BEFORE ALLY, CARRIE, AND ADDISON: In the 1920s, Americans often spoke of a "New Woman" -- independent, assertive, sexual, flamboyant. Forever captured in the image of the "flapper", the New Woman embodied the cultural ferment of the "Roaring Twenties." Yet even amid the sex, the booze, the jazz, and the short skirts, the New Women of the '20s remained locked in traditional gender conventions, as we see in the decade's popular culture.
In motion pictures, the New Woman appeared as the "movie modern," a type of heroine who showed even more independent spirit (and considerably more leg) than her cinematic predecessor, Mary Pickford. The movie moderns worked in offices and department stores, danced and drank at nightclubs, and cultivated their appearance through fashion and make-up. In many cases, these women found themselves romantically frustrated, as evident in Gloria Swanson's memorable put-down from 1920's Why Change Your Wife?: "The more I see of men, the better I like dogs." Yet they still vigorously pursued their men, determined to land a handsome, preferably wealthy catch. Perhaps no screen actress embodied the New Woman more than Clara Bow, the original "It Girl" -- so named because of her winning performance in the 1927 film It. As this clip shows, Bow's character displayed all of the flapper's physical and sexual appeal. And yet in the end, her goal was to get a rich husband and live happily ever after.
Some performers did extend the freedom of the New Woman beyond such conventional frameworks. In films like She Done Him Wrong, Mae West pushed the boundaries of sexual frankness, outraging cultural and civic leaders and helping to usher in the era of the Hays Code. Equally uninhibited -- and even further removed from the pop culture "mainstream" -- were the "blues queens" of the 1920s and 1930s. Singers like Bessie Smith, Ma Rainey, and Ida Cox used the blues to express sorrow over lost homes and displaced families, but they also embraced their sexuality with gusto and mocked the pathetic lovers who failed to measure up (check out Ida Cox's "One Hour Mama" for a classic example of this style). Once again, though, this vigorous sensuality went too far for white middle-class tastes, and the blues queens were confined to the commercial ghetto of "race records."
The dilemma of the New Woman persisted throughout 20th-century popular culture (and we'll spend more time on the post-WWII era in a few weeks, when we discuss Susan Douglas's Where the Girls Are). Even today, pop culture frequently portrays independent women as successful, sexual, seemingly satisfied individuals who are nevertheless unhappy and unfulfilled because they lack a mate. Is this image really so inescapable? Can you offer any examples of pop-culture characters or performers who've been able to step outside the boundaries of the "New Woman" ideal?
Next week: the birth of radio and the phenomenon of Amos 'n' Andy.
In motion pictures, the New Woman appeared as the "movie modern," a type of heroine who showed even more independent spirit (and considerably more leg) than her cinematic predecessor, Mary Pickford. The movie moderns worked in offices and department stores, danced and drank at nightclubs, and cultivated their appearance through fashion and make-up. In many cases, these women found themselves romantically frustrated, as evident in Gloria Swanson's memorable put-down from 1920's Why Change Your Wife?: "The more I see of men, the better I like dogs." Yet they still vigorously pursued their men, determined to land a handsome, preferably wealthy catch. Perhaps no screen actress embodied the New Woman more than Clara Bow, the original "It Girl" -- so named because of her winning performance in the 1927 film It. As this clip shows, Bow's character displayed all of the flapper's physical and sexual appeal. And yet in the end, her goal was to get a rich husband and live happily ever after.
Some performers did extend the freedom of the New Woman beyond such conventional frameworks. In films like She Done Him Wrong, Mae West pushed the boundaries of sexual frankness, outraging cultural and civic leaders and helping to usher in the era of the Hays Code. Equally uninhibited -- and even further removed from the pop culture "mainstream" -- were the "blues queens" of the 1920s and 1930s. Singers like Bessie Smith, Ma Rainey, and Ida Cox used the blues to express sorrow over lost homes and displaced families, but they also embraced their sexuality with gusto and mocked the pathetic lovers who failed to measure up (check out Ida Cox's "One Hour Mama" for a classic example of this style). Once again, though, this vigorous sensuality went too far for white middle-class tastes, and the blues queens were confined to the commercial ghetto of "race records."
The dilemma of the New Woman persisted throughout 20th-century popular culture (and we'll spend more time on the post-WWII era in a few weeks, when we discuss Susan Douglas's Where the Girls Are). Even today, pop culture frequently portrays independent women as successful, sexual, seemingly satisfied individuals who are nevertheless unhappy and unfulfilled because they lack a mate. Is this image really so inescapable? Can you offer any examples of pop-culture characters or performers who've been able to step outside the boundaries of the "New Woman" ideal?
Next week: the birth of radio and the phenomenon of Amos 'n' Andy.
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