence, Rhode Island. Undaunted by his circumstances and without the support of his parents or siblings, he attended RISD with the hopes of becoming a jeweler, earning a scholarship in the process. After graduating he worked for a leading jewelry manufacturer in Providence for several years, then struck out on his own.
I was unable to find the date he started his company or much other information besides what was in these two articles. The 1935 online article says that he started his business 27 years prior, so I’m assuming he established it in 1908; however, the 1938 article says that he had been in business for 26 years, so maybe it was 1912. And there’s no information on his relationship with Hudnut other than what was in that article, so when he started making compacts for them is unclear. The only (rather patronizing) mention is as follows:1 “Visit the cosmetics department in any first class store, ask the clerk to show you a Richard Hudnut powder compact and then surprise him by telling him that he is looking at the work of a [Black] man. Everyone of those compacts was designed and produced here in a plant at 19 Calendar Street, the home of the Lewis Jewelry Manufacturing Firm. The same is true of their perfume bottles, for Mr. Lewis works on glass as well as platinum, gold, silver or any other metal from which jewelry or ornaments can be made. The Richard Hudnut people are among his biggest customers, but not his most consistent. That honor is reserved for other jewelry manufacturers who regularly send in their commissions for original designs in bracelets, watch chains and other novelty jewelry.” So it seems that while Hudnut was not the biggest source of business for Lewis’s company, we know that he was designing all of their compacts by 1938, and presumably earlier. When I purchased these compacts for the Museum I made sure to select ones that I could get specific dates for, i.e. compacts that were plausibly produced by Lewis given the approximate timeline, and also ones that seemed to be the most jewelry-inspired.
First up is the original “twin” compact, which was introduced in late 1922. I didn’t realize this until after I bought it, but this double case was designed by a man named Ralph Wilson in 1921 and patented in early 1922. Wilson was the New York representative for Theodore W. Foster and Bro. Company, a prominent compact and jewelry manufacturer. Foster, like Lewis, was also based in Providence, so maybe there might be some connection between this company and Lewis’s – perhaps this is the company Lewis worked for after graduating from RISD? In any case, we have proof that the twin compact was created by a company other than Lewis’s, so this is not his work. I still like to think, though, that Lewis may have apprenticed with Foster, grew familiar with Hudnut’s aesthetic and went on to earn the company’s favor over Foster.
How cool is this? You flip over the blush and there’s powder on the other side. Genius.
Hudnut’s Deauville fragrance was introduced in 1924. Again, no telling whether this was done by Lewis, but probably not given that it’s basically the same interior mechanism as the earlier twin compact.
Le Début, a fragrance available in 5 different variants that were color-coordinated to their bottles and powder compacts, well, debuted in 1927. I was fortunate enough to track down an original ad for these beauties. They’re actually pretty common – I was able to find all the colors shown in the ad – but in the end I thought the black one was the most elegant. (Okay, I really love the silver one too!)
In the 1938 photo below it states that Lewis designed the “famous Richard Hudnut compact”, but I really have no idea which one they’re referring to. It could be Le Début, or it could be the “triple vanity” compacts designed in the mid ’30s.
This enameled, oh-so-Deco case came out in 1936, according to the newspaper ads I found, and the last mention of it was in 1938. Again, it’s funny how certain objects call to you. This one was also available in a variety of colors, but I just knew the red belonged in the Museum.
The triple vanities had three compartments for powder, blush and lipstick.
The ad also mentions jewelry several times, so I’m hopeful it was made by Lewis’s hand.
Lastly, I picked up this stunner, which dates to about 1939. Evidently between this one, the Three Flowers compact and the silver Evans compacts I have a thing for sunburst patterns, probably because they remind me of glorious sunny days.
How exquisite is this jewel detail? And in such impeccable shape for a nearly 80 year-old compact – it’s mind-boggling that none of the stones are missing.
To give you a sense of how dainty and small these triple vanities are, here they are with one of NARS’ highlighting trios.
Getting back to Lewis, I can’t say for sure whether his company was responsible for any of these compacts; I can only hope at least some of these jewelry-inspired designs were his. The fact that the 1935 article doesn’t specifically mention Richard Hudnut makes me think that perhaps Lewis wasn’t designing compacts for Hudnut until somewhere between 1936-1938. But it’s also entirely possible he had been producing compacts for them for years. In any case, I want to highlight just how difficult it was for a Black man in the 1900s to not only get out of poverty, but graduate from one of the top design schools in the country AND start his own business that eventually employed up to 60 workers in the busy seasons. As the 1935 profile states: “But jeweler, designer, silversmith? What chance would he have? Where could he work? Who ever heard of a [Black] man, a designer, a master craftsman in the jewelry trade of all trades! One can imagine what would have been Lewis’s fate if his ambitions had been left in the hands of some of the so-called vocational guidance counselors who are at the present time shaping the lifework of many [Black] students in the public schools of our large cities. According to the formula which they use, there are no [Black] jewelers now in existence, hence no future; it would be impossible for a [Black] silversmith to get a job since he cannot belong to the union, and the white jewelers would not employ him anyhow.” Through incredibly hard work and innate talent, Lewis persevered, not only becoming a success himself but also helping others do the same. Most of his employees were Black, and Lewis provided them with better wages than other jewelry firms in Providence as well as training.
I just wish I could have found more information and photos to make for a somewhat complete biography. Searching online for Lewis’s company yielded nothing, as did basic searches for Lewis himself. I ended up contacting the Rhode Island Historical Society and they kindly provided census records indicating his year of birth (1880), but said they didn’t have any business records related to Lewis’s company, which I think is bizarre. If it was as prolific as the articles claim it was, and if it really did provide hundreds of thousands of pieces of costume jewelry to the likes of Saks and Woolworth’s and compacts for Hudnut, I find it very strange that there are absolutely zero traces of his company left save for these two profiles. Especially since the 1938 article even gives the address of his workshop – with that specific type of information there should be historic maps or architectural records listing it. He also apparently had over 200 patents to his name, none of which I was able to find. I guess the saddest part is that there are tons of other stories like Lewis’s, and we simply don’t hear about them. So many histories for non-white people are erased or buried, and I really wanted to bring Lewis’s story to the surface because it was truly outstanding (and not only because it’s Black History Month…I just so happened to find the newspaper article around a month ago and thought the timing worked out nicely). I really hope this post didn’t come across as patronizing or me highlighting a “token” Black person.2 I find Lewis’s story impressive not because I can’t believe a Black man could ever be creative and intelligent enough to start a jewelry firm, but because of all he had to overcome to achieve his goals. “Perhaps it is the memory of a [Black] boy with a dream to become a jeweler, a silversmith, a designer, a [Black] boy who kept his dream despite the doubts of his family from within and racial prejudice from without. For Thomas Lewis is an artist and so he believes in young men and young women with dreams.”
Thoughts?
Update, 11/24/2022: One of the Museum’s Instagram followers alerted me to a video made by a vintage compact collector who mentioned Tommy Lewis while showing some of her Hudnut collection. It got me thinking whether anything else on Lewis had been discovered and lo and behold, two students from Rhode Island College were able to unearth some more information, including a map showing where his store and factory were! While it didn’t shed any light on Lewis’s relationship with the Hudnut company, their article surely adds more to this important piece of history. Lewis was born on April 5, 1880 and graduated from RISD in 1902. In 1925 a lacquer explosion caused a fire at Lewis’s shop located at 171 Eddy Street, which damaged much of the building. I’m wondering if some of the early business records were lost in that fire. Throughout his life, in addition to providing training and employment for Black workers, he was a philanthropist and active in the YMCA and other community organizations. Lewis passed away in 1958. I can only hope someone writes a full biography of this exceptionally talented man, but in the meantime sure to check out the article at rhodetour.org. Oh, and they even included the Makeup Museum’s original article as a “related resource”. I’m so honored!
1 I spent several hours googling whether it was acceptable to type the word “c*lored” if I was quoting from an old newspaper article. In the end I realized I personally didn’t feel comfortable using it even if it was a quote, so I replaced it with “black”.
2 I rarely, if ever, highlight makeup histories featuring people of color, i.e. Madam C.J. Walker, Annie Turnbo Malone, etc. because I’m not sure whether it’s okay for a white person to do that – while I think their stories absolutely need to be heard and recorded, once again I fear that it would come off as whitesplaining or tokenizing if I attempted to write about them. In the case of Tommy Lewis, there was such scant information available I’d figure I’d make an exception in order to at least introduce him and his work.
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Welcome to the fall exhibition, finally! I know you're probably more excited about holiday releases at this point, but I still wanted to do a proper fall exhibition, late though it is. I had originally planned a very different exhibition – a retrospective devoted to an extremely talented and successful makeup artist who has become my obsession over the past few years – but ultimately decided that, much like my failed '90s makeup exhibition, I just couldn't do it the way I envisioned. I was also concerned that in the unlikely event of "Mother" herself catching wind of it, she might be a bit peeved that I staged an exhibition dedicated to her work in my bedroom, as I think it would be rather insulting to someone of her renown. I'm not letting go of the concept, of course, but it will have to wait until I can use a proper gallery or museum space for it*. So in lieu of that, I thought this fall I'd do another exhibition I've been wanting to do for a couple years now. Every autumn I seem to be more entranced by the magic and mystery of the forest. Perhaps it's my 11 year long status as a city dweller, or my love of woodland critters, but lately I've been loving the idea of relaxing in front of a roaring fire in a beautiful rustic cabin somewhere in the forest…or since I'm not really the outdoors/camping type, maybe a short evening hike in the woods surrounded by moonlight and the sounds of the animals would be more my speed. In any case, the vibe I was going for was about 20% enchanted, 1% scary (hey, the forest at night can be a little unnerving), but 79% peaceful and calm.
I thought this wonderful illustration by Alexandra Dvornikova perfectly represented the particular forest mood I was trying to capture. It's even better in its original animated version.
I'll be doing a follow-up post on why I chose the objects I did, the ones that didn't make it in and some other things that inspired me. In the meantime, welcome to fall 2017 at the Museum!
(Click to enlarge.)
Top row, left to right.
You would not believe (or be-leaf? haha!) how many vintage compacts I found with leaf patterns.
Okay, okay, I KNOW the Moschino seems out of place as it's technically a teddy bear and not one you'd find in the forest. But a certain little Museum intern begged me to include it, since there are so few bear-shaped makeup items. The Lamis King lipstick case is the only other one I can think of and that one is definitely more of a wild forest mama bear, what with being perched on a tree stump cuddling her cub.
I was positively elated to find not only these two compacts but also the original ad, as it contains the name and date of the design. I have no idea why that little dude is standing next to it though. I mean obviously it's part of an article, but it's just…weird. I'm guessing he was a jockey?
This little sparrow is actually from the fall 2015 collection and not 2014, which means the label is wrong. Whoops.
So pleased to come across this compact and in such good condition. I was determined to find an ad for it and I did! Not a magazine ad but there was a newspaper one, so I "clipped" it online and printed it out.
I realize the ad is for a completely different product than the compact, but they're both full of appley goodness. 🙂
Third row, left to right.
I feel like indie companies are really leading the way in terms of creating some new and innovative brush designs. These flower-filled ones seemed a little spring to me at first, but then I read they're filled with seasonal dried flowers so I figured they were appropriate for fall. And the deep green of the pouch is very autumnal as well.
These items were also quite a find! I literally typed "fox lip balm" into Google and landed on this site, which sells a line called Folklore. And fortunately they ship to the U.S. I was also so happy to see this vintage squirrel compact – felt like I just had to buy it since it's the husband's spirit animal. It's not in quite as good shape as this one, but all the marcasite was still intact so I went for it.
So sad that the label for this is basically blank, but I still never uncovered any more information about these mysterious Shiseido Chinese zodiac figurines.
Last but not least in this row, the owl shelf. This one's for my mom since she loves owls. 🙂
The eyeshadow on the left is another piece from Paul & Joe's fall 2015 collection and the highlighting powder is from the holiday 2014 collection. The eyeshadow with the two owls is from fall 2005, and I remember being dismayed that I couldn't find their fall 2005 runway collection anywhere online so I could see if it had the owls. Then a few years ago I was flipping through an issue of Lucky magazine (I still miss it) and lo and behold, spotted the owls in action – not on clothing but on a pillow in some rich hipster chick's living room. How serendipitous! Of course I tore it out and saved it in case I ever exhibited the eyeshadow (and also because I'm a hoarder.)
Chantecaille Save the Forest and Protect the Wolves palettes:
This one is another mystery. I've seen this shape of Helena Rubinstein compact before and the date was listed as 1962, but have been unable to find it in any ads. I'm wondering if these were only distributed in countries outside the U.S. since they're relatively hard to find and don't appear in any American newspapers. Obviously the Heaven Sent compacts with the angel date sometime after 1941 since that's when the fragrance was released, but this one with the deer on it is strange – I have no idea why it would be connected to the Heaven Sent fragrance. My hunch is that it's actually related to their Moonlight Mist scent. Still, the compact's shape and style look way earlier than 1962 or even 1956 when Moonlight Mist was released.
And finally, Stila fall 2006 blush and eyeshadow trios:
And that concludes the fall 2017 exhibition! Did you feel as though you were deep in an enchanted forest, hearing squirrels romping and leaves crunching under your feet? I hope so! And let me know what your favorite item in the exhibition was. :)
*I missed the deadline for MICA's call for proposals for their annual Curator's Incubator show, but I plan on submitting one next year.
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I much prefer email for inquiries but am always excited to receive them in any format, so when someone Tweeted at me last year to request any information on the vintage item below I eagerly began searching. The person who sent the Tweet thought it might be Rimmel, but the name Po-Go was not a Rimmel product as far as I could tell.
Online searched proved fruitless – I couldn't find any reference to Po-Go rouge whatsoever…until a few months ago when I was researching lipstick tissues at newspapers.com and spotted an ad for Po-Go Rouge in the very bottom corner of an article. I was so excited to have found something even though it was roughly a year since the poor person had originally Tweeted at me. I found some basic information, but let me just say up front that definitively dating the various Po-Go Rouge pots I came across in ads and elsewhere proved rather difficult, if not impossible. Still, I was able to get some clues and can narrow them down to the span of a few years. Come with me on my research adventure!
I forget what I typed in to Google, but miraculously I came across another specimen at the Museu del Perfum. Fortunately this item has the back label displayed.
So from there I typed in all sorts of phrases, but the one that got the results I was looking for was "vintage Guy T. Gibson, inc. New York". Via several perfumeblogs I discovered that Guy T. Gibson was established in 1921 by a perfume importer, J.S. Wiedhopf. The Vintage Perfume Vault explains: "As a young man, Wiedhopf worked for the Alfred H. Smith Company, who were the only stateside importers of Djerkiss perfume. After he learned the business and perhaps sensing there were more lucrative opportunities, Wiedhopf struck out on his own. In 1921 he started his own business, Guy T Gibson Inc. There he began to import the exclusive Parisian brand Parfums Caron, which he sold to American customers in his New York retail shop. Soon Wiedhopf began offering perfumes under his own label, although the scents were actually being manufactured and bottled by Gamilla in France." Wiedhopf's perfume brand was known as Ciro, and rarely came up when advertising Po-Go Rouge. Why Wiedhopf chose a totally different name for the company and why he decided to sell imported rouge along with perfumes I don't know, but as of April 1922 he had set up shop at 565 Fifth Avenue, as shown on the Po-Go label above and this office space ad below.
The earliest mention of the product that I found was October 1923.
Here are some from 1924.
This one is notable for being one of two ads I could find that actually mentions that Po-Go and Parfums Ciro are both imported by Guy T. Gibson, Inc.
The shade name listed on the one from the perfume museum is Vif, the first mention of which I found was in 1927. However, what leaves me scratching my head is that the packaging also seems to be different starting in 1927. The full Paris address is listed on the perfume museum's item, which is consistent with the labels we saw in the 1924 ads, but there was no mention of the Vif shade until 1927…and you'll notice the label below has changed to simply "Paris, France". So how did a container that is presumably dated 1924-25 hold a shade that wasn't introduced until 1927?
Anyway, the earliest mention of two more new shades (Saumon and Cardinal) was in February 1930. I just had to include an ad from June 1930 as well even though the text is the same. How cute is that girl with her little paint palette?! I'm always looking for ads and packaging that take the "makeup as art" literally, since I think it would make a great exhibition and/or book. 😉
By March 1932 Po-Go had expanded to include lipstick. I don't know what a "Frenchy" case is but it sounds very fancy.
I suppose the reason Wiedhopf branched out into blush and lipstick in addition to perfumes was to capitalize on the already entrenched obsession with French beauty, judging from the ads. (That would make a fantastic paper or even a whole book, no? While I was browsing these old newspapers I stumbled across a great news article from February 1923 that talks all about how the fashionable Parisian women are wearing their blush and lipstick and how Americans are so uncouth by comparison…proof that our obsession with "French girl beauty" goes back way longer than we would assume!)
Now you know I was on the hunt for a Po-Go Rouge of my very own. I've been having excellent beauty luck lately (knock wood it sticks around) and this was just another incredibly fortuitous find. It's in pretty darn good shape too – a little wear on the outside but the product itself is totally intact and the puff is unused.
Speaking of the puff…OMG. So. Cute.
You can see how tiny it is – our blush nowadays are supersized in comparison.
For this lovely addition to the Museum's collection, I was actually able to date it within a few years. First, you'll notice that the shade name on the back is Saumon, which, as we saw previously, wasn't introduced until 1930. Additionally, the early Po-Go packages (ca. 1923-25) had the shade listed on the side.
Next, the label on the front has done away with the "Paris, France" and replaced it with "Parfums Ciro, Distributor, New York", while the one on the back also lists Parfums Ciro instead of Guy T. Gibson, which was what the Museu del Perfum rouge label listed. The Vintage Perfume Vault notes that Wiedhopf officially changed his company's name from Guy T. Gibson to Parfums Ciro in 1936. This would explain an ad from the same year which notes that Po-Go Rouge is from Ciro.
Finally, while Parfums Ciro lasted until the mid-60s, the last mention of Po-Go Rouge I could find in newspapers was from September 1942. So basically, the Po-Go Rouge I have must date between 1936 and 1942 or thereabouts. I will say that the puff in the one I have looks markedly different than the one in the 1936 ad, but consistent with the one that was Tweeted and in other previous ads, so I'm not really sure what that means. In any case, after all this I was dismayed that I couldn't give an exact date for the Po-Go Rouge that was brought to my attention via Twitter, since the biggest clues are the sides and back of the container and the top is too blurry to read. The text does seem too long to be "Paris, France", so my best guess that it's either very early (with the original Paris address), or after 1936 with the Parfums Ciro label like the one I have, since the text for both of those extend further on each side. Another clue is the indentation on the front, which is consistent with the one from Museu del Perfum – this may mean it's on the earlier side since the later one I have doesn't have a pronounced indentation. The color is also a little strange, as both mine and the one from Museu del Perfum are reddish, while the one that was shared with me online is pink. I'm not sure whether the color has faded significantly or if the container was damaged, but perhaps it was yet another hallmark of a very early version of Po-Go. This 1929 ads highlights "the gay red box", so it wasn't pink at that point, and the ad copy also implies that there was one colored box for all shades, i.e. different shades weren't packaged in different colored boxes. (Still love this Parisian artiste!)
So that's really the best I can do without seeing the back label or making out the print on the lid. Alas. While I didn't get exact answers for the request, at least I had a ton of fun poking around newspaper archives and comparing packaging, two of my favorite things! I did reply excitedly to the the submitter on Twitter and it doesn't seem she's online very much now, but hopefully she'll see this post eventually if she goes back on social media.
Do you agree with my assessment?
The life of a makeup museum curator is insanely glamorous. For example, a lot of people go out on Friday nights, but not me – I have way more thrilling plans. I usually browse for vintage makeup at Ebay and Etsy on my phone while in bed and am completely passed out by 8pm. EXCITING. It was during one of these Friday night escapades that I came across a fabulous box of vintage lipstick pads and naturally, that sent me down quite the rabbit hole. Today I'm discussing a cosmetics accessory that has gone the way of the dodo: lipstick tissues. This is by no means a comprehensive history, but I've put together a few interesting findings. I just wish I had access to more than my local library (which doesn't have much), a free trial subscription to newspapers.com and the general interwebz, as anyone could do that meager level of "research". I would love to be able to dig deeper and have more specific information, but in lieu of that, I do hope you enjoy what I was able to throw together.
The earliest mention of lipstick tissues that I found was January 1932. It makes sense, as several patents were filed for the same design that year.
While they might have existed in the 1920s, I'm guessing lipstick tissues didn't become mainstream until the early 30s, as this December 1932 clipping refers to them as new, while another columnist in December 1932 says she just recently discovered them (and they are so mind-blowing they were clearly invented by a woman, since "no mere man could be so ingenious".)
In addition to the tear-off, matchbook-like packages, lipstick tissues also came rolled in a slim case.
This lovely Art Deco design by Richard Hudnut debuted in 1932 and was in production at least up until 1934. I couldn't resist buying it.
By 1935, restaurants and hotels had gotten wind of lipstick tissues' practicality for their businesses, while beauty and etiquette columnists sang their praises. Indeed, using linens or towels to remove one's lipstick was quickly becoming quite the social blunder by the late 30s.
Kleenex was invented in 1924, but it wasn't until 1937, when the company had the grand idea to insert tissues specifically for lipstick removal into a matchbook like package, that these little wonders really took off. You might remember these from my post on the Smithsonian's collection of beauty and hygiene items. The warrior/huntress design was used throughout 1937 and 1938.
Kleenex started upping the ante by 1938, selling special cases for their lipstick tissues and launching campaigns like these "true confessions", which appeared in Life magazine (and which I'm sure were neither true nor confessions.) With these ads, Kleenex built upon the existing notion that using towels/linens to remove lipstick was the ultimate etiquette faux pas, and one that could only be avoided by using their lipstick tissues.
These ads really gave the hard sell, making it seem as though one was clearly raised by wolves if they didn't use lipstick tissues. Or any tissues, for that matter. Heaven forbid – you'll be a social pariah!
Look, you can even use these tissues to cheat on your girlfriend! (insert eyeroll here)
Not only that, Kleenex saw the opportunity to collaborate with a range of companies as a way to advertise both the companies' own goods/services and the tissues themselves. By the early '40s it was difficult to find a business that didn't offer these gratis with purchase, or at least, according to this 1945 article, "national manufacturers of goods women buy." And by 1946, it was predicted that women would be expecting free tissue packets to accompany most of their purchases.
Needless to say, most of them consisted of food (lots of baked goods, since apparently women were tethered to their ovens), and other domestic-related items and services, like hosiery, hangers and dry cleaning.
Naturally I had to buy a few of these examples for the Museum's collection. Generally speaking, they're pretty inexpensive and plentiful. The only one I shelled out more than $5 for was the Hudnut package since that one was a little more rare and in such excellent condition. Interestingly, these have a very different texture than what we know today as tissues. Using contemporary Kleenex to blot lipstick only results in getting little fuzzy bits stuck to your lips, but these vintage tissues have more of a blotting paper feel, perhaps just a touch thicker and ever so slightly less papery. It could be due to old age – paper's texture definitely changes over time – but I think these were designed differently than regular tissues you'd use for a cold.
Anyway, Museum staff encouraged me to buy the cookie one. 😉
I took this picture so you could get a sense of the size. It seems the official Kleenex ones were a little bigger than their predecessors.
Wouldn't it be cool to go to a restaurant and see one of these at the table? It would definitely make the experience seem more luxurious. I certainly wouldn't feel pressure to use them for fear of committing a social sin, I just think it would be fun.
I figured having a restaurant/hotel tissue packet would be a worthy addition to the Museum's collection, since it's another good representation of the types of businesses that offered them. I'd love to see a hotel offer these as free souvenirs.
Here's an example that doesn't fit neatly into the baked goods/cleaning/hotel categories.
This one is also interesting. Encouraging women to be fiscally responsible is obviously more progressive than advertising dry cleaning and corn nut muffins, but it's important to remember that at the time these were being offered by Bank of America (ca. 1963), a woman could have checking and savings accounts yet still was unable to take out a loan or credit card in her own name. One step forward, 5 steps back.
I was very close to buying these given how cute the graphics are, but didn't want to spend $20. (I think they're now reduced to $12.99, if you'd like to treat yourself.)
Plus, I already have these DuBarry tissues in the collection.
Funny side note: I actually found a newspaper ad for these very same tissues! It was dated July 27, 1948, which means the approximate dates I included in my DuBarry post were accurate.
By the late '40s, lipstick tissues had transcended handbags and became popular favors for various social occasions, appearing at country club dinner tables to weddings and everything in between. I'm guessing this is due to the fact that custom colors and monogramming were now available to individual customers rather than being limited to businesses.
"Bride-elect"? Seriously?
While the matchbook-sized lipstick tissues are certainly quaint, if you wanted something even fancier to remove your lipstick, lipstick pads were the way to go. These are much larger and thicker than Kleenex and came imprinted with lovely designs and sturdy outer box. This was the item that made me investigate lipstick tissues. I mean, look at those letters! I was powerless against their charm.
I couldn't find anything on House of Dickinson, but boy did they make some luxe lipstick pads.
This design is so wonderful, I'd almost feel bad using these. If I were alive back then I'd probably go digging through my purse to find the standard Kleenex ones.
I also couldn't really date these too well. There's a nearly identical box by House of Dickinson on Ebay and the description for that dates them to the '60s, which makes sense given the illustration of the woman's face and the rounded lipstick bullet – both look early '60s to my eye.
However, the use of "Milady" and the beveled shape of the lipstick bullet, both of which were more common in the '30s and '40s, make me think the ones I have are earlier.
By the mid-late '60s, it seems lipstick tissues had gone out of favor. The latest reference I found in newspapers dates to November 1963, and incidentally, in cartoon form.
I'm not sure what caused lipstick tissues to fall by the wayside. It could be that there were more lightweight lipstick formulas on the market at that point, which may not have stained linens and towels as easily as their "indelible" predecessors – these lipsticks managed to easily transfer from the lips but still remained difficult to remove from cloth. Along those lines, the downfall of lipstick tissues could also be attributed to the rise of sheer, shiny lip glosses that didn't leave much pigment behind.
While these make the most sense, some deeper, more political and economic reasons may be considered as well. Perhaps lipstick tissues came to be viewed as too stuffy and hoity-toity for most and started to lose their appeal. My mother pointed out that lipstick tissues seemed to be a rich people's (or at least, an upper-middle class) thing – the type of woman who needed to carry these in her handbag on the reg was clearly attending a lot of fancy soirees, posh restaurants and country club dinners. This priceless clipping from 1940 also hints at the idea of lipstick tissues as a sort of wealth indicator, what with the mention of antique table tops and maids.
Lipstick tissues were possibly directed mostly at older, well-to-do "ladies who lunch", and a younger generation couldn't afford to or simply wasn't interested in engaging in such formal social practices as removing one's lipstick on special tissues. Plus, I'm guessing the companies that used lipstick tissues to advertise labored under the impression that most women were able to stay home and not work. With a husband to provide financially, women could devote their full attention to the household so advertising bread recipes and dry cleaning made sense. This train of thought leads me, naturally, to feminism: as with the waning popularity of ornate lipstick holders, perhaps the liberated woman perceived lipstick tissues as too fussy – a working woman needed to pare down her beauty routine and maybe didn't even wear lipstick at all. Lipstick tissues are objectively superfluous no matter what brainwashing Kleenex was attempting to achieve through their marketing, so streamlining one's makeup regimen meant skipping items like lipstick tissues. Similarly, after reading Betty Friedan's 1963 landmark feminist screed The Feminine Mystique, perhaps many women stopped buying lipstick tissues when they realized they had bigger fish to fry than worrying about ruining their linens. Then again, one could be concerned about women's role in society AND be mindful of lipstick stains; the two aren't mutually exclusive. And the beauty industry continued to flourish throughout feminism's second wave and is still thriving today, lipstick tissues or not, so I guess feminism was not a key reason behind the end of the tissues' reign. I really don't have a good answer as to why lipstick tissues disappeared while equally needless beauty items stuck around or continue to be invented (looking at you, brush cleansers). And I'm not sure how extra lipstick tissues really are, as many makeup artists still recommend blotting one's lipstick to remove any excess to help it last longer and prevent feathering or transferring to your teeth.
In any case, I kind of wish lipstick tissue booklets were still produced, especially if they came in pretty designs. Sure, makeup remover wipes get the job done, but they're so…inelegant compared to what we've seen. One hack is to use regular facial blotting sheets, since texture-wise they're better for blotting than tissues and some even have nice packaging, so they're sort of comparable to old-school lipstick tissues. Still, there's something very appealing about using a highly specific, if unnecessary cosmetics accessory. I'm not saying we should bring back advertising tie-ins to domestic chores or the social stigma attached to not "properly" removing one's lipstick on tissues, but I do like the idea of sheets made just for blotting lipstick, solely for the enjoyment of it. I view it like I do scented setting sprays – while I don't think they do much for my makeup's longevity, there's something very pleasing about something, like, say, MAC Fruity Juicy spray, which is coconut scented and comes in a bottle decorated with a cheerful tropical fruit arrangement. As I always say, it's the little things. They might be frivolous and short-lived, but any makeup-related item that gives me even a little bit of joy is worth it. I could see a company like Lipstick Queen or Bite Beauty partnering with an artist to create interesting lipstick tissue packets. Indeed, this post has left me wondering why no companies are seizing on this opportunity for profit.
Should lipstick tissues be revived or should they stay in the past? Why do you think they're not made anymore? Would you use them? I mean just for fun, of course – completely ignore the outdated notion that one is a boorish degenerate with no manners if they choose to wipe their lips on a towel, as those Kleenex ads would have you believe. 😉
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I was originally going to write a meatier post about the history of tanning that included sunless tanning, but there's actually been plenty of research already. Rather than essentially re-writing what's already out there I decided to go the more visual route and show ads for products promising to give you that sun-kissed glow for both face and body. I will include some history and links throughout, but mostly this is a way for me to share my never-ending obsession with vintage beauty ads. :)
Prior to the early 1920s, having tawny, sun-drenched skin simply wasn't desirable – at least for women. Fair complexions were associated with the leisure class, while tan skin indicated a lower social status (i.e. people who had to work outdoors). While the beauty industry was in its infancy, there were still plenty of products, such as this Tan No More powder, that promoted the pale skin ideal.
Just five short years later, however, the tan tide had turned. Coco Chanel is credited by many historians as the one responsible for making the bronzed look stylish following a cruise she took in 1923, essentially reversing the significance of pale vs. tan complexions (i.e., tans were now associated with having the time and money for a luxury vacation in a sunny paradise, as well as good health.) By 1929 products were on the market to achieve the glowing effect on the skin without the need to travel to some far-flung destination, such as this Marie Earle "Sunburn" line of makeup. (Cosmetics and Skin has an excellent history of this company. While not much is known about the founders, the Marie Earle line had some fairly innovative, if ineffective products, like breast-firming cream and eye masks.)
Interestingly, in 1928 Marie Earle was bought by Coty, so it's probably not a coincidence that Coty released their Coty Tan bronzing powder and body makeup a year later.
The 1940s saw an increase in the number of bronzers and tanning body makeup, the latter influenced partially by the shortage of nylon stockings during World War II – women resorted to painting their legs with makeup or staining them with a tea-based concoction to create the illusion of stockings. Always looking to sell more products, companies soon began offering tinted body makeup to mimic a natural tan.
By the late '40s cosmetics companies made sure women could also artificially tan their faces, as a slew of bronzing powders entered the market. I couldn't resist purchasing a few of these ads.
Once again, I fell victim to the idea that a beauty product has only been around for a few decades. But it looks like spray tans have been around since at least the mid-50s!
In the late 1950s Man Tan sunless tanning lotion – or what we call self-tanner more commonly these days – debuted, featuring a new way of getting tan without the sun. Instead of traditional tinted makeup that merely covered the skin, Man Tan used an ingredient known as dihydroxyacetone (DHA), which works on the amino acids on the skin's surface to gradually darken its color. It sounds like a harmful, scary process that relies on synthetic chemicals, but DHA is actually derived from sugar cane and is still used in most self-tanners today.*
In 1960 Coppertone introduced QT, short for Quick Tan, and many others followed. The poor models in these ads already look orange – I shudder to think of how carrot-like you'd be in person.
In addition to bronzers, around this time companies were also launching color campaigns specifically for tanned skin. These shades aren't so different from the ones we see in today's summer makeup collections – warm, beige and bronze tones abound. Both Max Factor's Breezy Peach and 3 Little Bares (get it?!) were seemingly created to complement a tawny complexion, while Clairol's powder duos and Corn Silk's Tan Fans line offered bronzer and blush together to artificially prolong and enhance a natural tan.
Meanwhile, Dorothy Gray had tan-flattering lip colors covered. This was not new territory for them, as this 1936 ad referenced a new "smart lipstick to accent sun-tan". In any case, the 1965 ad is also notable for the yellow lipstick all the way on right, which was meant to brighten another lip color when layered underneath…over 50 years before Estée Edit's Lip Flip and YSL's Undercoat.
The tanning craze wasn't going anywhere soon, as various self-tanning and bronzer formulas for body and face continued to be produced from the '70s onward. As skin cancer rates rose, there was also an uptick in the number of ads that emphasized protection from the sun over the convenience angle (i.e., the ability to get a tan in just a few hours and no matter the climate) – self-tanners started to be marketed more heavily as a healthy alternative to a real tan.
When it launched around 2004, I thought Stila's Sun Gel was such an innovative product. Little did I know Almay had done it roughly 30 years prior.
Tried though I did, I was unable to find a vintage ad for Guerlain's legendary Terracotta bronzer, which debuted in 1984. So I had to settle for these Revlon ads from the same year.
I searched all the '90s magazines in the Museum's archives, but realized almost all of them were March, September or October issues, so I couldn't unearth any fake tan ads for most of the decade. I did have better luck with finding ads online and in the Museum's archives for the 2000's, however. It makes sense as I had started collecting by then, not to mention that the early-mid aughts were the Gisele Bundchen/Paris Hilton era so fake tanning was at its peak. I just remembered that I neglected to check my old Sephora catalogs…I'll have to see if I can locate any photos of Scott Barnes' Body Bling, another hugely popular product in the 2000's.
As the decade came to a close, there was some discussion as to whether tanned skin, real or fake, was passé. But the continuing growth of the self-tanning market (as well as the influence of the bronzed Jersey Shore cast) showed that the infatuation with tanning wasn't slowing down. The Paris Hilton era segued seamlessly into the Kardashian age, which also contributed to the popularity of the bronzed look. Companies are still trying to keep up with the demand for bronzers and self-tanners. For the past 5 years or so, Estée Lauder, Lancome, Clarins, Guerlain and Givenchy have released new bronzing compacts at the start of the summer, and just this past year Hourglass and Becca released a range of new bronzing powders. Meanwhile, established products like Benefit's Hoola bronzer and St. Tropez's self-tanning line are being tweaked and expanded.
In terms of advertising bronzers and self-tanners, I think cosmetics companies do a damn good job. The products themselves certainly look tempting, but one also can't deny the sex appeal of the glowy, bronzey look of the models (not to mention that a tan makes everyone look like they lost 10 lbs). Who doesn't want to resemble a sunkissed goddess lounging about in a tropical paradise? It's largely this reason, I think, that the tan aesthetic persists. As usual, Autumn Whitefield-Madrano offers an insightful exploration of why tawny skin continues to be in vogue so rather than me rambling further I highly encourage you to read it in full. As for me, well, I've largely given up on self-tanning. It was messy, came out uneven no matter how much I exfoliated and how carefully I applied it, and still didn't look quite like the real deal. I do, however, still use bronzer once in a while (mostly as blush, but occasionally in the summer I'll dust it all over my face) and have been tinkering with temporary wash-off body bronzers. I don't consider bronzer a staple by any means – most days I fully embrace my pasty self – but the fact that I own 6 of them is proof of the long-standing allure of the tan and how effectively the products required to achieve it are marketed.
What do you think? Which of these ads are your favorite? And are you down with the tanned look or no?
For the majority of inquiries I receive - say, around 75% – I'm ashamed to admit that I can't provide any information. I do enjoy researching them but I loathe not being able to give a definitive answer on the item or brand people are asking about. Recently I receive an inquiry from a woman who was, sadly, going through her deceased mother's belongings and came across 4 gorgeous compacts that she wanted to know a little more about. While I was still not able to provide solid information for a couple of them, I was able to delve a bit more deeply into 2 of them. I guess 50% is better than my usual rate for inquiries!
First up is this lovely gold-tone number with a sunburst pattern on the front and a basket weave pattern on the back.
Fortunately the puff was still in there so I could see the brand. The Melissa company, according to the British Compact Collectors' Society, dates from around the 1950s-70s. Says one researcher: "Melissa is thought to have been based in Acton, London W3 from the early 1950s, but I found that by 1962 the company had premises in Arundel Road, Uxbridge, Middlesex. In 1970, the company was still listed at this address in a telephone directory, but by 1972 another company occupied the site. A local trade directory of 1976 listed Searchlight Products, so possibly the firm was still trading at this later date, but I have been unable to find out at what date it ceased manufacturing compacts."
Next up is a "sweetheart" black enamel compact, so named for their popularity among WWII soldiers who gave them as gifts to their loved ones during wartime. Without a maker's mark I couldn't identify the brand, but from what I could make out the insignia in the heart looks a bit like the "prop and wings" motif from the U.S. Air Corps. I asked the submitter if anyone in her family was in the military and she confirmed that her father was in the Army Air Force during WWII. What a sweet gift for her mom.
I'd love to write a comprehensive history of sweetheart compacts, but it's such a huge project that it will have to wait for when I have time…like, maybe when I'm retired. 🙁
For these last two a little more information was available. Zell was a leading compact company from the '30s-'60s and was one of the "5th Avenue" lines, along with Rex, Dorset, Columbia and Dale. Zell had some quite novel compact designs early on, including the "First Nighter" – a compact with a flashlight that was released in the '30s (can you believe that?!) But Zell was primarily known as a solid brand that offered understated, stylish designs as well. The compact in question is an elegantly striped square piece with rounded edges.
I tried to find a little more information from my local library about the company, but came up mostly empty-handed. I learned through a few meager news clippings that the company was founded by David H. Zell, who passed away in 1944. While his widow Sophie was technically President, it was the Vice President, one of their sons Daniel D. Zell, who was really running the show, given this clipping (not to mention numerous patents in his name.)
After I scoured the historical newspapers, I decided to try old-fashioned googling to at least try to find when the Zell company was founded and when it went out of business. I didn't find those dates, but I did unearth something quite interesting and bought it immediately.
Well, look what I spy! It's the very same compact! The ad indicates that this particular style actually had a name: it was called the "Countess". Here it is up close in case you couldn't make it out. (The one above is the "Aristocrat" and the one below is the "Princess". Ooh la la.)
When I originally researched this inquiry I guessed that the compact in question was from the '50s, as that was the height of Zell's popularity and, in my opinion, gold-tone compacts. But I was wrong. The promotional ad is from 1946, so it must have been released if not that year then around then. While I'm still a little miffed at not being able to put together a full history of Zell, I'm glad I could at least identify this particular compact. It was complete luck but I'll take it. 🙂
I saved the most interesting one for last. I couldn't for the life of me recognize the brand, as the photo of the mark on the back was too dark and small.
Thankfully the submitter included a picture of the puff. I recognized the concentric L-shapes as the logo belonging to Lucien Lelong, a famed French couturier turned perfumer and cosmetics manufacturer.
The design of the compact is truly fascinating. The intricate, regal birds are reminiscent of motifs found on royal crests, and I can't say I've ever seen a compact with little rings attached to it. Off I went to find more information and found a few ads so I could give a date of when this compact was released. Known as the "tambourine" compact, it looks like it first appeared in September 1948. The rings could be simply decorative and just there to be "pleasant sounding", or perhaps Mom could attach some charms to them – seems they were really pushing this as either a Valentine's Day or Mother's Day gift. It may also have waned in popularity by 1950, given the price drop from the original $5 to $0.99. As a side note, my mind is always blown by the retail prices of vintage pieces! They seem so inexpensive, but according to this online calculator a $5 compact would cost approximately $52 nowadays. Still, that's a reasonable price for a nice compact…and it would be only $10.13 on sale. 🙂
LOL at "gifty!" These old ads crack me up sometimes.
I was really curious to know why Lelong decided to introduce this compact, as it didn't seem to have a connection to any of the company's fragrances or couture. I did come across this "Ting a Ling" perfume bottle which also had rings attached and was released around the same time as the compact.
But as you can see, it has bells, whereas I didn't see any Tambourine compacts with bells. According to the New York Times ad above, the compact was a replica of a vintage French tambourine, which, when I first laid eyes on that description, sounded like utter marketing garbage. However, thanks to extensive information provided on Lelong by the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising, it's entirely possible that the design was indeed inspired by a vintage tambourine. Lelong employed the services of noted artist Peter Fink to create novel, unique packaging for his perfumes and lipsticks, such as the Ting a Ling bottle and Full Dress lipstick mentioned in the ad above, so it's probable that Fink came up with the tambourine compact design as well. As for the notion that the compact was specifically a French tambourine replica, that's also credible given Lelong's love for his home country. So maybe the advertising isn't a complete pile of crap spun by unscrupulous marketing directors.* ;) Anyway, I was happy that I could find a name and date for this compact. This is definitely one I'd love to add to my collection, but they are rare (read: expensive, especially when in good condition) and tend to get snatched up immediately.
In closing, I'd like to thank the person who took the time to share these items with me. Since I was able to provide a couple tidbits, this was one of the few inquiries that didn't end with me getting very upset at finding zero information. Plus, all of the compacts are great from a design standpoint. Even if I didn't find a single thing about them, I would have just enjoyed looking at them.
What do you think? Which of these is your favorite?
*Eh, it probably is. Another newspaper ad from December 1948, which I didn't clip since I refuse to upgrade to the "premium" subscription of newspapers.com (they're such jerks – this stuff should be free!), and my local library didn't carry the particular newspaper, notes that the tambourine is an "exact replica of a g—y's tambourine". Oof. That would be pretty unacceptable language now, not to mention that it makes me doubt how inspired the design was. Or it could also be a matter of marketing to different geographic areas – perhaps the advertising people thought that "French" would be more appealing to what they perceived to be a high-fashion East Coast crowd so they used it in the ad that ran in the New York Times, and changed the description to the g-word for simple Midwestern folks, whom they assumed had less stylish taste than New Yorkers and may have been put off by anything described as French (the g-word ad was found in the Indianapolis Star.)
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Tiffany? Harry Winston? Fred Leighton? Forget about 'em. While they might be supplying the sparkling baubles for today's red carpet, back in the late '30s and '40s there was a jeweler bigger than those 3 put together: Paul Flato. I'll get to why I'm talking about a jeweler in a sec, but first a brief bio is in order. Paul Flato (1900-1999), moved from his home state of Texas to New York City at the age of 20. He opened his own jewelry store shortly afterwards and employed several designers. By 1937 he had another store on the West Coast to further solidify his status as the go-to jeweler for the biggest Hollywood stars (think Joan Crawford and Katherine Hepburn) as well as a jewelry designer for major films.
Now here's where his story goes off the rails. In 1943 he was arrested for pawning over $100,000 worth of jewels that clients and fellow jewelers had entrusted to him on consignment and served 16 months in Sing Sing. Upon his release from prison he started a lucrative business designing compacts, which was fortunate as his Hollywood career was basically over. After the compacts, Flato continued to design jewelry in the store he opened in Mexico City from 1970-1990, then returned to Texas for the last decade of his life. To my knowledge he never got back into Hollywood's good graces – I couldn't find anything about him supplying jewelry for movies/actresses after 1943 – but it didn't matter since he had already become a legend.
I had seen the Flato brand floating around previously during my various vintage compact hunts and figured one would be a good addition to the Museum's collection, but none of the designs really appealed to me. Since they can be on the pricey side I decided to hold off to see if any really caught my fancy. And as luck would have it this adorable compact and lipstick case, still in the original box, eventually surfaced. Against my better judgement I got involved in a nasty Ebay bidding war, but ultimately won (and probably overpaid a smidge).
Looking back it was totally worth it given how awesome the design is. You may or may not know I have a thing for mint green/jade/bakelite so when I gazed into this kitty's glowing mint green eyes I knew she had to be mine.
Love the matching design on the lipstick case!
I thought it would be good to discuss Flato's style a little so we can see how it translated to the compacts. I find his pieces to be whimsical and tongue-in-cheek, while still piling on the sparkle. Some examples, according to his obit in the New York Times: "Among them were a diamond 'corset' bracelet, with garters in rubies and diamonds, based on Mae West's undergarment…a compact for Gloria Vanderbilt was studded with gold and enamel angels, including an angel on a chamber pot. A pair of little brooches of gold feet with ruby toenails was originally made for Irene Castle, a play both on her maiden name, Foote, and her dancing career." Flato also drew on everyday experiences and items – his observation of fallen leaves one crisp autumn day turned into this brooch, while a basic belt buckle became a dazzling aquamarine necklace.
Another prominent motif in Flato's work was hands, according to this site: "Hand imagery had always been of interest to Flato, who notably used antique hand sculptures to display jewelry in ads that appeared in Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar during the 1930s." Here are some quite literal examples.
Not only that, but Flato's own battle with hearing loss at a young age inspired a series of sign language pins.
This same playfulness mixed with a healthy dose of sparkle carried over to Flato's compacts. I liked that he created designs that were different from his jewelry line but still maintained his signature style. It looks like Flato filed the patent for the compacts in February 1948 and they were available for sale later that year. Interestingly, this wasn't the first time Flato had the idea to design compacts, as evidenced by this 1940 patent for a compact, cigarette case and lipstick combo.
The ones shown in the ad above are fairly common. I wouldn't mind adding the seashell one to my collection. ;) There's also a patent for it too, which is pretty cool.
It's not just a key design; it's a key holder! Yes, you could have the key on this compact custom filed to fit your door. Personally I'd be petrified of losing it – my keys need to stay on a ring – but you have to admit there's some innovation there.
This one definitely shows Flato's sillier side. Would you like one of his "scatabout" pins while you're at it? You know, to anchor your lapel flower? Fashion sure has changed!
The kitty one I have seems to be relatively rare. In my searches I did see one other in a beautiful tiger-eye colorway instead of the green, but I can't seem to find the photo of it now. In any case, I'm pretty pleased with this acquisition as I do think it's one of Flato's better compact designs.
What do you think, both of Flato's jewelry and compacts? Most of them aren't my style but I appreciate them nonetheless. If his jewelry is really striking your fancy you can always buy this lovely catalog of his work.
Well well well, what have we here?
To be honest, I really have no idea. All I know is that when I searched for vintage Shiseido on Ebay, I came up with a spate of white porcelain animal figurines. Some other things: 1. they represent the animals from the Chinese zodiac; 2. there were a few different designs of each animal; 3. I went into a frenzy trying to collect all of them (unsuccessfully), and; 4. they were produced, or at least sourced, by a company named the Connor Group for Shiseido. What I'm struggling with is why they were made and for whom they were intended. I'm also not certain about the exact dates of the various versions, since some of the sellers listed them as being from the '70s, others from the '80s, and still more were made in the '90s, according to accompanying paperwork.
I'll go in the order of the zodiac, starting with the rat. Cute, no? Given the shiny finish (more on that soon) I'm assuming it's from 1972 or 1984, but it's impossible to say.
Next is the ox, from either 1973 or 1985.
Here's a different version of the ox, which I think might be from the '90s. I was able to save this image from the Ebay listing but unfortunately someone snatched up the figurine itself a while ago.
Tigers! This one came with a fold-out that made things even more confusing.
The style of the figurine is consistent with ones that are from the '90s, which we'll see later in this post, but the paper it came with clearly indicates it's from 1974. Plus, there's no mention of Shiseido anywhere, not in the letter or even on the figurine – the other ones with the shiny finish have "Shiseido Japan" printed on them. The seller also included the original shipping box it came in to the U.S. from Japan, but there were no clues there either.
The horse is also tricky. This one could be from 1978, given that this Ebay seller has another style. (I have one of them on the way to me). I got so desperate for answers I actually asked the seller if they had any other information. No answer yet.
This goat (or ram) is from 1991, according to the foldout it came with. But it's in a similar style to the tiger that's allegedly from 1974, and also has the same non-shiny finish and no Shiseido name printed on it. See why I'm frustrated?!
Poor little guy has a tiny chip on his nose.
Another version of the goat/ram, which was also sold before I could get my hands on it…no clue as to when it's from.
The monkey is also perplexing. This one is apparently from 1992.
And here's a different version, from the same Etsy seller who had the rabbit for sale, so maybe this one is from 1980?
And finally, a little piggy, ostensibly from 1995.
Sadly, I don't think I'll ever solve the mystery behind these figurines. I emailed both Shiseido and the Connor Group for more insight and was quite disappointed at not hearing a word from Shiseido. You would think a company that is so committed to preserving their history would be interested in hearing from someone who is equally passionate about it and get back to me. I don't think it's a matter of them not having any information either – again, since they have a whole museum and are clearly dedicated to recording all aspects of the company, I just know someone there knows something about these figurines! I bet all the paperwork related to them is sitting in a basement in Shiseido's headquarters, but no one can be bothered to do a little digging. I did get a reply from the Connor Group but they had no idea what these were and asked for more information. So I sent pictures of both the figurines and letter that came with the tiger and never heard back. Sigh. My best guess is that these were either gifts to employees or gifts for Camellia Club members – in researching the rainbow powders, I learned that the latter group had access to exclusiveShiseidoitems (um, how awesome are these Erté dishes?!) However, most of the Camellia Club gifts are labeledas such, whereas there is no such notation on the figurines or the papers they came with. Shiseido also seems to collaborate with companies for other non-makeup items, like this anniversary plate produced by Noritake, so maybe the figurines were just some random item they had for sale. Still, it drives me crazy that I don't have a definitive answer.
At least the plushies are enjoying playing with their new friends!
Do you have any idea as to why Shiseido made these figurines? And which one was your favorite?
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While color correcting seems like a new trend, my experience as a self-taught makeup historian tells me that it probably existed decades ago. However, I had no idea that color correcting was in effect as early as 1917, when Japanese company Shiseido introduced their "rainbow" face powders. In honor of the 100-year anniversary of this cutting-edge beauty development, Shiseido released the 7 Color Powders Centennial Revival Edition (that's a mouthful!), which is essentially a re-creation of the original powders using contemporary color correcting technology and ingredients. The powders come in a gorgeous keepsake box adorned with concentric metallic rainbow lines. I am very fortunate to have such a kind and generous husband who procured this set for me for Christmas. 🙂
Does anyone know what this means?
I always get positively giddy over a numbered edition. In the eyes of a collector, numbering makes the item seem really special…even if there are 9,000 of them produced!
The box design is nearly identical to the original. Shiseido was ahead of its time back then not just for product innovation but also for packaging. Chapter 3 of an excellent dissertation entitled "Imperial Designs:" Fashion, Cosmetics, and Cultural Identity in Japan, 1931-1943" by Rebecca Nickerson sheds light on the design process. In 1915 Shiseido's founder, Fukuhara Arinobu, unofficially passed ownership of the company to his son, Fukuhara Shinzo, who had been traveling domestically and abroad to study art and photography for a number of years prior. The younger Fukuhara used his passion for art and aesthetics to form an official cosmetics division for the company and in 1916, he appointed a design team consisting mostly of artist friends he had met during his travels to create sophisticated, appealing packaging for all of Shiseido's products. The creation of such a group, focused on cohesive design and marketing, was cutting-edge for the time. Their artistic skill proved quite effective: "The design team came up with unique packaging for the face powder. Each of the seven colors was in its own original eight-sided, white satin box, and the lids were embossed with two concentric gold lines and Shiseido's camellia logo. Above the logo were the words 'poudre de riz', the French term for face powder, and below it in Roman letters, 'Shiseido, Tokyo'. The package design was simple yet sophisticated and conveyed a sense of the foreign, which was exactly what Fukuhara wanted consumers to associate with the Shiseido brand. This was Shiseido's second attempt to introduce Western face powders to Japanese consumers. While most women could not afford or had little interest in Western face powders in 1906, by 1917 consumption was on the rise and greater numbers of women were eager to embrace this new trend in beauty culture. The flood of modern Western culture, Hollywood films, and a general enthusiasm for 'Americanism' also increased demand for modern fashion and cosmetics. Shiseido was one of a number of companies to introduce similar face powders around this time, and the 'Rainbow Face Powder' succeeded in making Shiseido a visible player in the cosmetics market." (p. 103).
I was so hesitant to try to peel off one of the seals to open the box, but I managed to do so without ripping it.
For comparison's sake, here are photos of the original powders and you can see more pictures of them from the Shiseido Museum here. I think the only differences are that the new revival ones are covered in a fabric material whereas the old boxes seem to be made from cardboard (I don't think it was satin), and the camellia logo is at the top of the powder covering in the revival versions – the originals don't seem to have the logo on the inside. I'm guessing the old ones didn't have the color-coded seals on the boxes either.
Anyway, why were these so groundbreaking? Well, besides the design, colored face powder didn't really exist back then. I've mentioned this excellent paper from art historian (ahem) Gennifer Weisenfeld before, but here's another excerpt explaining why these were a breakthrough: "Tinted face powders were exceedingly rare in prewar Japan and Shiseido pioneered them early on with a series of colors under the brand name Poudre de Riz. The female entertainers (geisha) who worked in nearby Shinbashi and who were loyal Shiseido customers particularly liked the green and purple powder colors because they were thought to flatter the complexion under electric lighting." Not only did these powders have color correcting ability in less than ideal lighting conditions, Shiseido maintains they were a way for women to "match their face powder shade to their attire." This was in keeping with the shift towards more Western styles and a desire for more natural looking makeup. "Gradually, as Japanese cosmetic practices changed over time and moved toward a greater naturalism, the traditional thick white cosmetic foundation (o-shiroi) ceased to be used for daily wear." Finally, the rainbow powders, quite simply, were among the first steps in customized makeup that encompassed a much wider range of colors than were available previously. This in turn allowed Shiseido to reach a significantly greater portion of the cosmetics market, since the colors could be mixed to suit one's skin tone. Says Jessica Guerra, author of "Consumerism, Commodification and Beauty: Shiseido and the Rise of Japanese Beauty Culture" (another fantastic scholarly piece!), "Through different combinations of the seven provided colors, consumers could create their own shades and color palettes. Understandably, this would mean increased international appeal and marketability as racially diverse consumers could purchase Seven Colors Face Powder and create their own personalized shades based on preference." (p. 29). Indeed, even today Shiseido touts the customization ability of the revival powders, noting that they also give one "the freedom to experiment and create the most beautiful finish for your skin."
Shiseido hadn't completely abandoned the idea of reviving their rainbow powders until now. I couldn't read this whole article because it's behind a paywall (thanks, jerks), but apparently in late 2001 the company released a rainbow powder available only to their Camellia Club members: "Shiseido has resurrected a face powder-Rainbow Face Powder-that debuted in 1917 but in a way geared to the woman of the 21st century. The debut product featured seven colors-white, yellow, flesh, rose, peony, green, and purple-instead of the typical white to offer women the shade that best enhanced their facial features and to create an appearance more suited to the increasingly popular Western-style fashions. Renamed La Poudre Ruisselant, the face powder is sold in specially designed container with lids shaped like a camellia blossom-the symbol of Shiseido." I tried my darndest to find a photo of this "specially designed container" but only turned up a picture of the refill.
While I couldn't find a photo, I do think it's interesting to note that Shiseido tried revamping their rainbow powders previously. Maybe in 2001 the makeup world at large wasn't yet receptive to color correcting and that's why Shiseido offered the Ruisselante powder to only a handful of consumers. But as color correcting has been all the rage for the past couple of years, now is a great time to re-introduce these to the public, not to mention the fact that it syncs perfectly with the 100th anniversary of the products' debut. I love how they updated the packaging too – very similar to the original but just enough details to make it modern and special enough to commemorate the anniversary. I'm still drooling over the shiny rainbow on the box, and the numbering…well, that's like collector's catnip.
What do you think of this set? Do you color correct at all? I do but with liquid or cream concealer rather than powder. 🙂
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This post is a result of my very kind mother-in-law gifting me some vintage DuBarry items, which she found while cleaning out her deceased mother's belongings. She knew I would appreciate them and give them a good home, and I'm really pleased to have vintage makeup that came from a family member. I'm okay with buying vintage items without knowing anything about who they belonged to, but obviously I feel more of a connection to the object when they come from someone I actually know. Anyway, these items inspired me to learn a little more about the DuBarry line and, of course, purchase some other items so they didn't feel so alone. 😉
I'm not going to rehash the entire history of the line, as both Cosmetics and Skin and Collecting Vintage Compacts have excellent, thorough histories of both DuBarry and Richard Hudnut, the founder of the line (along with many other brands.) The story in a nutshell: DuBarry originally started as a fragrance developed by Hudnut in 1902. In 1929 a makeup and skincare line was spun off the fragrance as an additional revenue source. The line wasn't doing so well by the late 1930s; however, ever the businessman, Hudnut expanded his lucrative "Success School" (a charm school to prepare young debutantes for their coming out events) to include a new DuBarry "Success Course" that borrowed many of the same principles but without the debutante focus. Part fat camp, part beauty and fashion tips, the Success Course earned the company over $4 million in a little over 3 years. Not only was it a major money-maker, the course also helped the DuBarry makeup line gain significant brand recognition. Since the 1960s the company passed through many owners but is still being sold today.
Without further ado, let's take a peek at some notable DuBarry items from their golden age (roughly 1940s-60s). I found this beautiful fan-shaped color guide over at the Baltimore Shoeseum, an online museum that specializes in swing era artifacts. Let's hear it for another Baltimore-based online museum! I'm sort of tempted to call and ask if they'd be willing to deaccession it to me, as I think the Makeup Museum would be a better fit. ;) I think this is from the early '30s.
But what DuBarry was particularly known for was the use of an image of Madame du Barry, a.k.a. the last mistress of Louis XV who, along with rival Marie Antoinette, lost her head in 1793. Collecting Vintage Compacts' entry notes that Hudnut named the line after Madame du Barry, but I'm curious to know what the source is on that and why Hudnut chose her. In any case, there is no fabled tale of how Hudnut arrived at using Madame du Barry as inspiration the way there was with Harriet Hubbard Ayer's Madame Recamier skincare. And it shows: the company came up with vague likenesses of Madame du Barry for the product packaging rather than borrowing a real portrait.
The powder box below looks quite early and also resembles this etching.
This box also appears to be very early and is somewhat similar to this portrait. These two boxes are the only ones I've seen with these particular designs, so I wonder if they were samples or prototypes not actually put into mass production.
Roughly from the start of the line in 1929, DuBarry utilized a drawing of the sculpture for ads and powder boxes and continued to use it up until the early to mid '40s.
Naturally I had to get one to add to the Museum's collection.
Okay, maybe I got 2! But the design was a little different and I figured variety couldn't hurt.
I also liked the pattern on the sides.
Just to give you a sense of the size, that 2nd box is body powder and way bigger than the face powder pox.
But starting around 1935 (at least according to the ad below), DuBarry displayed a different, completely imaginary representation of Madame du Barry, and it appears that in 1942 they began adding her to their packaging and phasing out the other, accurate Madame du Barry depiction. I've looked everywhere online and there is no portrait of Madame du Barry that even remotely resembles this one.
It appears to be an amalgam of the Pajou sculpture (the asymmetrical, drapey neckline), this 1770 portrait by François-Hubert Drouais (hair is up with one lone curl around the neck), and this 1771 portrait, also by Drouais (hairstyle is similar, although DuBarry seems to have swapped out the blue ribbon for a blue jewel on the packaging). You can see, however, that the woman on the box is not a direct copy of any portrait, as was the case with the Pajou sculpture.
Then in 1949 DuBarry changed the likeness on the packaging yet again. This time Madame du Barry appears with the ridiculously high powdered wig hairstyle that we associate with the French Revolution era. Again, as far as I could tell, there is no portrait of Madame du Barry that resembles this – here's the closest one I found – but even the face on this DuBarry packaging looks nothing like her!
To round out the Madame du Barry representations I had to get this one too. This is probably the most common DuBarry box I came across.
The next item I thought would be a nice addition to the Museum's DuBarry holdings were these lipstick blotting sheets. Clearly men are the only ones who are affected by lipstick transfer and it's their comfort we have to worry about most, not the simple fact that women would just like a lipstick that stays put so we're not constantly touching up. *eyeroll* Still, I thought it was amusing that they put a cartoon man on the case and I don't have any vintage lipstick blotters in the Museum's collection. (And like the DuBarry powder boxes it was super cheap, which is always a plus.)
Based on the graphics I really thought this was from the early '60s, but I was way off. Turns out DuBarry's "Treasure Stick" lipstick was introduced in 1947 and was sold at least through 1951, according to the ads below, so these blotting sheets are from around then as well.
Finally, here are the items that once belonged to the husband's grandmother which my mother-in-law kindly passed along to me. Thanks, M.!
Naturally I was eager to find out approximately when they were from. Just at first glance they appeared to be early '60s to me, but I couldn't say so with any certainty, so off I went to search for clues. Based on the ads below it didn't look like the lipsticks I have are from the '40s.
Low and behold, in 1958 we see a new lipstick tube and bullet that are very similar to those bestowed upon the Museum. With the debut of the "Royal" lipstick (you've seen this ad before), there also came a new case. However, it's gold-toned and not silver like the ones I have. Hmmm…
So while I'm still not 100% sure, I can say with confidence that the lipsticks I was given date from the late '50s or early '60s, especially given that the prices are the same on the refill boxes and in the ads.
Just for fun, how cute is this "Morning Noon and Night" set? Now that would be quite a find!
DuBarry went on to launch a pretty interesting campaign for their Glissando range starting in 1964 – at least, from an advertising point of view. Since there were so many ads I simply couldn't narrow it down, but they were a good representation of mid to late '60s style. As noted earlier, the brand changed hands several times over the years but is still around today. I kind of wish they would look to their golden age and re-introduce packaging with an updated (and accurate) depiction of Madame du Barry. As Collecting Vintage Compacts points out, the Comtesse's consumer appeal cannot be denied: "[The DuBarry] fragrance could not have failed to be recognized by the buying public as representing the essence of feminine beauty, intrigue and even a hint of scandal." Indeed, I can see many people buying makeup with the King's favorite adorning the packaging. 🙂
So those are some highlights from DuBarry when they were in their prime. Which ones did you like best?
As usual, I forget exactly what I was searching for at newspapers.com when, about a month ago, I stumbled across a very interesting article from 1938. I know the search term must have included Richard Hudnut’s name, but beyond that I can’t remember. In any case I was delighted to uncover a profile of a rather remarkable man. Thomas R. “Tommy” Lewis apparently designed many of the compact cases for perfumer Richard Hudnut from possibly the mid-1920s through at least the ’30s. Both Collecting Vintage Compacts and Cosmetics and Skin have excellent histories of the brand, so you can check them out there. I, however, will be focusing on Lewis and some of the compacts he may have created. The reason why I felt such a compelling need to share his story is a matter of race: Lewis was one of very few American Black jewelers in his day, and one who overcame both racism and poverty to establish his own very successful jewelry firm. In honor of Black History Month I thought it would be appropriate to share as much information as I was able to find on Lewis, and hopefully I can do it without whitesplaining or tokenizing. I offer my sincere apologies in advance if I offend! (Constructive criticism is welcome; mean comments are not).
