The Right Copy
As her male suitor begins to twirl her within the confines of their circle (apparently a popular framing technique in 1920s ad design), he lifts her lithe arm in the air and smells the alluring scent of Odorno toilet water, which effectively hides perspiration-produced smells and prevents stains in only three applications per week.
The use of geometry in this graphically stunning ad for men’s hosiery is perhaps an early sign of Art Deco’s burgeoning influence in design.
A nostalgic reference to the antebellum South to sell chocolates? How very Paula Deen.
Vanity Fair also advertised a personal shopping service back in the day.
Why are the Turkish cigarettes everywhere? you ask yourself, while making eye contact with the woman inside (yet another) circle. Yes, she’s looking at you—there you are reflected in the mirror behind her, looking dapper in your suit while she wears her sheet. And what are you smoking? Murad Cigarettes, of course. They’re everywhere.
Appealing to those who aspire to be sophisticated women, this ad for silverware suggests that a woman is not truly ready to leave her house for a social event until she has used the powder from her silver powder box, checked herself in her silver mirror, and looked at her mother’s picture in her silver frame. Gorham also suggests that young, sophisticated women whisper their “whimsical, feminine secrets of the night before” to their silver accessories, because “aren’t they the silent confidants of her most private hours?”
Dainty exposed ankles, loose, sheer fabrics, and deeply plunging V-necks were considered, as they still are today, sexy, although these undergarments show the popular 1920s silhouette.
A car can also be advertised based on the beauty of its interior, according to Bridgeport Fabrics, whose product actually appears to be the least eye-catching part of this illustration. Wearing luxurious outerwear, the potential customers are outside the frame that contains the car, and therefore the viewers are meant to relate to them or, at the very least, imagine putting themselves in the couple’s fancy shoes.
It’s hard to say which is more remarkable in this ad for Paramount Pictures—is it that the company has retained the same logo for over a century, or is it that this advertisement is promoting the experience of watching a film, rather than any singular film, as is the norm today? The copy writing boasts “genuine portrayals of human virtues and ventures and follies and perils,” with the capability to carry “you off like an aeroplane.” Considering that the world’s first ever feature-length film, The Story of the Kelly Gang, had come out only 14 years before in 1906, this advertisement was actually promoting a relatively new evolution in entertainment—an engagement with film that Vanity Fair and its readers still have today.
The bandwagon technique used here—the Kum-a-part Kuff Button “buttons the cuffs of the nation”—makes this ad look like a propaganda poster, with its omnipotent hand and huddled masses.
Much more than just a beautiful illustration of an adventurous girl (and a finely printed offer of an “interesting booklet sent upon request”), this advertisement for hosiery also includes a winking bit of judgment. “You just know she wears them,” it remarks, slyly. “Them,” in this case, apparently meaning “tights with fish on the feet and stripes on the thighs,” because—fashion.
When Condé Montrose Nast bought Dress in 1913, he renamed the magazine Dress and Vanity Fair and published four issues that year. This full-page, colored illustration, advertising A.D. Burgesser & Co.’s tailored hats for ladies, was the new publication’s first advertisement in its very first September issue. The publication’s name was changed to just *Vanity Fair *the following year.
The magazine really wanted readers to understand the deals available should they choose to re-subscribe, so much so that it broke them down in four different ways in this ad. Also of note, cartoons similar to the one pictured here can be found throughout the pages of Vanity Fair in its early issues.
With as many car advertisements as there were in the 1920s, the Willys-Knight Limousine sought to stand out. Branding the car as “ultra-luxurious,” because of its quiet engine, the advertisement tried to appeal to the technologically savvy sophisticate.
A bizarrely popular technique in advertising during this time was the use of little poems that reference the product without actually being related to the product at all; sort of a precursor to jingles. Case in point, this Campbell’s Vegetable Soup ad, which contains the gem: “Over the bounding waves we go with sparkling eyes and cheeks aglow. We’re way ahead in every race—for Campbell’s set the winning pace.”
Effective in its simplicity, this ad for the Marmon 34 car has more negative space than we would ever see in contemporary advertisements. It has the effect of allowing the eye to rest solely on the product.
Carrying over from the 19th century’s trend of exoticism in art and design, which became popular after European colonialism, creative elements such as characters dressed in Eastern garb were often used in 1920s advertisements. This Rigaud ad promises an “exclusive perfume with a touch of the Orient.”
While there are equally horrifying methods of “reducing flesh” advertised today, perhaps none are so visibly strange as Dr. Walter’s flesh-reducing rubber garments. We do have its modern incarnation of spandex undergarments, but they haven’t yet broken into the neck- and chin-reducing market.
“The younger hostess . . . who is not only fashionable but who has her own ideas.” Imagine that. Perhaps not unbelievably, this phrase is used here to sell linens.
Why have rappers, moguls, and high-society folk continued to drink Hennessy all these years? “So we can be ourselves once more!” claims this ad from 1933, less than three years before the end of *Vanity Fair’*s historic period. For our centennial, we at Vanity Fair are celebrating as joyously as the glamorous party-goers in this illustration, although we’ve made sure our glasses are slightly larger than the one pictured here in the female attendee’s hand. It has, after all, been quite the century.
Hipsters everywhere, rejoice! P.B.R. “excels all others in unvarying goodness,” thereby achieving “nation wide acceptance as the best of the better beers.” Seen here being enjoyed by a gal who drinks her P.B.R. from a beer flute—ironically, of course.
In a poll of current V.F. employees, no one could quite come up with an explanation for the content of this ad for Fisk tires. Its seemingly unrelated plot is a mystery to us, but the ad itself is the most vibrantly colored in this collection.
Debunking Mad Men mythology, this 1925 ad for Lucky Strike bore the slogan “it’s toasted” well before the 1960s ad age. It shows both the smokes and the smoker inside circles and talks about how “toasting brings out the hidden flavor of the world’s finest tobaccos,” all within an elegantly ornate border.
This ad for Whitman’s Chocolates has so much to offer. Golf-club fashion, a look at a spacious 1925 convertible, and, most important, this reassuring statement: “concentrated energy in chocolates exactly answers the call of that ‘empty feeling’ that follows a round of golf, a morning in the surf, or a battle royal at tennis.” We couldn’t agree more.
Yet another beautiful full-page illustration—this one for men’s garters—is a classic example of the importance of packaging. You’ll find the product in a “gold gift box,” which the advertiser has smartly placed against a complementary deep-purple background.
While the calligraphy and illustrations are superb, the copywriting on this Lucky Strike ad reads like a cover line promoting some technique to lose two pounds in two minutes. If we are to believe that the quoted text comes from Jean Ackerman, who is shown illustrated in the ad, then she suggests avoiding sweets and smoking Lucky Strikes, naturally.
Once popular and now avoided at all costs, Asbestos Shingles were at one point considered safe, beautiful, and charming, according to this ad.
How this late-night partier manages to wake up at 8:02 a.m. from the implied hangover is a mystery. But this guy’s serious. He uses Listerine before all social and business engagements.
Showing another familiar brand, this ad for Crane’s Cordlinear stationery is simple and elegant, while the model looks thoroughly 1925, with her stacked bracelets, pearls, and a variation on the bob known as the “shingle” haircut.
An age-old adage it seems: you can sell anything if there are adorable, little animals involved.
As evidenced by the previous slide and this one, cruises were becoming popular in the 1930s. This Bremen-Europa ad boasts “the fastest way to Europe . . . with a package for every purse.” Much like the Marmon 34 ad (see slide 15), this full-page illustration uses negative space to create a clean and gorgeous ad, its ships appearing from the horizon, visually understated yet bold.
Be careful, ladies! Your tired, stressed-out husband might stray if you don’t suggest going on a White Star Line cruise. Just keep in mind that you’ll be spending 45 to 57 days together . . .
The shoe being advertised “for the foot aristocratic” not only makes your foot look smaller but is also apparently offered at “prices that conform to everyone’s views on spending”—which, as we know, are never the same.
