Retro Blast: Fun in the Sun...Not

Not being fond of being out in the sun, I very much embrace wearing one of my large, floppy hats whenever I stir outside in summer. Maybe I should consider a parasol as well; it would certainly help with physical distancing. This post originally appeared in 2008...enjoy!

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This parasol is not Victorian—I’m guessing it’s ca. early twentieth century—but the tassel and beautiful repoussé silver handle (I wish it showed up better in the photo) are a definite reminder of earlier days.

The ideal of feminine beauty up until the early twentieth century was a fair, white complexion. To some degree, this probably had its origins in economics: if you were pale and soft-skinned, it meant you didn’t spend your time out of doors working in the fields or taking care of farm animals...which meant your family could afford to have other people do that work for you.

Of course, that didn’t mean you never stirred out-of-doors...but it did mean that when you did go out for a stroll around the garden or a gentle trot down the Ladies’ Mile in Hyde Park, or for a visit to the seashore, you used a parasol, wore a hat (and often a veil swathed over your face) and wore gloves to keep the skin of your hands equally white. Like this young lady of 1815, attired for walking.

And if (oh, horrors!) you were negligent and let your parasol drag behind or used it to keep obnoxious suitors at bay, then you rushed home to apply one of the dozens of commercially prepared lotions, like “Godfrey’s Extract of Elder Flowers...To be had of any respectable Perfumer or Medicine Vendor in Bottles at 2s. 9d. each” which promised to “...communicate a refreshing coolness and softness to the skin, and completely remove Tan, Pimples, and cutaneous Eruptions....”

By the late nineteenth/early twentieth century, this attitude had changed. As more young women of the lower economic classes took jobs in factories and shops and offices, having a tan (a light one, mind you—just a glow) implied that you had the leisure time to engage in healthy outdoor pursuits like tennis or golf or riding and weren’t stuck indoors all day, working for a living...in other words, a completely opposite attitude!

Okay, What is the Shocking Truth about Women’s Blouses?

I knew you were all dying of curiosity about what shocking pronouncement I might have on the subject, so I couldn’t leave you in suspense, could I?

As I’ve been reading ladies’ magazines from the summer of 1917 and paying especial attention to the advertisements, I noticed a surprising thing: the many ads for, of all things, underarm hair removal. Yes, you heard me correctly. Like this one, from McCall's July 1917 issue:

And this one from The Delineator, also July 1917:

And that doesn’t include the ads for antiperspirants and deodorants and talcum powder (some of which, by the way, are quite lovely (sorry that the image is a trifle crooked--I didn't want to damage the magazine while scanning it. This one's from McCall's, by the way):

This surprised me at first—underarm hair removal? Really? But as it says in the ad, ladies’ blouses made of sheer batistes, cottons, and linens were all the fashion. Here’s a couple from the same issue of The Delineator. Look closely and you can see that the sleeve fabric was indeed very sheer:

And that doesn’t include bathing suits, some of which were sleeveless by now (also from July's The Delineator):

Underarm hair would be clearly visible in both cases...and definitely not “dainty” (a favorite adjective from this era, it seems)...hence, hair removal products. Maybe I’m clueless, but I’d just never thought of this as an early twentieth century problem...but evidently it was.

And this is part of why I take such joy in research: because you don’t know what you don’t know, and filling in all those gaps in knowledge is such a wonderful thing. Even when it involves underarm hair. I don't think I'll be writing any scenes in which my characters fret about this problem--at least, I don't think I will--but it certainly was interesting to learn about. This is not the kind of history that ever makes it into the history books...but it's history just the same--how the people before us lived. It's my favorite kind of history, and I hope you've enjoyed all the shreds of it that Regina and I try to bring to you.

Beauty, 19th Century Style, Part 2: Skin Care Recipes, or Everything I Need to be Beautiful can be Found at the Supermarket

Our 19th century girls couldn’t run down to the mall to pick up the latest beauty products…instead, they went down to the larder and out to the garden when they wanted something to remove freckles, or fade the tan they accidentally got at that picnic on Monday, or soothe chapped lips. Here are a few recipes for beauty products I found in The Lady’s Stratagem, compiled by Frances Grimble from a variety of early 19th century sources, as well as from The Mirror of Graces, anonymously published in 1811 by a Lady of Distinction.

Do any of them actually work to remove freckles or tan or pimples? I have no idea; some of the receipts call for unpleasant ingredients (a face wash of poultry blood to remove tan, for example!), and others call for ingredients no longer generally available, like spermaceti (a whale product) and musk. On the other hand, sweet almond oil and cucumber are used today in skin and body products…so who knows? Happy reading!

Cucumber Pomatum
This pomatum, which I have so often recommended for all faults in the skin, is prepared thus: take a quantity of fine olive-oil proportionable to how much pomatum you want. Grate white cucumbers in a quantity equal to the oil. Put the whole in a dish or a silver tumbler and place this vessel in a water-bath [like a double boiler]. Stir its contents continually with a silver soup-spoon, which replaces the pharmacist’s spatula. Continue to stir the mixture for some time, but do not let it boil; then strain it through a cheese cloth. Repeat the process with the same oil up to six times, always keeping the heat of the water-bath below the boiling point. This fine pomatum, white as snow, should be covered and used at once, because it turns rancid with time.

Lip Salve
A quarter of a pound of hard marrow, from the marrow-bone. Melt it over a slow fire, as it dissolves gradually, pour the liquid marrow into an earthen pipkin [that's one, at left], then add to it an ounce of spermaceti, twenty raisins of the sun, stoned [seeds removed], and a small portion of alcanna root, sufficient to color it a bright vermilion. Simmer these ingredients over a slow fire, then strain the whole through muslin; and while hot, stir into it one tea-spoonful of the balsam of Peru. Pour it into the boxes in which it is to remain; it will there stiffen, and become fit for use.

Pomade de Seville
(This simple application is much in request with the Spanish ladies, for taking off the effects of the sun, and to render the complexion brilliant.)
Take equal parts of lemon juice and white of eggs. Beat the whole together in a varnished earthen pipkin, and set on a slow fire. Stir the fluid with a wooden spoon till it has acquired the consistence of soft pomatum. Perfume it with some sweet essence, and, before you apply it, carefully wash the face with rice water.

Oil of Bitter Almonds, to cure Sun-burn and Freckles
Remove the yellow skins from some bitter almonds. Crush the almonds well, and press out the oil. Only a small amount should be prepared at a time, because it evaporates and easily turns rancid.

Preparation of Dr. Withering, to dispel Eruptions of the Skin
Squeeze out the juice of a leek, mix it with an equal quantity of sweet milk or cream, and use it to wash the pimples, which will dry up and promptly go down without leaving spots.

Beauty, 19th Century Style, Part 1: Detestable Compositions

Today it’s no big deal for young women to use lipstick, eye pencils, and any other number of cosmetics to improve on nature or conceal temporary blemishes. In the early 19th century, however, it was rather a different story. For one thing, in those days, make-up could kill—literally!

Up until the 20th century, the ideal of feminine beauty was a white skin tone, untouched by the sun. For those not naturally gifted with a pale, clear complexion, there was always “paint”, the “detestable compositions” of today’s title—compounds usually containing heavy metals like lead and antimony which might give one the desired, smooth, white skin, but were also highly neurotoxic (and, in the end, actually corrosive to the skin). Furthermore, there was an association of make-up with the stage and actresses, who were thought to be of uniformly light virtue. So is it any wonder that the use of anything to alter the appearance of one’s skin was regarded by most with at least deep suspicion?

But even the most curmudgeonly of 19th century texts agree that sometimes, Mother Nature needs a little help. All agree good general health and cleanliness to be the best promoter of a clear, handsome complexion, though they don’t always agree on just how to achieve them (is cold air a bane or boost?) But when Mother Nature doesn’t come through, a little rouge to the cheeks—the extract of safflowers or red sandalwood or cochineal (made from the crushed bodies of an insect native to Mexico and South America) is permissible…and that’s about all. Don’t even think about lipstick or eye make-up:

The article of rouge, on the grounds I have mentioned, is the only species of positive art a woman of integrity or of delicacy can permit herself to use with her face….nothing but selfish vanity, and falsehood of mind, could prevail upon a woman…to lacquer her lips with vermilion….Penciling eyebrows, staining them, &c. are too clumsy tricks of attempted deception…. (from The Mirror of Graces, 1811).

Of course, if a young lady wished to impress a young man with rosy lips to match her complexion, there was always the old trick of raising one's fan before one's mouth and biting the lips into pink plumpness...

Our next installment on 19th Century beauty will be Skin Care Recipes, or Everything I Need to be Beautiful can be Found at the Supermarket…but first, we’ll be welcoming Regency author and dog expert Judith Laik back to Nineteenteen next week with a look at the one of the century’s most enthusiastic dog fanciers.

Fun in the Sun...Not

Been warm enough for you this summer? In the northeast we're finally getting cool, rainy weather after weeks of nothing but hot sun (and dead lawns and suffering garden plants)...rather nice to use an umbrella again! Of course, I could have been using a parasol instead all this time... This post originally appeared in March 2008.

This parasol is not Victorian--I'm guessing it's early twentieth century--but the tassel and beautiful repousse silver handle ( I wish it showed up better in the photo) are a definite reminder of earlier days.

The ideal of feminine beauty up until the early twentieth century was a fair, white complexion. To some degree, this probably had its origins in economics: if you were pale and soft-skinned, it meant you didn't spend your time out of doors working in the fields or taking care of farm animals...which meant your family could afford to have other people do that work for you.

Of course, that didn't mean you never stirred out-of-doors...but it did mean that when you did go out for a stroll around the garden or a gentle trot down the Ladies' Mile in Hyde Park, or for a visit to the seashore, you used a parasol, wore a hat (and often a veil swathed over your face) and wore gloves to keep the skin of your hands equally white. Like this young lady of 1815, attired for walking.

And if (oh, horrors!) you were negligent and let your parasol drag behind or used it to keep obnoxious suitors at bay, then you rushed home to apply one of the dozens of commercially prepared lotions, like "Godfrey's Extract of Elder Flowers...To be had of any respectable Perfumer or Medicine Vendor in Bottles at 2s. 9d. each" which promised to "...communicate a refreshing coolness and softness to the skin, and completely remove Tan, Pimples, and cutaneous Eruptions...."

By the late nineteenth/early twentieth century, this attitude had changed. As more young women of the lower economic classes took jobs in factories and shops and offices, having a tan (a light one, mind you--just a glow) implied that you had the leisure time to engage in healthy outdoor pursuits like tennis or golf or riding and weren't stuck indoors all day, working for a living...in other words, a completely opposite attitude!

And one final word for today: don't try to take pictures on the floor when there's a nosy rabbit around. I wonder if the orange fabric gave him hopes of a giant carrot?

Her Crowning Glory

Ha! I’ll bet you thought this was going to be another post about Queen Victoria, didn’t you?

But today we’re going to talk about something completely different: hair.

The beginning of the 19th century coincides with a revolution in fashion that touched not only clothes, but personal style as well. Before the French Revolution in the 1790’s, hair was…well, weird. For formal occasions, women’s hair was made into enormous sculptures three and four feet high, supported by wire frameworks and additional hair (ew!) and decorated with everything from fruit and flowers and taxidermied birds to model ships engaged in naval battles. Oh yes…and don’t forget the powder. Everyone, men and women, wore grayish white powder that obscured their natural color. And even for everyday, hair was still dressed high and powdered.

But the Revolution helped usher in a reaction against this silliness. At first short, curly, tousled hair, called “mode a la Titus” (see right), became the fashion for both men and women—it was about as far from the old style as one could get.

This look remained popular for a long time, but within a few years was gradually modified by the rage for everything classical. Simple “psyche knots” (at left)—hair coiled or braided then pinned into a bun on the back of the head hearkened back to ancient Greek and Roman statuary.

These styles remained popular through the 1810s and 1820s. By the 1830’s more elaborate hair, once more to the point of silliness, like that of this demure young lady at right, became fashionable.

Walk into any supermarket or pharmacy today and you see aisles full of hair products. But supermarkets—and the shampoos and rinses and gels and foams there are a modern invention. What would a typical 19th century girl have used to keep her hair beautiful?

From Decorum, an 1877 publication:

“Vinegar and water form a good wash for the roots of the hair. Ammonia diluted with water is still better.

“Nothing is simpler or better in the way of oil than pure, unscented salad oil, and in the way of a pomatum bear’s grease is as pleasant as anything. Apply either with the hands or keep a soft brush for the purpose, but take care not to use the oil too freely. An over-oiled head of hair is vulgar and offensive….Those whose hair is glossy and shining need nothing to render it so; but when the hair is harsh, poor and dry, artificial lubrication is needed….

“For removing scurf [dandruff] glycerine diluted with a little rose-water will be found of service. Any preparation of rosemary forms an agreeable and highly cleansing wash.

“The yolk of an egg beaten up in warm water is an excellent application to the scalp.

“Many heads of hair require nothing more in the way of wash than soap and water.”

Hmm. Why does this sound more like a cookbook than beauty advice?