Novelist and fashion historian Mimi Mathews has written another wonderful post about Victorian women’s hairstyles and beauty products. Click here for her latest, and then follow the links at the bottom of that post for the answer to many other “how did they do that?” questions about beauty and hair styling products from the 1800s.
The Silmerine ad says that “You’ll never again use the hair destroying heated iron.”
I have personal knowledge of the heated curling irons — sometimes called curling tongs — like the ones below, because my mother used them on me almost daily until I was about eight years old.
This kind of curling iron didn’t plug into an electric outlet; my mother turned up the flames on one burner of the gas stove in our kitchen and stuck the metal part of the tongs into the fire for a while. (Our curling iron had wooden handles.) I was sent to the bathroom to bring her several sheets of toilet paper. I sat on a stool in the middle of the kitchen. If the curling iron curled the paper, but did not burn it, it was ready for my hair. (Our toilet paper was not soft and quilted.)
Once I started school and discovered that other girls — like my friend Arleen — did not have long ringlets, this daily ordeal became an ongoing battle. I hated it. But my mother’s idea of how her perfect child should look was unshakeable. We fought, I cried, I begged, but I was only allowed to leave for school once — that I remember — without being curled with that hated hot iron. (I remember skipping with joy, and then feeling the ringlets bounce into their usual shape before I had gone half a block.)
My mother frequently told me, “You have to suffer to be beautiful.” I doubt that the saying originally referred to curling irons.
[I should make it clear that I wasn’t especially afraid of getting burned, although my squirming must have made it more likely. Getting snarls combed out of my hair was worse, as my mother got increasingly exasperated with me. It was the whole, time-consuming, pointless (to me) process that I hated. At least I often got out of the house with just a brushing and a barette on the weekends.]
Once, I was allowed to stay overnight with my Uncle Mel and his beautiful wife, Irene. Aunt Irene had naturally bright red hair that fell in waves to below her waist. She coiled her thick braids on top of her head for the office, but one night Uncle Mel brought me to her house just after she had washed her hair. She was sitting on the sofa in a pale blue satin robe, brushing her red hair as it dried. It was so long she could sit on it. She told me about having her hair set with rags when she was a girl my age, and that night she offered to give me rag curl.** In the morning, when she brushed my hair, I was amazed and happy to have curls without any pain! I told my mother about this wonderful way we could stop using the curling iron. She wasn’t impressed — and I was never allowed to stay overnight with Aunt Irene again.
Maybe Mary Pickford was to blame for our battles about the curling iron. And Shirley Temple.
I was an only child, born after twelve years of marriage to parents who were forty years old. My mother had had a long time to dream about the child she hoped for. I honestly don’t think it ever occurred to her that her child, and especially her daughter, would not be exactly like her — a perfectible extension of herself. She was always surprised — and saddened or angered — by every sign that I was my father’s daughter, too. I remember her disappointment when she discovered that my skin, even where the sun never touched it, was not as milky white as hers, but halfway between the whiteness of hers and the cream-white of his. And the lunch when she suddenly exclaimed, “Dammit, Charles! She’s got your mouth!” (instead of her shapely one.) My mother was so worried that I would take after his family and be taller than the boys in my class, that she lied about my age and enrolled me in first grade instead of kindergarten. I heard her tell a friend that she had decided to do it after driving past a school and seeing my older cousin in the playground with other children: “She looked like a G**-dammed giraffe!” So instead of being the youngest child in kindergarten, I was (secretly) the youngest child in first grade and in every grade until high school. It was lucky that reading came easily to me, and I had plenty of experience in being quiet and obedient, so my first teachers never realized that I was so young in other ways.
My mother had been pretty and popular; she loved to dance; so she never noticed that I was bookish and uncoordinated. I certainly never asked to be entered in a Beautiful Baby contest!
I came in second, but she made this outfit and put this picture on her Christmas cards. (The trophy said that I was “99 1/2 % perfect….)
She was certainly proud of me — or, proud of herself for having me. Relatives have told me that she treated me like a doll. She kept me dressed in frilly dresses that she washed and ironed and starched, and changed twice a day. (I got my first pair of jeans when I stayed with her mother, because Uncle Mel said Grandma was too old to cook and clean and look after a child AND do all that extra laundry.) I was completely happy at Grandma’s house. And Grandma didn’t try to turn me into Shirley Temple or Mary Pickford.
In the 1920s, movie star Mary Pickford played little girls with long curls well into her thirties. Here she is in “Little Annie Rooney” in 1925. Pickford was born in 1892, and was only five feet tall. (She was also a formidable movie producer.) It was big news when she finally bobbed her hair in 1928, partly because she wanted to play an adult role for a change.
She would have been a megastar when my mother was a teenager. (Pickford made 51 silent movies in 1910 alone!) These pictures of hairstyles for girls from 1917 show the kind of ringlets Pickford wore, probably achieved with a curling iron. Did my mother always dream of having a child who looked like these girls?
The disadvantage of curling irons was that you couldn’t curl the hair closest to your scalp — the hot iron would burn you.
The Pickford influence can be seen in these fashion illustrations from 1924, when my mother was twenty.
Perhaps my mother formed her idea of the perfect little girl back then, although she was forty when she finally had a baby. That’s a long time, but she still had her curling iron and knew how to use it….
By 1933, when my parents were married, there was a new super-star named Shirley Temple, age 5. Shirley was famous for her curls, although hers were shorter than Mary Pickford’s.
Shirley Temple could sing. I could sing. Shirley Temple could tap dance. I suffered through lessons in “Tap, Ballet, and Acrobatics.” Shirley Temple had a full head of curls. Click here for a picture of Shirley Temple in Curly Top (1935.) And I was given a permanent wave as soon as the beautician said I was old enough ….
What I remember about this trip to the beauty parlor was how incredibly heavy the rollers were.
But the professional Nestle machine could curl a whole head in an hour … or three….
I was fortunate that the home permanent arrived around 1950. The smell was so terrible that my mother once took me to the Saturday matinee show at the movies just to get that smell out of the house! Ah, Peter Pan in 1953! My one happy memory associated with those hated curls.
There were other, much more serious problems poisoning our relationship, but I sometimes wonder: if my mother had known that she would die when I was nine, would we still have spent morning after morning after morning fighting about my hair?
[Sorry to write such a personal post, but I mention this as something for other mothers to think about….]
** Putting your hair up in rags required some strips of clean cloth four or five inches long. You wrapped your moistened hair around a finger, slid the finger out, put the rag strip through the center of the coil, and tied it. No hairpins were needed. And you didn’t have to sleep on wire rollers, as we did in the 1960s. Sleeping on rollers should have proved that suffering doesn’t guarantee beauty!)
26 responses to “Curling Iron Memories”
As a child, I slept in rag curlers the night before a big event. The curls looked great when the rags were untied, but never lasted long in my fine, straight hair. The rags may have been old fashioned but they were much more comfortable than rollers!
For School Picture Day or any important Sunday in the 60s my mom would make me sleep on brush rollers! Well, I say “sleep.” Then when I complained I would hear, “It hurts to be beautiful.” I always wondered why she did that as anyone who’d ever seen me or my sister knew we had dead-straight hair. As you say, they didn’t last long.
I think it’s ok to share something so personal. I’m sorry you lost your mother when you were so young. I lost my father at 12 and I still miss him even though he was ‘difficult’. My mother fought with me over my hair most mornings too. “If you want it long you have to have it braided” I hated them and she would always make them too tight.
Oh, too tight braids! I remember those. We had schoolyard jokes about them. Funny how one hair tugging on your scalp can give you a headache. Condolences on the loss of your father.
Oh dear, what a story … I curled my hair, too, for some years (doing the 1930s), and it’s definitley no fun – even being an adult and with rags, pin curls or rollers instead of an iron. What I was always wondering about: How did they make the curls last? I had to set them every night und couldn’t really imagine many women doing this. I suspected the use of chemicals that where much more powerful than what is used today, but apparently you had them done every morning, too. Poor girl!
I always looked at movie star hairstyles from the 1940s and wondered how they were possible without hair spray. Then wonderful Mimi Matthews wrote about hair spray formulas from the 1890s! https://www.mimimatthews.com/2017/10/23/victorian-hairspray-a-brief-history-of-gum-solutions-and-bandoline/
there are few things more toxic to the parent and child relationship than the unshakeable desire for a “mini-me” child, or thinking of one’s child as a an extension of the self to be moulded and “perfected”… the pictures of you are lovely, though; even lovelier if one didn’t know the story behind the retro beauty!
so many of us have hair related trauma from childhood, i suspect. mine was nothing like yours, as my mother was trying to get my hair to do contemporary styles, and thankfully she only really fought with it on special occasions. the annual school photos and holidays provoked her efforts, but i was left mostly alone on ordinary days. still, she had final say over my haircuts and styles until high school; and sadly her ideas as well as current styles were ill-suited to my unruly hair. she still largely disapproves of my hairstyle choices even now! LOL..
Remember Toni Tennielle’s bob in the 1970s? My mother burned the tops of both my ears every day with an electric curling iron to achieve that look, and I didn’t mind much. These days curling irons are so much safer all around, “these kids today don’t know how good they have it!” (thumps cane) LOL
You were a cutie! and I am sure you still are. Count me as another survivor of hair related mother/daughter trauma.
I ‘m so sorry that you lost your mum so early and that your relationship wasn’t good. I remember that my mum (born in 1939) told me about her hair, she had very long thick hair and wasn’t allowed to cut it off until she was 18. She said that she got neck pain when she’d washed it, from the weight of the wet hair. They didn’t had a hair blower, so it took very long to dry. Beer was used to make her curls last longer, too! That must have smelled very strong I guess. I don’t have hair horror stories of my own, thank goodness.
Thank you. When we didn’t have a blow dryer, she turned on the oven, put the vacuum cleaner on the open door, and clicked the switch that blew air through the vacuum in reverse! Ingenuity (and a dusty smell….)
It’s interesting that so many women I know (including self) cling to the hairstyle that was popular when they married–ie, when they started making their own decisions about how they wore their hair without consulting an adult! My neighbour is still wearing the sixties “flip” which was popular here in Spain until the mid-70s, which is how old she is now.
I had forgotten those wire rollers with a brush in the middle! I slept in those in college.
I think your memories and illustrations of your hair story are perfectly situated in this blog; fashion has consequences and sometimes outlasts its era for all sorts of reasons (and the comments here verify that). They are certainly more powerful when put into the perspective of your mother’s early death. There is a photo of my mother and the aunt that raised her with similar hair in 1939. My stepgrandmother had the upwound monobraid through the late 60s to please my grandfather. When he died, the story goes she cut it off and put it in the coffin with him. Cut and curl for the rest of her days!
The story about your grandmother’s braid made me smile. I’ll assume it was a tribute….
U such beautiful when u are a child, I mean it looks fine with me when u in that sausage curl hair, I think u cuter
And this is a little extra: The girl below u, she almost looks like Anna Frank
Thank you so much for sharing such a personal story. As an older mom who was living in Redwood City when my son was born (we’ve since moved a few miles south) I’m always interested in your stories about your parents and your childhood.
I am another one who grew up with “hair trauma” as a girl – all the way to high school! I didn’t ever get to say what my hair should look like until I was a Freshman in High School- 1971-72. I finally got a real professional hair cut and style, once my mother got too busy with my three much younger siblings, and a full time teaching job. Until then, I was her prisoner to her sewing scissors and getting my bangs cut off way too short to suit me (or anyone else but her) sitting in a chair in the driveway or on the back patio, because “they were getting in my eyes.” They were actually exactly how I wanted them, brushing my eyebrows, and I looked like a moron with them hacked off halfway up my forehead. And the other girls at School made sure I knew it, too.
I was usually miserable because of how I was made to dress, until 9th grade, when I put my size 9 foot down to my tightwad of a step father, and said the Depression had been over with for 30 years and it was time to move ON! No, I was not going to wear Hush Puppies oxfords to school everyday because “they were practical” and if he wanted to wear a dirtbrown sack of an overcoat to his job, he was welcome to it, but I was not going to wear one to school even if it DID have a “practical” zip in lining to make it wearable all damn year! Yes, we had issues, and when my siblings were coming up behind me (when I was 19, the oldest two were in the 4th grade!) they had the same issues with him, because he never learned that his children were supposed to be their own human beings, not puppets to be yanked around by him.
My mother was always trying to make her children into things the neighbors would admire, regardless of how it affected us. She and I went through one of the most horrific traumas you can imagine when I was in high school, and while I was trying to protect myself from her temper tantrums and assert my own rights, her only answer to it was, “Well, what are the neighbors going to think!?? What are your grandparents going to think??” I finally turned on her and said, “To HELL with what the freaking neighbors think?? What about ME?? We dont know those people – a year from now, we won’t even know them!” But her ego wouldn’t get the message. It was always that way, and at 85, it’s only ever gotten worse.
Anyway, going back to hair, I used to sleep in those hard plastic rollers with the teeth in them, from about 7th grade to 10th grade. I finally got a shag haircut, with birthday money, and babysitting money, and I didn’t need the rollers any more, but it took me a couple of weeks to get used to NOT having them poking my head every night! Anybody remember “Dippity Do”?? I used that stuff religiously – it was the best way I could find to get the curls to last all day. Then a bath and shampoo every night, and back it went into my hair with the pink and green plastic rollers, and the snazzy curler cap! I got rid of all that stuff when I got my shag, and the new blow dryer, and never looked back! And yes, when I married at 19, three days later, after growing my hair out for 11 months for the wedding, I got it all cut again to a new style I kept for years! But, by the time it was time for a different look, I got it all cut again to where I have been wearing it since! It looks good, it’s flattering, it’s easy to do and to keep, and I’ll probably die with it!
I loved reading your story about your life, because it shows that we are not all alone! Even though it might seem like it at the time, but we can all find our personal freedom at some point, and become our own human beings.
Ah, those plastic curlers. I remember curlers made of coiled springs and filled with a brush that caught the hair. Slept on them! You are right about the importance of a good haircut. I’m always interested in clothing as “class markers” — my husband agrees that you can tell the wealthy women from the rest of us — even when we’re all wearing gym clothes — by their haircuts. (And during the Geo. Bush administration, when a bunch of guys in plaid shirts showed up to bulldoze Dixie Chicks CDs, my husband’s barber said, “They may have been wearing plaid shirts, but those guys had $50 haicuts!”
Dealing with a couple of rebellious tresses that were ruining my Louise Brooks bob this past summer, I begged a friend going back to the States for a visit to find me some of that pink “hair set tape.” Except yeah, they don’t hardly make it any more. You can get it from “vintage” stockists, or Zon, for 75 bucks for the roll that used to cost less than a dollar.
She brought back some edge control goop, which is not what I need. But then of course with lockdown I won’t probably be able to get my hair cut again till June.
Ah, pink hair tape! I used it in the lkat 60s to control my “guiches” — a section of hair worn in front of the ear, on the cheek. In college, I didn’t need an alarm clock; I wa awakened by the aroma of Aqua Net hairspray as my roommate sealed her perfect bubble hairdo every morning.
My mom wore one of those bubble cuts! She had a standing appointment at the salon every 10 days or so, wore a hair net and slept on a special hard pillow my sister made for her. The refrain of my childhood was “Don’t touch my hair! Don’t touch my hair!” We used to use hairspray as fixative for art projects. This new brush-out hairspray doesn’t work for that.
I grew up in the 70’s and my mum used to put my hair in rags occasionally, using cold tea. My grandmother used to do the same for her when she was young but occasionally forgot that the tea had sugar in, resulting in very solid ringlets! My mum used the old metal tongs on my hair as well, I definitely wasn’t keeping up with the fashions.
In the 50s, I was given a “Toni” doll whose hair could be set. The setting lotion was sugar + water. “solid ringlets,” indeed! The build-up was pretty crusty after a while!
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I was equally tortured as a child. Pin curls, beauty pageants, my mother always telling me to stand up straight and hold in my stomach. I’m an Aquarian (Free Spirit) she was a Capricorn (Controlling it’s got to be My Way) to say we clashed is an understatement. I never came close to living up to her expectations of the beauty queen daughter she wanted.