Content warning: mention of suicide in the 3rd to last paragraph.
I wish I was sharing something uplifting instead of tragic, but I wanted to discuss a very talented writer who contributed much to the beauty industry during her short life. Mona Manet debuted her eponymous line of cosmetics in 1941 in her New York City salon. Soon the brand rolled out nationwide, and Manet enjoyed a brief career as a salon owner, makeup artist and beauty columnist. However, she was harboring a big secret: while Mona Manet presented herself as white, she was in fact a Black woman who had adopted a new identity and a new name to go with it.
Mona Manet was born as Elsie Roxborough in Detroit, MI, in 1914 into a prominent Black family. Her father Charles was a Detroit College of Law graduate who owned a weekly paper, the Detroit Guardian, and also served as a state senator. Her biracial mother, Cassandra, sadly died while delivering Elsie’s younger sister, Virginia, in 1917. Roxborough was the first Black woman to live in the dorms at the University of Michigan, largely due to her father’s efforts to fight discrimination on campus. However, it was not without struggle. Roxborough was alienated by most of her fellow Black students, who perceived her cultured upbringing as snobbish. But she was not fully accepted by whites either. Says Kathleen Hauke, who wrote a thorough profile of Roxborough in 1984 for the Michigan Quarterly Review: “Her [wealth] produced a tension between Roxborough and other blacks on campus who had not enjoyed her privileges. To white students she was an exotic, not like other Negroes yet not like themselves either.” Being rejected by both races was perhaps one of many reasons for Roxborough’s decision to live as a white woman.
Despite these obstacles, Roxborough’s gift for writing flourished. She wrote for the campus paper alongside classmate Arthur Miller and established a theater troupe, the Roxane Players, for whom she wrote her own plays. In 1937 she worked with Langston Hughes to produce his play Drums of Haiti. She and Hughes began a professional relationship/friendship. In his autobiography, Hughes remembers, “Elsie would tell me about her dreams, and wonder whether or not it would be better for her to pass as white to achieve them. From what I knew of the American entertainment field and how [Blacks] were almost entirely excluded from the directorial or technical aspects of it, I agreed with her that it was difficult for any [Black] person to gain entrance except as a performer…and for a [Black] woman I think it would be even more difficult than a man. Elsie was often mistaken for white in public places, so it would be no trouble at all for her to pass as white. While I was in Spain she wrote me that she had made up her mind to do so. She intended to cease being [Black].” The meteoric rise of boxer Joe Louis, whose was managed by Roxborough’s uncle John, was perhaps the last straw for her in terms of living as a Black woman and the impetus for pursuing a career in beauty. Hauke suggests, “The rejection of her plays by critics and judges contrasted with the nearly incredible success of Uncle John’s golden boy. If making it as a Black in America demanded masculine brute strength, she would flee to the genteel white world in which a woman’s arts would be appreciated.” Roxborough dyed her hair from black to auburn and moved to California, taking the name Pat Rico and working as a model. After less than a year on the West coast she relocated again, this time to New York City. It’s not clear exactly when she adopted the Mona Manet name, but most likely it was around late 1939-early 1940.* It’s also unclear as to when she opened her salon at 48 East 52nd St, but it seems that is where she got her start in beauty. Over the next decade Roxborough would manage her salon, release a cosmetics line, write for a number of publications and serve as makeup artist to models and actresses for various fashion shows, press events and theatrical productions.
In February 1941 several trade publications reported on the Mona Manet cosmetics line, which was distributed nationwide later that year.
It was the packaging that caused me to purchase the lipstick and rouge on eBay. I knew absolutely nothing about Elsie Roxborough or Mona Manet, but the font of the signature was intriguing. At first glance the style appears somewhat ‘80s, but the bakelite packaging and size made me realize it had to be ‘30s or ‘40s. The lipstick is the shade Samba and the rouge is Rebel Red.
Here’s an eyeshadow which for some reason slipped by my radar. I will be forever heartbroken over not adding it to the Museum’s collection.
The reason I’m particularly sad about it is that the violet eyeshadow was part of the Mona Manet “duration” makeup collection, which she originally used on the Ziegfeld Follies girls. Meant to be a delicate, feminine contrast to “severe uniforms” of women in the military and worn for the duration of the war, the collection consisted of the following: “a new orchid-pink shade, a baby-blue eyeshadow for use over the lids with a violet shadow graduating towards the brows, along with an ethereal face powder over all.” The rouge and lipstick were appropriately named “Manet Pink”.
Roxborough’s advice and techniques were largely in keeping with the others of the time. She did have some unique tactics, however, including applying a very heavy face of makeup and removing most of it. According to Roxborough, this technique resembled the Chinese art of flower arranging in which a large bouquet is gathered and one flower at a time is removed until “the most piquant and satisfying effect has been accomplished.” Indeed, Roxborough seemed to have an affinity for Chinese culture, creating several hairstyles inspired by those worn by Chinese women and launching a beauty oil that she claimed was based on an ancient Chinese practice of using oil instead of a cream/lotion to moisturize both face and body. At times, she also used Chinese calligraphy brushes to apply lip and eye products. Chinese dignitaries, including a military captain, attended the opening of the new department in her salon, the Lotus Room, in September 1943. The event presented “an original kind of beauty demonstration stressing the Chinese influence in this year’s Fall styles…it is Miss Manet’s idea that Chinese make-up devices can be added to our American concept of beauty.”
She was also known for quick, streamlined beauty routines. In late 1942 the Associated Press reported on a beauty demonstration on 5 women by Roxborough and her salon workers. All of the women were serving in the military and had little time for treatments; however, as the mantra for American women during WWII was “beauty is your duty”, it was expected that all women, whether in the military or civilians, were to be perfectly coiffed and made up at all times. While the routines described in the article seem ridiculously long by today’s standards, in reality they were pretty quick: one factory worker had “a scalp treatment, shampoo and rinse, hair style, manicure, pedicure, clean-up facial and makeup which took only 64 ½ minutes.” The Lotus Room, in addition to being Chinese-inspired, offered much the same speedy, “assembly line” routine. Clients could get the “main essentials” of a shampoo, wave, manicure and makeup in 50 minutes. Interestingly, the concept of head-to-toe service would be greatly enhanced in several Black-owned salons, including the Rose Meta House of Beauty and Carmen Murphy’s House of Beauty, a few years later. This is entirely speculative, but I wonder if Rose Morgan and Roxborough were aware of each other as Roxborough occasionally socialized in Harlem, where the Rose Meta salon was located. And perhaps Carmen Murphy was aware of Roxborough’s salon as she set up shop in Roxborough’s hometown of Detroit, where she was still in touch with family there.
Finally, as Mona Manet, Roxborough was one of the earliest makeup artists who advocated for the use of a lip brush to apply lipstick. This practice would become hugely popular later in the 1940s and throughout the next decade (stay tuned for a post on Martha Lorraine lip brushes and other gadgets for a defined lip in the 1950s.)
In between operating the salon and providing makeup artistry for fashion shows and plays, Roxborough wrote ad copy and columns for a multitude of brands and publications beginning in 1945. In July of that year she was hired to be director of cosmetics for Lucien Lelong, but just two months later, she assumed the role of cosmetic editor at American Druggist, listed as “formerly” of Lucien Lelong. At American Druggist she wrote such pieces as “How to Be a Cosmetician” and “Classroom for Cosmeticians: Summer Cosmetics.” In February 1946 she began writing for Fascination magazine in addition to American Druggist, but left Fascination in March 1947, most likely because it folded. Less than a year after that, in February 1948 Women’s Wear Daily announced that Mona Manet had left American Druggist and was appointed as publicity director to Chen Yu, a company known primarily for nail polish (and rampant appropriation and stereotyping of Chinese culture, which may have aligned with Roxborough’s interest in Chinese fashion and beauty.) All of this job-switching suggests another mystery – was it simply the nature of the industry for workers to constantly be moving from one company to the next, or was Roxborough concerned about her true identity being found out and felt the need to move frequently to keep any suspicions at bay? But given how closely connected the industry was (and still is), this doesn’t seem plausible. If she was found out, word would spread quickly so there wasn’t much of a point in moving on to new positions.
All of Roxborough’s success as a beautician could not compensate for what was most likely a lonely existence. She had to be very careful about being seen in public with her Black friends in the city as well as her family when they came to visit, and mitigating public appearances meant seeing the people she was closest to infrequently. She lived with a white roommate, and all of her colleagues in the beauty world knew her as white. Her career would effectively be over and even her personal safety could be at risk if it was discovered she was Black. At the same time, while Roxborough was not estranged from her family, they were reportedly less than pleased with her decision to live as a white woman. Once again, Roxborough was unable to be fully embraced by either whites or the Black community. It could have been the inability to ever feel truly accepted that led to Roxborough’s fatal overdose of sleeping pills on October 2, 1949. Whether her death was intentional or accidental we will never know, but her family believed it was an accident, their reasoning being that she did not leave a note. They held a small, private funeral for her, and while the Michigan Chronicle ran the headline “Elsie Roxborough Dies,” her death certificate listed her as white. No one in New York City was made aware that she was Black.
The larger topic of racial “passing” and its implications are far beyond the scope of this post, especially as I’d like to focus on Roxborough’s role in cosmetics history. I personally think Roxborough could have gone to New York as a Black woman and become a hugely successful beauty entrepreneur who was able to meet the needs of Black customers as Sara Spencer Washington, Madame C.J. Walker and Annie Turnbo Malone did before her. Or she could have continued passing as white and pursued a beauty career even further than she did. She was described by her colleagues as an “up-and-coming young beautician with an important future” and “one of the most gifted writers in the cosmetic realm.” Black or white, she was quite talented at makeup and hair in addition to writing. But it seems that she did not engage in the beauty realm out of genuine interest. Instead, perhaps Roxborough saw being a white beauty expert as a way to get closer to her true passion, which was playwriting. Providing the makeup and hair styles for performers/models at fashion shows and coordinating corporate beauty presentations was getting her foot in the door – maybe she thought that if she could prove herself more than capable of managing these types of productions, she could break into writing and directing high theater more easily. Having been mostly shut out of that world as a Black woman previously, living as white and overseeing various skits and performances (which she was doing as of 1947 – her credits for most shows had changed to “written and staged by Mona Manet”) allowed her a better shot at achieving her dream of being a serious playwright.
In any case, I hope this post makes clear that Roxborough contributed significantly to makeup history, no matter how she identified racially. It also serves as a reminder of the enormity of white privilege, and that while the beauty industry afforded more opportunities for both Black and white women, the playing field was and remains uneven along race and gender lines.
*The Mona Manet name for cosmetics was patented in March 1941 with a claims use date of December 28, 1940, so Roxborough was most likely using the name throughout 1940.
Sources
Advertisement, Harper’s Bazaar, vol. 75, iss. 2765, May 1942, 18.
American Perfumer and Essential Oil Review, October 1943, 52.
American Perfumer and Essential Oil Review, December 1945, 54-55.
American Perfumer and Essential Oil Review, January 1948, 79.
Donna Davis, “Beauty for Sale: Everything New in Beauty,” Hit Parader, December 1942, 22.
Annette Donnelly, “Beauty in a Hurry: This Speedup Era Takes Its Turn at Charm, Too,” Daily News (New York), August 23, 1943.
Drug and Cosmetic Industry, volume 57, issue 1, July 1945, 81.
Ruth Finley, “Fashion Calendar”, September 3, 1943, 3.
Helen Flynn, “Christmas Counterpoints,” Town & Country, vol. 97, iss. 4243, December 1942, 44.
Kathleen A. Hauke, “The ‘Passing’ of Elsie Roxborough,” Michigan Quarterly Review, vol. 23, no. 2, 1984, 155-170.
Langston Hughes, I Wonder as I Wander: An Autobiographical Journey. New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 2015 edition (originally published in 1956).
Jacqueline Hunt, “Make-up Keyed to Hair-do for Most Flattering Effect,” Anadarko Daily News, April 8, 1941.
Martha Parker, “Bigger Imports of Needed Tropical Oils for Lip Rouge Made Possible by Navy,” New York Times, November 16, 1943.
Gayle Wald, Crossing the Line: Racial Passing in Twentieth-Century U.S. Literature and Culture. Durham: Duke University Press, 2000, 82-84.
“Miss Manet with Chen Yu,” Women’s Wear Daily, February 20, 1948, 30.
Hello! It’s been a while since anything has been posted at the blog. I just wanted to pop in and give a quick recap of my 72-hour voyage to the UK, where I presented “Makeup Design, Compulsory Beauty, and the Modern American Woman, 1920-1960” at the 32nd annual Women’s History Network conference at Royal Holloway University.
I had expected a virtual option, but upon learning there wasn’t one I had to make the very difficult decision to travel internationally for the first time in nearly a decade and traveling anywhere since February 2020. Between COVID anxiety, travel anxiety and my usual baseline state of “total basket case”, it was incredibly stressful and scary, but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity! Gotta build up that CV if I ever am really going to apply for PhD programs. 😉
Here’s the abstract: “From ‘automatic’ lipsticks and disposable face powder sheets to multi-use compacts and retractable brushes, the cosmetics industry introduced thousands of products during the first half of the 20th century to accommodate women’s rapidly changing lives. This paper will explore how certain makeup packaging reflected the fundamental shift in women’s daily activities, their relationship to beauty and their identity as modern women. I will highlight several key cosmetic artifacts that were specifically designed and marketed as more convenient alternatives to existing products. By allowing women to apply makeup faster or on-the-go, these objects were touted as cutting-edge, superior inventions that boasted freedom from time-consuming beauty routines and the hassle of cluttered vanities or purses, as well as the prevention of social faux pas. I will also examine how these artifacts embodied social expectations for women in terms of beauty and femininity. Novel makeup may have reduced the amount of time and labor women allocated to engaging in beauty practices; in doing so, however, these products tacitly encouraged women to adhere to beauty standards at all times. The modern woman could travel, work, participate in athletics, etc. but still was expected to maintain her appearance – thanks to new developments in makeup design.”
And here are some Makeup Museum objects that were featured in the presentation, along with some that fit the theme but not the 15-minute time limit – just couldn’t include everything.
Of course, some museum staff tagged along. We had a lovely tea at the hotel.
In addition to all my other neuroses, I have crippling social anxiety so I didn’t “network” as much as I could have, but I tried. Makeup Museum business cards made it into the hands of a few people. All in all, I think it went well and was worth the trip. I must give a shout-out to the wonderful Lucy Jane Santos, who posted the call for papers and kindly read through both the abstract and presentation – I would not have attended without her expertise and guidance! Oh, and if you’re interested in the topic, stay tuned for a post at the CHMSN Substack.
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).
I admit I purchased this object without fully understanding what it was.
I couldn't unearth any ads for Opaline1 and very little exists about the company. There were a couple calls for De Baranta-Windsor salespeople in 1898 for totally different products – no mention of beauty preparations, so I had to rely on other clues to suss out what Opaline could possibly be. The substance appears to be a powder in the bottle, but there were a few reasons why I didn't believe it was a face powder upon closer inspection. Namely: 1. powders were normally packaged in boxes, not bottles; 2. the directions instructed the user to shake well and apply with a sponge, and powders did not usually require shaking and were applied with a puff; and 3. the directions also insinuated the product was a liquid by including the phrase "when nearly dry…".
So what exactly was Opaline? Certainly not perfume and most likely not a skincare treatment either. It was clearly some kind of liquid makeup (with the liquid obviously evaporating over time) but not quite foundation as we know it today. Thank goodness for Cosmetics and Skin, as I really didn't know what I was looking at until some frantic Googling led me to their website, which has an excellent summary of the three most common types of "liquid powders" popular at the turn of the 20th century: calamine, wet white and liquid pearl (not to be confused with pearl powder).
Liquid pearl was essentially white face powder mixed with water and glycerin. Despite its tendency to streak, it had several advantages over dry face powder, namely that it lasted longer and provided slightly more coverage. Although the powder component consisted of the same ingredients as face powder (usually zinc oxide or bismuth oxychloride), liquid pearl was used on the body in addition to the face, primarily for evening wear to impart an even, whitening effect on any exposed skin – ideal for the plunging necklines and short-sleeve styles of fin-de-siècle Europe and the U.S. It was also less frequently recommended as a sort of sunscreen for daytime due to the zinc. Sources detailing liquid pearl from the early 1900s align with Opaline. A 1904 recipe instructed the user to "Keep in a tightly corked bottle and apply with a sponge when required,"2 and in 1910 beauty columnist Margaret Mixter advised, "When bottled there will be a white sediment at the bottom, and the preparation must always be shaken before any is put on the face. In applying a piece of muslin or linen should be used."3 Opaline's name, color, packaging, and instructions perfectly match liquid pearl. Compare to others from the time, which were packaged in bottles and claimed to have a whitening effect.
I can't uncork the Opaline bottle due to its fragility, but I was very tempted to try to sprinkle out some powder to get a sense of the texture and opacity. Instead of potentially damaging or breaking the bottle, to sate my curiosity I decided to whip up a batch of liquid pearl using a common recipe – this one appeared in a column by Harriet Hubbard Ayer4 in 1902 and was reprinted in several other beauty guides: "pure oxide of zinc, 1 ounce; glycerine, one dram; rosewater, four ounces; essence of rose, fifteen drops. Sift the zinc, dissolving it in just enough of the rosewater to cover it, then add the glycerin, next the remainder of the rosewater. Shake well and apply with a soft sponge or antiseptic gauze." All ingredients were procured via Etsy.
My measuring may have been off, but the mixture ended up being very thin and watery.
I didn't have any cheesecloth on hand to strain it nor a pretty little bottle to put it in, but I did have plenty of travel containers. After a good shake I used my trusty Beauty Blender sponge (dampened) to apply a thin layer – I was also short on linen, muslin and gauze.
Once applied, it's actually not too dissimilar from today's zinc-based sunscreen lotion in that it leaves a pretty noticeable white cast, even with just a small amount on my pasty skin. Smelled lovely though! And the texture was surprisingly smooth and comfortable. Not as emollient as a lotion, but it didn't feel dry or like it was just sitting on top of my skin. I'm sparing you a photo, but I did try it on my face and neck in addition to my inner arm…looked quite ghostly. I also neglected to take a photo of it in the bottle a few hours after, when it had separated with all the zinc on the bottom – the instructions to shake well were definitely necessary.
Given its unnatural appearance – I can't imagine putting on more layers – I found myself wondering if liquid pearl was commonly worn. Whiteness was (is) highly prized as a beauty standard, and liquid pearl was one way to achieve it, albeit temporarily. As was the case for centuries, the starkness of ultra-white skin wasn't an issue despite being at odds with the "undetectable" makeup that middle-class women were expected to adhere to; the whiter, the better, especially according to ads for liquid pearl. A 1914 ad for a liquid powder called Derma Viva states, "It whitens the skin at once, a single application being most effective. Red, brown or dark complexion – face, neck, arms, and hands – made a beautiful milky white by use of this wonderful beautifier."
Judging from my experiment, liquid pearl doesn't seem like it would look remotely natural on even the palest of skin tones, but it appears whiteness trumped any concerns about liquid pearl's obviousness. It could also be that as there were so few formulations, liquid pearl and other liquid powders were relatively natural-looking by fin-de-siècle standards, or at least, that's what companies wanted customers to believe. Derma Viva notes that it is "absolutely invisible" and "will not show as does face powder," while Mme. Gage's Imperial Japanese White Lily, "a delicate liquid powder for evening use" was also advertised as invisible. "A successfully made-up woman does not look in the least artificial," proclaimed Mrs. Henry Symes, who then followed up this statement by a recipe for liquid pearl.5 Another column from 1903 advises using one of the new "flesh" tinted liquid powders instead of white, but notes that white powders were still preferable to the harshness of theatrical makeup. "Only a few years ago Milady was forced to be content with just two colors of face powder, chalk white and rose. Both of these were easily discernible, for they made her either too red or too pale…Not only are there fifteen tints of complexion powders, but they are put up in different forms to suit different occasions. There are liquid powders, which are to be 'shaken before taken'…at any big entertainment the women may be seen with their faces chalked till they resemble nothing so much as a company of corpses. These women do not bother about preparing the chalk; they simply take a chalk pencil and rub it into the skin with unction, and the more ghastly the result the better they are pleased."6 Given that every liquid pearl recipe dictated careful application with a sponge or other piece of cloth, it seems that as long as women were using it primarily for nighttime and paying attention to how and where they applied it, liquid pearl was an acceptable cosmetic for the average (white) woman.
We also can't discount the fact that electric lighting wasn't totally ubiquitous at the time and liquid pearl was mostly recommended for evening wear, so perhaps it was less obvious in darkened settings. In any case, while some cosmetic recipes hold up today and all the ingredients in this particular concoction are still used in contemporary cosmetics, it appears quite crude by comparison and is best left in the 1900s.
To conclude, I'm 99.9% sure Opaline is liquid pearl, but less certain is whether Mme. De Baranta was a real person. I am skeptical! Perhaps the Cortland Historical Society, which also has this artifact in their collection, could shed some light on the company.
What do you think of Opaline and liquid pearl? And have you ever tried DIY'ing makeup? Believe it or not, this was my first experiment despite all of the recipes that have been printed in various makeup history books and seeing it done numerous times before. I think recreating old formulas would be pretty fun Makeup Museum events. 😉
1There were several instances of liquid powders named Opaline from the late 1800s/early 1900s including one by UK-based Crown perfumery and the Opaline Toilet Manufacturing Company in San Francisco, but no Opaline from the De Baranta company.
2Emily Lloyd, "The Skin: Its Care and Treatment," (Chicago: MacIntosh Battery and Optical Co) 1904, 104-105. The story of this book's author is fascinating by itself – apparently Emily Lloyd was an alias used by Ruth Maurer, who established the Marinello company. Once again, Cosmetics and Skin has all the details.
4"Harriet Hubbard Ayer Responds to Many Inquiries Directed to the Sunday Post-Dispatch," The St. Louis Sunday Post Dispatch, May 25, 1902, 42.
5Mrs. Henry Symes, "How To Be Healthy and Beautiful: Use of Cosmetics for Improving the Complexion's Appearance – When It Is Justified," The Minneapolis Tribune, February 16, 1902. This entire column is a hoot – Symes basically calls out the hypocrisy of men judging women who wear makeup, and states that if they weren't so obsessed with certain beauty standards, women would not feel the need to wear makeup.
6"The True Uses of Powder for the Complexion," Evening Star (Washington, DC), Nov. 14, 1903, 32.
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?
In case you were wondering why the blog has been so quiet the past 6 weeks or so, it's because I've been working feverishly on the latest exhibition. And I'm pleased to announce it's finally here! Well, you'll have to click over to get the full online version, but there will be more here soon. 😉 If you've followed the Museum for a while you know I've been obsessed with mermaids since I was little, and with all the wonderful mermaid makeup I've added to the collection over the years, I simply couldn't wait any longer to dive into an exhibition fully dedicated to these creatures (rather than incorporating them piecemeal into summer exhibitions as I had been doing). Plus, the only good thing about the pandemic was that I was able to dye my hair beautiful mermaid colors as a result of working from home where my boss can't see me and claim that my magical streaks are "unprofessional", so I figured now was the right time.
You can check out the exhibition at the Museum's special exhibition website. I was having so much fun though I wanted to display it in the Museum's physical space (a.k.a. my bedroom). Keep your eyes peeled as I will be updating this post with the in-person exhibition. UPDATE, March 29, 2022: I have finally gotten around to installing an abbreviated version of the exhibition at Museum headquarters! Just in time for International Mermaid Day.
Top row, left to right.
This is obviously a print-out of the original Coets ad – I didn't want to remove it from the 1955 copy of Vogue that I purchased and it was too large to fit anyway.
Second row, left to right.
Third row, left to right.
Bottom row, left to right.
Naturally, Research Assistant Mer-Babo was on hand to inspect everything and make sure it was in order.
All in all, I was really inspired and now I want to do either an entire water-themed exhibition or a mythological creatures exhibition.
As always, if you have any thoughts about mermaid makeup or would like to submit photos of your favorite mermaid looks or products, please comment below or email me! I'd love to have a little community gallery at the exhibition site.
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!
