The Culture of Male Beauty in Britain: From the First Photographs to David Beckham 9780226805313

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The Culture of Male Beauty in Britain

∙˙∙

The Culture of Male Beauty in Britain ˙∙˙ From the First Photographs to David Beckham

Paul R. Deslandes

The U ni v er sit y of C hicago Pr ess C hicago a nd Londo n

The University of Chicago Press, Chicago 60637 The University of Chicago Press, Ltd., London © 2021 by The University of Chicago All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles and reviews. For more information, contact the University of Chicago Press, 1427 E. 60th St., Chicago, IL 60637. Published 2021 Printed in the United States of America 30 29 28 27 26 25 24 23 22 21   1 2 3 4 5 ISBN-­13: 978-­0-­226-­77161-­8  (cloth) ISBN-­13: 978-­0-­226-­80531-­3  (e-­book) DOI: https://doi.org/10.7208/chicago/9780226805313.001.0001 Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Names: Deslandes, Paul R., 1965–­author. Title: The culture of male beauty in Britain : from the first photographs to David Beckham / Paul R. Deslandes. Description: Chicago : University of Chicago Press, 2021. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2021010997 | ISBN 9780226771618 (cloth) | ISBN 9780226805313 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Masculine beauty (Aesthetics)—­England. | Beauty culture—­England. Classification: LCC HQ1090.27 .D485 2021 | DDC 155.3/320941—­dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021010997 ♾ This paper meets the requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-­1992 (Permanence of Paper).

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Contents

List of Illustrations  ix Introduction 1

pa rt one   Setting the Stage: The Foundations of Modern Male Beauty Chapter 1  Physiognomists and Photographers  13 Chapter 2  Beauty Experts and Hairdressing Entrepreneurs  50 Chapter 3  Artists, Athletes, and Celebrities  84 Chapter 4  Poets, Soldiers, and Monuments  123

pa rt t wo   Men on Display in the Twentieth and Twenty-­First Centuries Chapter 5  Brylcreem Men, Cinema Idols, and Uniforms  165 Chapter 6  Teenagers, Bodybuilders, and Models  206 Chapter 7  Youthful Rebels, Gender-­Benders, and Gay Men  246 Chapter 8  Insecure Men, Metrosexuals, and Spornosexuals  285 Epilogue  320 Acknowledgments 325 Archival Collections Consulted 329 Notes 331 Index 399

vii

Illustrations

Figures 1.1 Drawing of “the Cockney” from a chapter by Douglas William Jerrold, in Heads of the People or Portraits of the English, vol. 1 (London: Robert Tyas, 1840)  18 1.2 Drawing of “the Midshipman” from a chapter by Edward Howard, in Heads of the People or Portraits of the English (1840)  19 1.3 Illustration titled “Malignity” from Thomas Woolnoth, The Study of the Human Face: Illustrated by Twenty-­Six Full-­Page Steel Engravings (London: William Tweedie, 1865)  21 1.4 Physiognomic and phrenological portrait from Frank Ellis, Key to Heads, Faces, and Hands (Blackpool: Ellis Family, 1902)  24 1.5 Charles Keene, “Artful!,” Punch, or, the London Charivari 42 ( January 1, 1862)  30 1.6 Julia Margaret Cameron’s portrait of Henry John Stedman Cotton (1867)  34 1.7 Photograph of Jabez Hogg making a portrait in Richard Beard’s studio (1843)  38 1.8 “To secure a pleasing Portrait is everything,” a cartoon from Cuthbert Bede [Edward Bradley], Photographic Pleasures Popularly Portrayed with Pen and Pencil (London: T. McLean, 1855)  39 1.9 John Leech, “Photographic Beauties,” Punch, or, the London Charivari 34 ( June 19, 1858)  39 1.10 Photograph of the Taunt and Co. storefront, 9 and 10 Broad Street, Oxford (ca. 1870s)  43 1.11 Various nineteenth-­century cartes de visite contrasting age and youth  44 1.12 Hills and Saunders, carte de visite of  William Fleming Blaine (Cambridge, 1878) and carte de visite of Arthur B. Sole (Cambridge, ca. 1873–­77)  45 1.13a and 1.13b  Hills and Saunders, carte de visite of  Trinity College, Cam­bridge Boat Club (1875) and carte de visite of Oxford Varsity Eight (1882)  47 ix

i l lust r at i o ns   ‹ x

1.14 Elliott and Fry, carte de visite of John Edward Kynaston Studd, Charles Thomas Studd, and George Brown Studd (“Brothers Studd”) (1880)  48 2.1 George du Maurier engraving depicting a butcher and poulterer being photographed in front of his Christmas display (ca. mid-­late nineteenth century)  58 2.2 and 2.3  Circulars announcing Boyd Laynards’s Secrets of Beauty, Health, and Long Life (1901)  61–62 2.4 Postcard of H. P. Truefitt, Ltd., Hairdressers, 13 and 14 Old Bond Street, London (ca. 1910)  69 2.5 Advertisement for Professor Browne’s Celebrated Hair Cutting Saloon (ca. 1850)  70 2.6 Advertisement for Professor Browne’s Celebrated Hair Cutting Saloon titled “A Contrast Complete” (ca. 1850)  72 2.7 Advertisement for Alex Ross’s hair preparations, Ross’s Monthly Toilet Magazine 2, no. 12 (1863)  74 2.8 Advertisement for Eau Lodois (1883)  77 2.9 Advertisement for Pear’s Shaving Soap (ca. 1886)  78 2.10 Advertisement for Cadbury’s Cocoa, Illustrated London News (Au­ gust 29, 1885)  79 2.11 Advertisement for Capsuloids (1907)  81 3.1 Frederic, Lord Leighton, An Athlete Wrestling with a Python (1877)  93 3.2 Gillman and Co.’s photograph of Oscar Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas (1893)  96 3.3 Photograph of Henry Scott Tuke with Tom White on Newporth Beach (ca. early twentieth century)  98 3.4 Photograph of unidentified male nudes on the beach (ca. early twentieth century)  99 3.5 Photograph of Francis Brewer, Joseph Parker, and Jim Preece (ca. early twentieth century)  100 3.6 Henry Scott Tuke, Noonday Heat (1902–­3)  101 3.7a and 3.7b  “An Attitude of Mental and Physical Weakness” and “An Attitude of Self-­Possession” from Gustavus Cohen, True Manhood: A Book Specially Designed for Young Men (London: Office of the “Prac­ tical Christian,” 1885)  104 3.8 Portraits from Eugen Sandow, The Construction and Reconstruction of the Human Body: A Manual of the Therapeutics of Exercise (London: John Bale, Sons and Danielson, Ltd., and Francis Griffiths, 1907)  105 3.9 “Some Sons of the Empire,” Sandow’s Magazine 16, no. 18 (May 3, 1906)  107

i l lust r at i o ns   › xi

3.10 Photograph of Apollo [William Bankier], from Ideal Physical Culture and the Truth about the Strong Man, 3rd impression (London: Green and Co., 1900)  109 3.11 Photograph from Arthur Thomson, Handbook of Anatomy for Art Students (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1896)  113 3.12 Mary Catherine Rees (née Dormer), caricature of Sir Rajinder Singh, Maharaja of Patiala, Vanity Fair ( January 4, 1900)  115 3.13 Postcard of Lewis Waller (1903)  116 3.14 “A Lady Artist and Her Handsome Model,” Illustrated Police News, no. 1782 (April 9, 1898)  121 4.1 Rupert Brooke in uniform at Blandford, Dorset (1914), portrait by W. Hazel, Bournemouth, UK  124 4.2 Sherrill Schell, portrait of Rupert Brooke (1913)  126 4.3 Memorial card for Geoffrey Harold Spencer (died September 25, 1915)  136 4.4 Photograph of Private John A. Harris (died September 9, 1915)  138 4.5 Photograph of Lieutenant Ronald Duncan Wheatcroft (died July 2, 1916)  139 4.6 Unidentified postcard sent to Reverend J. A. Douglas  140 4.7 A quick shave (ca. 1914–­18)  143 4.8 Lieutenant C. V. Smith (ca. 1918)  145 4.9 Lieutenant C. V. Smith (1920)  147 4.10 Roundel with a silhouette of Captain B. B. Green (ca. 1919)  149 4.11 Rupert Brooke Memorial in the Rugby School Chapel (completed 1918–­19)  156 4.12 Sculptor Michael Tombros with a plaster cast of the male figure for the Brooke Memorial on Skyros (1930)  159 4.13 Associated Press photograph of the unveiling ceremony of the Rupert Brooke Memorial on Skyros (April 1931)  160 5.1 Image titled “Daddy, I’m ’fraid,” from the Health Doctor, Health Beauty: A Practical Text-­Book on How to Guard Family Health and Preserve Beauty (London: Lever Brothers, Ltd. [ca. 1920–­29])  169 5.2 “That Calm Unruffled Feeling,” Tit-­Bits, no. 2531 (May 3, 1930)  171 5.3 “Are You Too Thin?,” Tit-­Bits, no. 2014 (May 20, 1920)  173 5.4 Advertisement for Jantzen two-­piece swimming suit, Harrods News (May 14, 1928)  176 5.5 Photograph detailing Harrods’s male hairdressing clients receiving treatments (ca. 1907)  178 5.6 Photograph of the new Gentlemen’s Lounge at Harrods (1930)  178 5.7 Photograph of new men’s hairdressing saloon at Harrods (1930)  179 5.8 Portrait of Laurence Olivier, Film Stars of the World (London: Amalgamated Press, 1938)  181

i l lust r at i o ns   ‹ xii

5.9 Close-­up of rower H. R. Pearce, no. 38 in the W. A. and A. C. Church­ man’s cigarette card series “Kings of Speed” (1939)  185 5.10 “Fly with the RAF,” Picture Post ( January 18, 1941)  195 5.11 “John’s head gave Joan a shock,” Picture Post ( June 8, 1940)  198 5.12 Keith Vaughan, Two Men at Highgate Ponds (ca. 1935)  200 5.13 Keith Vaughan, Young Man Bathing (ca. 1934–­36)  201 5.14 Keith Vaughan, A Barrack-­Room (1942)  202 6.1 “By Jove! . . . some chaps are lucky!,” Picture Post (May 18, 1946)  210 6.2 “Both these men are 35!,” Picture Post (November 22, 1952)  211 6.3 “You’re somebody today in the Regular Army,” Picture Post, (February 2, 1952)  213 6.4 Photograph of man having a shave and a manicure at Clifford’s Hair­­ dressing Saloon, City of London (ca. 1950s)  219 6.5 Advertisement featuring Sean Connery modeling for Vince Man’s Shop (1956)  220 6.6 “We’re being watched!, . . .” Rave (March 1967)  222 6.7 Model Jenny Boyd in a John Stephen boutique (November 1966)  223 6.8 Gerry Saunders, “Body Business,” Picture Post (May 23, 1953)  226 6.9 Cover image for Man Alive: The Magazine of Britain’s Top Physique Photographers, no. 1 (1958)  229 6.10 Drawing of a physique model in the hand of a Greek god, Male Models, no. 5 (1961)  230 6.11 “Winston Manyan by Scott,” Man Alive: The Magazine of Britain’s Top Physique Photographers, no. 2 (1958)  232 6.12 “Hi, Goodlooking! Or Is He?,” Boyfriend, no. 61 (August 20, 1960)  235 6.13 “Wake up, Lil—­your lollie’s melting,” Tit-­Bits, no. 4151 (September 25, 1965)  238 6.14 Publicity still of designer Hardy Amies with models (September 1965)  241 6.15 “Peter Anthony,” International Model, 1959, edited by Biddy V. Martin (London: World’s Press News Publishing, Ltd., 1958)  243 7.1 Carin Simon, “100 Men—­The Best in Britain,” Honey (February 1971)  251 7.2 Entry for February 20, 1976, Johnny Black Diaries, Notebook 1 (March 1974–­May 1976)  254 7.3 Dianne Robinson, “Make-­Up Maketh Man?,” Liverpool Echo ( January 21, 1985)  258 7.4 A group of  young men in a Brixton, London, café (ca. early 1970s)  260 7.5 Photograph of the Man-­to-­Man shop, Man-­to-­Man, no. 2 (1974)  262 7.6 Cover to Him Exclusive, no. 1 (1974)  266 7.7 Photograph from Zipper, no. 9 (1978)  267

i l lust r at i o ns   › xiii

7.8 Photographs from “Big, Bad, Beautiful,” Zipper, no. 25 (1980)  271 7.9 “What the Gay Plague Did to Handsome Kenny,” Sunday People ( June 20, 1983)  275 7.10 Diana, Princess of Wales, visiting with a patient at the opening of the Rodney Porter Ward for AIDS Patients, Saint Mary’s Hospital, Paddington, London (December 1989)  278 7.11a and 7.11b  “Him Gym and Sport,” Him Monthly, no. 51 (October 1982), and “Peter,” Him Monthly, no. 61 (September 1983)  281 8.1 Marks and Spencer magazine advertisement for a new men’s underwear line (1994)  290 8.2 Photograph of Mark Foster from a Guardian article by Pete Nichols, “Silver Lining for a Man Apart” ( July 29, 2003)  297 8.3 Sam Taylor-­Wood (now Sam Taylor-­Johnson), David (2004)  300 8.4 David Beckham Emporio Armani underwear campaign launch at Selfridges, Oxford Street, London, unveiling of the Beckham Billboard ( June 11, 2009)  301 8.5 Photograph of Amy Howsam and Mark Wilson in “New Faces,” Scene: The Modelling Magazine (Autumn 1995)  303 8.6 Times Magazine cover featuring a still from a David Gandy Marks and Spencer advertising campaign (September 6, 2014)  306 8.7 Warwick University rowers in David Artavia, “A Very Sexy New Year,” Advocate, no. 1100 (December 2018–­January 2019)  308 8.8 Photograph captioned “Applying Make-­Up to a Model before a Fash­­ ion Show in Manchester, 2002,” from Moving Here: 200 Years of Mi­­ gration to England  311 8.9 Rotimi Fani-­Kayode, Union Jack (1987)  312

Plates Following page 202

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

“P for Publican” from William Nicholson, An Alphabet (London: William Heinemann, 1898) Advertising card for Doré and Sons, Ltd., London (1906) Henry Scott Tuke, Boys Bathing (1912) Sir Leslie Ward, “Men of the Day—­no. 584. Mr. Charles Burgess Fry,” Vanity Fair (April 19, 1894) Parliamentary Recruiting Committee poster (1915) W. D. and H. O. Wills Association Footballers cigarette card series (1935) Henry Lamb, Portrait of Trooper Owen, Fortieth Battalion, Royal Tank Regiment (1941)

i l lust r at i o ns   ‹ xiv

8 9 10 11 12

13 14 15 16

February 1978 entry, Johnny Black Diaries, Notebook 3 (November 1977–­March 1979) David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust during a concert at Earl’s Court Exhibition Hall, London (May 12, 1973) Terrence Higgins Trust, Sex: Free Leaflet (ca. late 1980s) Poster for the Choose Safer Sex campaign (ca. 1985–­92) Cover image for Zed Nelson, “Make Me Perfect: How Far Would You Go to Get the Body You Dream Of ?,” Guardian Weekend (May 16, 2009) Advertisement for Hugo Boss, Observer Sport Monthly, no. 112 ( June 2009) Photograph of David Gandy taken by Mario Testino for Dolce and Gabbana Light Blue campaign (2016) Paul Reiffer, photograph of Sam Kneen (Mr. Gay UK, 2011) Advertisement for the Soho bar Circa during Pride Celebrations ( June 28, 2014), QX Magazine, no. 1007 ( June 2014)

Introduction

In 1906, Cambridge students crowned Mr. Charles Mountfort the “Uni­ versity Adonis” following the conclusion of a “Handsomest Man in Cam­ bridge” contest.1 Three years later, in the seaside resort of Southend-­on-­Sea in Essex, a beauty show for men was held, with five thousand in attendance and six popular actresses serving as judges who pronounced on the hand­ somest and the ugliest alike.2 In 1950, a Mr. Apollo contest was hailed as an opportunity to view “fifty of Britain’s most gorgeous men,”3 while, in 1971, a female photographer was sent out on an assignment to document the one hundred best-­looking men in Britain for the young woman’s maga­ zine Honey.4 Similar attempts to measure attractiveness and judge it as an attribute that could be assessed through some sort of objective lens contin­ ued into the later decades of the twentieth century. As their culture became more visible and more tolerated, gay men held contests in which nearly nude men were judged on the basis of their sexual desirability. One was hosted by the pornographic magazine Him Exclusive and held in London’s Fulham Town Hall in 1975.5 Less than a decade later, in 1982, a national Mr. Hardware contest began to be held annually to determine the sexiest and most attractive gay man in Britain.6 The mania for judging continued into the twenty-­first century with the ITV show This Morning hosting a “Find a Male Model” contest, which led to the discovery of David Gandy in 2001.7 This book is about the complex cultural and historical context out of which this penchant for measuring, judging, and displaying attractive men emerged in Britain over the span of two centuries. It begins with the rise of photography as a new mode for representing the human face and form in the 1830s and 1840s and ends, in the epilogue, with reflections on the in­ ternet. At its core is an assumption that the subject of male beauty is worth pursuing over a sustained period. Rejecting notions put forward by some, including historian Arthur Marwick, that “discussing male beauty in the manner in which female beauty had always been discussed is, of course, in 1

i n t ro d u ct i o n   ‹ 2

large measure unique in the modern, post-­1960s evaluation of beauty,”8 this book charts the complex history of the masculine relationship to personal appearance in nineteenth-­and twentieth-­century Britain. Starting in the nineteenth century is not meant to suggest that this was the first time that Britons pondered the topic of male beauty. The admiration of one of  James I’s favorites, George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, extended to reflections on his comely legs.9 The so-­called macaronis of the eighteenth century achieved notoriety, and were occasionally disparaged, for the impressive amount of time they spent on their grooming rituals.10 And, in the early nine­ teenth century, the fashionability of George Bryan (“Beau”) Brummell—­ epitomized by his highly stylized neck cloth—­was both celebrated and lampooned.11 Yet, the two centuries that form the core of this book’s chronological focus witnessed a number of distinctive changes. Intellectual shifts associ­ ated with the Enlightenment came to fruition in the nineteenth century as people in the West placed a higher premium on individuality, the relation­ ship between outward appearance and inner identity, and the idea of hu­ man perfectability.12 Other shifts make the years explored here particularly valuable ones for studying the history of masculine attractiveness. Novel technologies of documentation and representation as well as a flourishing consumer economy resulted, in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, in a new kind of cultural obsession with the beautiful male face and body.13 In the nearly two centuries of history chronicled in these pages, Britain’s modern visual culture—­characterized first by the rise of the photograph and cheap illustrated periodicals during Victoria’s reign, by the devel­ opment of film and glossy celebrity magazines in the twentieth century, and, more recently, by the advent of documentary and reality television—­ emerged.14 Accompanying this shift was an increased emphasis, by the late nineteenth century, on the clean-­shaven face and the athletic body, recur­ ring themes that ebbed and flowed, but never disappeared, with the passage of time.15 This period also witnessed a growing emphasis on appearance as a marker of success and celebrity.16 As such, it qualifies as a distinctive epoch: a historical moment when modern conceptions of what is beautiful and handsome (and what advantages accrued to those who possessed these attributes) came into sharp relief. Some of the developments discussed in the pages that follow have been scrutinized by historians interested in how men consumed fashion in the past,17 developed their bodies,18 experienced injury,19 or articulated same-­ sex desires.20 In what follows I bring these topics—­and a host of additional developments—­into conversation, highlighting causality and points of inter­

i n t ro d u ct i o n   › 3

section in unraveling a distinctively British culture of male beauty. This cul­ ture of male beauty entails not just masculine dress, grooming, or attempts to alter or improve appearance. It also encompasses the ways in which people, as historical actors, have engaged with products, ideas, and repre­ sentations of the male face and body.21 In considering issues of representa­ tion in this book, though, I am not simply referring to the ways in which, as historian George Mosse once noted, modern masculinity defined “itself through an ideal of manly beauty that symbolized virtue.”22 Representations of beautiful men clearly served important symbolic roles in British culture including the articulation of racial difference and the encouragement of national pride. They were also, however, the standards against which men measured themselves and assessed their level of satisfaction or dissatisfac­ tion with their faces and bodies. They functioned not just as symbols but as touchstones that had a profound impact on how men understood masculine identities, gauged their physical developments, and performed and fash­ ioned gender for themselves.23 The varied nature of this culture of male beauty is reflected in the terms employed throughout this book. While the word “beauty,” when used alone, sometimes conveys individual qualities, it is most often used to re­ fer to ideals and idealized depictions of the male face or body. “Beauty” also frequently precedes the words “culture” or “industry” to convey the commercial peddling of goods and services. Terms like “attractive,” “good-­ looking,” and “handsome” tended to be more common in everyday par­ lance. Frequently these were (and are) the words most used by individuals as they discussed either their own traits or those they admired in others, with the words “beauty” or “beautiful” being reserved for particular ex­ emplars like Rupert Brooke or, in the early twenty-­first century, David Beckham and David Gandy. Attractiveness is often employed either by me or by my subjects to convey a set of qualities that made someone appealing. But, sometimes the use of the term implied admiration. And, occasionally it was meant to convey qualities that did not rise to the level of the beauti­ ful but, nonetheless, reflected something that drew the viewer’s attention. Desire was conveyed in a variety of ways, occasionally with the same words that have already been described. Following the Second World War, discus­ sions of “sexiness” and “sex appeal” became more common, especially from the 1960s on.24 Developing a rigid lexicon of beauty is impossible (precisely because of the kind of overlap I discuss above), but these brief observations on terminology are worth keeping in mind as we move forward. Situated specifically within the British Isles (when possible, paying at­ tention to the regional variations and the national differences between

i n t ro d u ct i o n   ‹ 4

England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland), this is also a narrative with broader global significance. The British did not, of course, invent male beauty.25 Nonetheless, the position of Britain internationally for much of this pe­ riod, as well as the dominance and global reach of British culture, meant that British visions of masculine attractiveness often captured very wide audiences indeed. The country’s economic prominence allowed for great technological innovations in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries that transformed how people maintained and altered their appearance and chose to have their faces and bodies recorded and represented, both locally and globally. Hairdressers, perfumers, barbers, and quack doctors, all part of a flourishing consumer and entrepreneurial culture in London and other urban centers beginning in the nineteenth century, sought to ameliorate various appearance-­related “ailments” including baldness, skin disorders, or excessive fatness or thinness.26 While German, French, and American eugenicists, imperialists, and ra­ cial scientists also ruminated on human beauty, the simple reach of Britain’s Empire (and by extension British thought on these subjects) meant that these ideals garnered special attention.27 In the twentieth century, the pre­ eminence of British and Commonwealth doctors in the development of plastic surgery techniques for repairing injured faces during the First World War,28 the importance of British actors in the emerging film industry, and the global appeal of British celebrities in the years after the Second World War ensured that British standards of attractiveness retained both national and international stature.29 Finally, in recent years two terms used to convey male attention to grooming and the cultivation of the body—­“metrosexual” and “spornosexual”—­were both coined by a British man (Mark Simpson) using, frequently, British examples even as he noted the transatlantic di­ mensions of these phenomena.30 Aside from narrating the rich history of the male face and body, this book puts forward a number of overarching arguments to establish, as a range of aesthetic philosophers and fashion critics have noted, that “beauty,” quite simply, “matters.”31 Following the lead of some who have shown that men were more active consumers and concerned about dress much earlier than previously thought, it illustrates that there was a sustained engagement with beauty culture—­writ large—­over the entire time span covered in these pages. Rather than perpetuating a sort of separate spheres view of the world, which assumed preoccupations with or anxieties about appearance were a particular, and socially imposed, preserve of women, this book reveals that the investment that men had in the modern culture of beauty was very sig­ nificant indeed.32 That investment in beauty for men in a capitalist economy

i n t ro d u ct i o n   › 5

was, as we shall see, crucial to how commercial and professional advan­ tages were understood and how the ability to succeed was measured. Good looks were cast as a particular kind of asset that, depending on time period, marked one’s health, one’s suitability to represent a business, or one’s capac­ ity to perform. Looking at how men engaged with capitalism through beauty consumerism also highlights the masculine investment in ideas of redemp­ tion and transformation.33 While this was often cast in the form of self-­help in the nineteenth century,34 in the twentieth it came to be characterized more as a form of self-­fulfillment, a realization that investing in good looks and good grooming was the way to best develop one’s potential. This book also reminds us that the personal relationship to standards of attractiveness, understandings of personal grooming, and ideas about sex appeal were central to what some have referred to as the emergence of the modern psychological self.35 While ideas that we might recognize as the promotion of self-­esteem or self-­realization emerge in nineteenth-­century advertisements and other sources, over the course of the twentieth cen­ tury the connection between psychological well-­being, a pleasing appear­ ance, and the ability to attract others grew in complexity and frequency. 36 Depictions of beautiful men played a central role in helping Britons become sophisticated consumers of theatrical and cinematographic images, photo­ graphs, and advertisements, particularly in the years after 1900. The ability to discern masculine attractiveness or ugliness and enjoy the pleasures of a beautiful male face and body was, for many, vital to the acquisition of modern visual literacy. Viewing and commenting on attractive men was also vital to the formation of sexual identities and the visual sexualization of British culture, particularly as these processes became more pronounced in the middle decades of the twentieth century.37 Finally, this book illuminates how Britons referenced and assessed male beauty to make sense of the competitive impulses that were so central to British culture and the formation of the British state.38 Granting privileges to the beautiful and rewarding those whose personal attractiveness was judged to be extraordinary revealed the extent to which outward appear­ ances were increasingly used as measurements of worth. Similarly, discus­ sions of men’s faces and bodies in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries were central to the valorization of youthfulness, bodily fitness, Whiteness, and able-­bodiedness, aesthetic attributes that were crucial to the culture of male beauty.39 While in many instances, these celebrations reinforced hierarchies of age, race, gender, and sexuality, the traditional order was occasionally subverted. This was especially apparent when the margins in­ formed the mainstream, as they did at different points in British history

i n t ro d u ct i o n   ‹ 6

when same-­sex-­desiring or openly gay artists, designers, and entrepreneurs led the way in defining who and what was attractive.40

˙∙˙ The archive of male beauty spans over two centuries and is decidedly vast and dispersed, located in multiple locations around the globe. Many sur­ prises will, I hope, appear in the pages that follow, but it is worth outlin­ ing several categories of sources that emerge with some regularity in the core of this book. Manuals, advice literature, and professional publications figure prominently in what follows. Each telling in their own right, beauty and lifestyle guidebooks, such as The Gentleman’s Companion to the Toilet, or a Treatise on Shaving (1844) and As Young as You Look: Male Grooming and Rejuvenation (1970), courted audiences of men and addressed mascu­ line concerns, reminding us that preoccupations with male grooming, hy­ giene, and appearance did not appear magically on the British scene with the rise of the metrosexual. Professional manuals for photographers in the late nineteenth century, advice books, and even specialized magazines for aspiring and established models (and those looking to hire them) from the 1950s and 1960s serve as vital windows into contemporary aesthetics and the peculiarities of specific beauty-­oriented professions. Similarly, periodi­ cals directed at hairdressers and beauty specialists, such as the Hairdressers’ Weekly Journal (founded 1882) and Hairtinting and Beauty Culture (founded 1926), provide insight into prevalent styles, workplace issues, and the tre­ mendous stock that industry insiders placed in male markets. Many additional nineteenth-­and twentieth-­century magazines and newspapers, some ephemeral and some enduring, make an appearance in the pages that follow. These were directed at a variety of different con­ stituencies with a broad range of agendas, and contributors to them spilled considerable ink discussing the male face and body. The cultivation of a fit, healthy, and attractive physique, for example, was essential to the Christian, antivice message of the YMCA’s magazine Young Man: A Monthly Journal Review (1887–­1915), which placed a high premium on the relationship be­ tween moral rectitude, gender conformity, and an attractive appearance. Men’s magazines like Fashion (1898–­1904) and Modern Man (1908–­13) fo­ cused on cultivating male consumers by emphasizing the transformative power of both good grooming and care for one’s appearance. Moving to the mid-­twentieth century, physique magazines that focused on looking at de­ veloped men’s bodies as a form of sexual pleasure (however indirect it may have been) were a vital source for understanding same-­sex desire and con­ sumer markets in that era, while, in the 1970s and 1980s, gay pornographic

i n t ro d u ct i o n   › 7

magazines like Him and Zipper emphasized the open and erotic aesthetic celebration of the male body as a hallmark of sexual liberation.41 Scientific and medical materials also figure into this study precisely because these disciplines concerned themselves with matters of physical beauty and ugliness—­sometimes in an effort to understand evolutionary processes, sometimes to differentiate social and racial groups, and some­ times to deal with diseases or injuries that detracted from attractiveness. Especially prominent is the work of popular physiognomists in the nine­ teenth and twentieth centuries.42 As figures who contributed, much like photographers did, to the vocabularies of beauty in circulation in Britain at this time, these figures produced many publications, including books and pamphlets such as A Chapter on Noses (1881) and The Face and Its Fortune in Matters of Human Love (1906). Works by figures like Charles Darwin, Herbert Spencer, and Francis Galton were replete with discussions of physical beauty and, in Galton’s case, the measurement of faces. Medical records, particularly those produced for specialized hospitals like the Saint John’s Hospital for Diseases of the Skin and, more significantly, the Queen’s Hospital, Sidcup (where facially disfigured soldiers were treated during and after the First World War), provide telling insights into how the medical community thought about beauty and how patients grappled with its loss through disease or injury. Given the nature of physical beauty, researching this book required con­ siderable reflection on how faces and bodies have been represented and commodified in British culture.43 Inspired by work in visual culture studies that places a premium on visual artifacts “not for their aesthetic value per se but for their meaning as modes of making images and defining visual ex­ perience in particular historical contexts,”44 I pursued the close analysis of a variety of fascinating images, a good sampling of which is reproduced in the pages that follow. In addition to advertisements and other images from the Illustrated London News and prominent visually oriented magazines like Tit-­Bits and Picture Post, I also explored countless nineteenth-­century cartes de visite (small, collectible photographic portraits) and the picture archive of the now defunct Daily Herald. The paintings of Henry Scott Tuke, Keith Vaughan, and other artists; fashion photographs of John French; and the marketing techniques of Carnaby Street entrepreneur John Stephen round out this vast visual record. Finally, in pursuing this project I knew that, when possible, I wanted to gain access to personal accounts that would give me a sense of how indi­ viduals thought about their own physical appearance and that of others. To a certain degree, this is easier said than done. But the pursuit of this was not in vain. I discovered that one way to approach this matter was to explore the

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lives of those who were particularly revered for their beauty. This led me, especially, to the voluminous papers of the poet Rupert Brooke and many of his associates. It also led me to the archives of actors John Gielgud, Laurence Olivier, and Vivien Leigh as well as the highly revealing diaries of the painter Keith Vaughan and the press officer Johnny Black. Most significant, perhaps, were the materials collected by Mass-­Observation (from both the 1930s and 1940s and from the 1990s and early 2000s) and the National Lesbian and Gay Survey. In the responses that hundreds of volunteers produced, they shared intimate details of their lives and offered opinions on hot-­button issues of the day. They also provided invaluable reflections on dress, grooming, and body image, all of which I employ in chronicling the complexities of the twentieth century.

˙∙˙ The story of male beauty unfolds in eight chapters that are divided into two parts. The first part, “Setting the Stage: The Foundations of Modern Male Beauty,” examines a series of foundational moments connected to the rise of new technologies, the growth of visual culture, and the disruptions of the First World War. Its principal goal, in examining several interrelated de­ velopments, is to set the stage for what will come in the twentieth century, when the modern culture of male beauty came into full view. Photography and popular physiognomy are explored both as sets of ideas and cultural practices that produced distinctive artifacts and profoundly influenced how Britons came to understand and talk about physical beauty. The preoccupa­ tions with beauty that photography and physiognomy fostered also led to a more conscious pursuit of beauty as a particular consumer practice evident in a variety of entrepreneurial initiatives as well as the explosion of a distinc­ tive print culture marked by the emergence of the male beauty manual and the men’s magazine. Entrepreneurs and medical quacks were not the only ones to tackle the subject of male beauty. Nineteenth-­century Britons were also encouraged by racial scientists, artists, ardent physical culturists, and entertainers to look at and valorize the athletic, White, and youthful body. By the First World War, the possession of male beauty might confer celeb­ rity status to those graced with it, such as the poet Rupert Brooke. It was also something that could be easily stripped away by the ravages of modern, technological warfare. The second part of the book, “Men on Display in the Twentieth and Twenty-­First Centuries,” explores important developments from the in­ terwar period to the present, highlighting the growth of a modern adver­ tising industry that encouraged men seeking professional success to also

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pursue good grooming, the expanding importance of the male celebrity, and the sexualization of British culture. In examining the 1930s and 1940s, it explores not just popular illustrated publications but also the thoughts and actions of men who reflected on their bodies, their shaving regimens, and the meanings of personal appearance in material they produced for Mass-­ Observation. As the book moves into the 1950s and 1960s, the focus shifts more toward sexual identities and the ways in which various artifacts cele­ brating male beauty, including physique magazines and publications geared to teenage girls, contributed to the articulation of sexual identities at a mo­ ment when notions of heterosexuality and homosexuality were coalescing. Considerations of sexuality figure prominently in my consideration of the decades between the 1970s and the present. In exploring the Thatcher era, I highlight the ways in which some sought to chart new masculine paths by adorning their bodies differently or androgynously while also examining how modern gay cultures invested substantially in the ability to celebrate and enjoy beautiful (and increasingly nude) men. I conclude my examina­ tions of the late twentieth and early twenty-­first centuries by returning to displays of the male body, the influence of celebrity culture, and the various issues that modern British men encountered as they sought to live up to increasingly unattainable ideals. Throughout this book, then, attention to the aesthetics of male beauty, the dynamics of human attraction, and the culture of physical transformation and improvement are situated as central, not peripheral, concerns to historians of modern Britain and, indeed, the modern world.

[  Ch a pter 1   ]

Physiognomists and Photographers . . . A good complexion is a paramount condition of beauty, and beauty a sign of loveableness, because it indicates normality, and thus purity. A l fr e d T. Sto ry, The Face as Indicative of Character: Illustrated by Upwards of One Hundred and Twenty Portraits and Cuts (1890) The portraits taken by this means are really extraordinary as likenesses; they are true to nature, for nature here is her own delineator. The features are admirably marked out and delineated, and the likenesses at first sight are so extraordinary, that they are really startling. Morning Chronicle (March 20, 1841)

In the decades between the 1840s and the beginning of the twentieth century, a broad range of technological, scientific, and intellectual changes produced a veritable obsession with the human face and body as an object of close scrutiny.1 This scrutiny was especially grounded in the popularization of physiognomy—­a set of ideas that assumed that faces could be read to determine essential character traits and predilections—­and the rise of photography. Collectively, these developments encouraged new ways of seeing and produced a vocabulary of beauty that, while not entirely separate from earlier precedents, was really quite distinct. The popularization of physiognomy among the Victorians created a unique language of assessment, a means of identifying the good and the bad as well as the beautiful and the ugly by literally “reading” faces and, to a lesser extent, bodies.2 Similarly, embedded in the new technology of photography were assumptions that beauty could be recorded and retained for posterity. In this context it became an identifying attribute, a measure of worth in an expanding capitalist economy, and a commodity. It was also something that could be classified, celebrated, and collected in the form of periodical publications, pamphlets, how-­to manuals, small photographic portraits, and albums.3

13

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These outlooks and perspectives were accompanied by several broader cultural shifts that also profoundly influenced how male beauty was understood in the nineteenth century and beyond. Among the most prevalent was the Victorian emphasis on the visual. The ability to see and draw conclusions about the world and the people who inhabited it through careful looking and the critical deployment of vision was central to nineteenth-­ century worldviews.4 The growth of magazines like the Illustrated London News (which was first published in 1842) and a host of other visually oriented publications punctuated by drawings and, as the nineteenth century gave way to the twentieth, photographs transformed popular culture and the ways in which ideas and knowledge were transmitted.5 The ability to view, engage, and consume pictures was a cornerstone to what it meant to be a “modern” Briton in the nineteenth century.6 This expansion of visual culture led to a growing faith in the individual’s power to discern the beautiful and the ugly or the real and the fabricated. As art historian Jordan Bear has noted: “a primary feature of the development of modern society was the dramatic expansion of an audience empowered to judge the reliability of its own visual experience.”7 While many possessed a strong belief in the faithfulness of the photographic image and, increasingly, its value as a form of evidence, photographs were not always understood as unmediated or unadulterated depictions.8 The individual’s power to think for him-­or herself, a legacy of the Enlightenment, meant that the authority of the photograph and other forms of representation could always be scrutinized by a discerning eye.9 The multiple meanings that might be assigned to images produced by a camera were nicely captured by one 1865 contributor to the Glasgow Herald, who rightly highlighted the ability of photographs to excite the emotions, classifying them “as works . . . in which science and art are happily and beautifully combined.”10 A final development was the growing obsession, particularly in the late Victorian period, with physical or body-­oriented conceptions of masculinity. In part a reaction to more cerebral conceptions of manliness in the early part of the nineteenth century that focused, particularly for the middle and upper classes, on gentility and moral self-­control, the growing emphasis on robustness, physical fitness, and assertiveness that characterized the years after 1850 resulted in an unparalleled obsession with the male body.11 Combined with the new ways of seeing and assessing ushered in by popular physiognomists and photographers, this growing emphasis on the physical manifestations of masculinity meant that nineteenth-­century Britons encountered discussions of male beauty frequently. This tendency was, of course, exacerbated by imperialism and reactions to the changing status of women in the later nineteenth century, both of which required strong,

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assertive male bodies that could dominate colonized peoples, “inferior” Europeans, and the “weaker” sex.12 In this context, White, British male beauty was understood in contrast to either the admired attributes or the deficiencies of women, people of color, and other ethnic groups.

Physiognomy and the Vocabulary of Beauty Physiognomic descriptions of the human face provided Victorian and Ed­ wardian Britons with a conceptual framework for assigning value to personal attractiveness in men and women alike. It also emphasized the degree to which noses, chins, foreheads, cheeks, and ears were thought to reveal essential elements of human character. More crucially, nineteenth-­century versions of physiognomy resulted in the creation of a value-­laden vocabulary of masculine attractiveness that linked facial and bodily beauty with admired, and frequently racialized, national attributes.13 Physiognomy like photography also produced a cultural preoccupation with physical appearance, a point reiterated in countless periodicals and newspapers that discussed physiognomic perspectives, reviewed books on the topic, and weighed in, on one occasion, on the differences between the English and the American face.14 Indeed, faith in the ability of individuals to read and interpret the human face was extensive. As one contributor to Jackson’s Oxford Journal noted in 1858: “The human face is a marvellous book. . . . Time hath its tale in each wrinkle and nook; Life hath its legend in every look.”15

˙∙˙ As a way of seeing and thinking, physiognomy was of course not new in the nineteenth century. Ancient in origins, with precedents in the work of Plato, Aristotle, and Plotinus, this approach to reading faces resurfaced periodically throughout the history of the West.16 By the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, physiognomy was on the rise again. Writers looked to an ancient treatise titled Physiognomonica, reputedly by Aristotle, to explore the relationship between character and physical appearance. An individual’s physiognomy was, according to this treatise, “conversant with the natural passions of the soul,”17 a point that was picked up by the eighteenth-­ century popularizer of the physiognomic perspective—­Johann Caspar La­ vater, a Swiss pastor and theologian. In a series of essays on the subject published first, in German, as Physiog­ nomische Fragmente and later, in English, as Essays on Physiognomy, Lavater outlined his methodology and highlighted the superiority of humans among “earthly creatures.”18 He also observed that the tendency toward

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physiognomic judgment was a universal human trait.19 Most important was how he distinguished between the sexes in both emotional and physical terms. In keeping with the theories of other eighteenth-­century thinkers, such as Jean-­Jacques Rousseau,20 Lavater assumed that the male and female inhabited distinct, but interrelated, spheres. He also offered qualitative assessments of physical difference by formulating a series of word equations that asserted “Man is the straightest—­woman the most bending. . . . Man is rough and hard—­woman smooth and soft. . . . The hair of man is more strong and short—­of woman longer and more pliant. . . . [and] Man is most angular—­ woman most round.”21 In so doing, Lavater offered assessments of male and female beauty that remained influential into the twentieth century. Physiognomy entered the popular British imagination in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries through the translation of Lavater’s writings into English and through the work of novelists, who utilized physiognomic concepts in developing characters.22 Appearing in sentimental novels like Oliver Goldsmith’s The Vicar of Wakefield (1766), Laurence Sterne’s The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy (1759–­67), and Henry Mackenzie’s The Man of Feeling (1771), physiognomic descriptions were employed in a variety of ways, sometimes satirically, sometimes to convey virtue or the lack thereof. In the nineteenth century, novelists like George Eliot and Charles Dickens employed descriptions of the human face to reveal character and explicitly invoked the language of physiognomy to showcase the cultural prominence of this particular mindset. Dickens referred to physiognomy, as well, in some of his nonfiction writing. In an 1856 piece that appeared in Household Words, he commented specifically on the appearance of the defendant in a poisoning case: “The physiognomy and conformation of the Poisoner whose trial occasions these remarks, were exactly in accordance with his deeds; and every guilty consciousness he had gone on storing up in his mind, had set its mark upon him.”23 Nineteenth-­century Britons did not have to rely on the works of Lavater or the character descriptions of popular novelists alone to learn about physiognomy. They had access to many sources that employed the physiognomic worldview in outlining key attributes of the attractive man. New printing techniques that made it possible to cheaply reproduce etchings, line drawings, and, more gradually in the 1840s and 1850s, photographs added substantially to the ability of artists and photographers to harness the symbolic power of the beautiful (and occasionally the ugly) male face in the years immediately preceding and following the Great Exhibition of 1851. This process, referred to by contemporaries and the art historian Lynda Nead as “speaking to the eye,” had a substantial impact on how Britons understood physical appearance and physical attractiveness over the second half of the nineteenth century.24

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The modern discussion of male beauty originated with the Enlightenment project of linking body and spirit, male character and nature, and was firmly in place in British culture by the early years of Victoria’s reign when the broader physiognomic moment outlined here emerged.25 In this period, a number of illustrators and authors explored the links that were thought to exist between national character and physical types, a component of the grand racial projects of the nineteenth century that served a variety of ideological and aesthetic purposes. Especially important were two artists and wood engravers who contributed to the explosion of the illustrated press in the nineteenth century—­Joseph Kenny Meadows and John Orrin Smith. Meadows earned his fame as an illustrator and caricaturist who produced woodcut images for various publications including the Illustrated London News and Punch. Smith, an important wood engraver, entered the London publishing world by becoming part owner of the Sunday Monitor in 1821. Meadows and Smith were regular collaborators on several important projects, including a heavily illustrated collection of the works of William Shakespeare.26 The most notable of their collaborations was undoubtedly a series of illustrated portraits of the English, produced between 1838 and 1841. In this work, they employed depictions of the male face to represent generalized English “types,” producing, in the process, an “index of the national mind.”27 Among the national figures described in Heads of the People or Portraits of the English are the Stockbroker, the Lawyer’s Clerk, the Mid­ shipman, and the Chimney-­Sweep, all of whom highlighted the urban, commerce-­oriented, and imperial economy of the British Isles. In producing these “ethnographic” sketches, the contributors hoped, through precise physical descriptions and delineations of character, to “preserve the impress of the present age; to record its virtues, its follies, its moral contradictions, and its crying wrongs.”28 They also provide us with a useful barometer for how the male face and popular understandings of physiognomy were deployed symbolically in Victorian culture. Even though the authors include depictions of female types (usually in ancillary and subservient roles as wives, servants, and shopgirls), their overwhelming preoccupation is with delineating a masculine vision of En­ glishness, a tendency that came to be amplified in the late nineteenth century by concerns about military preparedness and the valorization of the athlete. In so doing, they resorted to discourses of ugliness and beauty (both in visual and textual forms) that highlighted some of the aesthetic standards of the day. In one profile, for instance, playwright and author William Leman Rede described a managing clerk in a law office as droll, un­happy, devoted to his profession, and old beyond his actual forty-­six years: “His head was small and shriveled, his hair a light pepper-­and-­salt colour; his white

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Figure 1.1.  Depiction of “the Cockney” from a chapter by Douglas William Jerrold in Heads of the People or Portraits of the English, vol. 1, ed. Kenny Meadows and Orrin Smith (London: Robert Tyas, 1840), between pages 320 and 321. Courtesy of the University of  Vermont Library.

neckcloth appeared as if it had been washed in chamomile tea.”29 Similar language was used by renowned wit, playwright, and author Douglas William Jerrold to convey an ugly and usurious pawnbroker or a Cockney (see figure 1.1), whose most notable features were both a pig-­like face and “animal spirits.”30 The face also figured prominently in depictions of men thought to embody the traits of early Victorian physical vigor and national greatness. In a contribution by Edward Howard, the midshipman was described as the very epitome of naval masculinity even as his potential for “Jack Tar” behavior, in the form of womanizing and heavy drinking, was acknowledged.31 For Howard, though, the midshipman’s status as an exemplar of patriotic Britishness overrode his potential for aggression and recklessness. The au­ thor’s words, accompanied by a proportionally distorted image, helped convey attractiveness even as they hinted at some flaws: “His cheek is ruddy, his eye dark and bright, and his countenance eminently handsome. There are decided marks of determination about his compressed lips, and his yet unreaped chin is bold and prominent. The thoughts and cares of incipient manhood are struggling upon his brow, with the lightheartedness of the reckless youth.”32 In this depiction, youthfulness, a fine body, and an attractive

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and symmetrical face were identified as admired masculine attributes, and by extrapolation, British vigor (see figure 1.2). Meadows and Smith’s work undoubtedly showcased some of the most prevalent characteristics of the physiognomic moment. The tendency toward reading or interpreting appearances and discussing male physical beauty permeated other facets of British culture in this period. Evident in cheap pocket guides, pamphlets, and physiognomically informed beauty manuals, specialized shops, and articles in magazines and newspapers, the ideas presented in Meadows and Smith’s volumes were literally everywhere. Borrowing from the work of Lavater, the Austrian Franz Joseph Gall, and a host of popular treatises, physiognomists in Britain infiltrated different aspects of intellectual and cultural life during the reign of Queen Victoria, even as some prominent intellectuals, like Charles Darwin, questioned the validity of physiognomy by labeling it a “so-­called science.”33 The techniques of the physiognomist clearly informed how artists painted portraits, actors portrayed characters, and asylum doctors diagnosed and treated the mentally ill. They also created an anthropological typology that allowed Britons to identify the physiognomic character of minority groups in Britain (most notably Jews and the Irish) and colonized peoples in the empire.34

Figure 1.2.  A vision of “the Midshipman” from a chapter by Edward Howard in Heads of the People or Portraits of the English, between pages 216 and 217. Courtesy of the University of  Vermont Library.

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In their more popular forms, these works explored important topics of the day, including the maintenance of bodily health and the power of close observation. Some authors offered scientific definitions of who (or what) was truly beautiful. In an 1865 edition of a popular manual—­initially published in 1852 under the title Facts and Faces by artist and engraver Thomas Woolnoth—­the notion that beauty was difficult to define was refuted. Rather than acquiescing to the idea that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, Woolnoth (who was dead by the time the 1865 volume appeared) endeavored “to show, on the contrary, that Beauty is subject to the most definite and unerring rules; and so to inquire into the nature and cause of the spontaneous delight it affords, as shall not only tend to remove all mistakes about it, but assist in establishing its principles.”35 This quest to define the rules of beauty was never divorced entirely from history. Almost invariably, Victorian and Edwardian physiognomists referred to classical ideals of male and female beauty that emphasized linear proportions and geometrical symmetry, a tendency that resurfaces multiple times throughout the long history recounted in this book. Woolnoth himself, for instance, conceded the “undoubted excellence”36 of ancient Grecian forms. Similarly, in a brief pamphlet from 1881 titled A Chapter on Noses, the journalist and author Alfred T. Story identified the Greek nose as an indicator of “refinement, artistic taste, and love of the beautiful.”37 Authors like Woolnoth and Story also operated in a world of stark contrasts delineating, with images that served as visual punctuation marks to their textual descriptions, the distinctions between beauty and plainness or goodness and malignity (see figure 1.3).38 Story’s obsession with the human face seems to have been shared by a number of contemporary Britons who were only too happy to purchase works on the topic. Aside from his Chapter on Noses, he published pamphlets on eyes and eyebrows and mouths and lips. These works served two functions. In the first instance, they linked certain attributes with specific character traits in both sexes, highlighting the fact that while male and female features were frequently seen as contrasting, they could occasionally also overlap. Large, open, and sparkling eyes, for example, were said to reveal, among other traits, “quick discernment,” “elegance and taste,” and an intense form of heterosexual attraction defined as the “most violent love of the opposite sex.”39 In the second instance, these works ranked those physical attributes considered most desirable. Again, with reference to the eyes, Story observed: “The most beautiful eyes are almond-­shaped rather than round; that is, they have a long instead of a wide opening.”40 The connections between physical attributes, gradations of beauty, and individual character also persisted in Story’s later work, including a circa 1890 pamphlet titled The Face as Indicative of Character. Borrowing from L. N. Fowler, a

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Figure 1.3.  An illustration of “Malignity” from Thomas Woolnoth, The Study of the Human Face: Illustrated by Twenty-­Six Full-­Page Steel Engravings (London: William Tweedie, 1865), between pages 92 and 93. Courtesy of the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library.

prominent American phrenologist who emigrated to Britain in the 1860s, Story noted the importance of skin type appearance by observing, “a good complexion is a paramount condition of beauty, and beauty a sign of loveableness, because it indicates normality, and thus purity.”41 It was not only male physiognomists who reflected on beauty during Victoria’s reign. As middle-­and upper-­class women entered higher education, some of the professions, and the public sphere of intellectual life by taking up writing and publishing, they too contributed to this important physiognomic moment in works that were often quite similar in content to those produced by their male counterparts. Rosa Baughan, a prominent spir­ itualist who wrote on the analysis of handwriting, astrology, and palmistry, also contributed to the Victorian obsession with interpreting faces. In her 1885 Handbook of Physiognomy, Baughan delineated for her readers precisely how a face should be shaped. With reference to the forehead and eyebrows she noted: “A forehead should project more over the eyes than at the top, and there should be a small cavity in the centre, separating the brow into four divisions; but this should be so slightly accentuated as only to be seen when the forehead is in a strong light coming from above it.”42 In considering the beautiful face, Baughan placed the greatest emphasis on the nose, which, she asserted, “most affects the general character of the face.” The lines of symmetrical noses, like those evident on the Venus de Milo, contributed, for Baughan, to the “nobility of the face.”43 Baughan’s recourse

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to the statuary of the ancient world reminds us of how these tangible precedents from the past served as aesthetic benchmarks in nineteenth-­century Britain. Another woman, named Maud Wheeler, drew heavily on physiognomic ideas. In writing on the significance of moles to the appearance of men and women and the role that physical attributes played in the laws of physical attraction, she explored a subject taken up by a number of her contemporaries who expressed an interest in studying the so-­called law of facial affinity.44 In her 1894 book Whom to Marry or All about Love and Matrimony, Wheeler wrote not only on the laws of physical attraction but also on tests of true love and age disparities in marriage. In so doing, she offered male and female readers alike a broad range of hints on how to appeal to the opposite sex. Women, for instance, were instructed to appeal to male vanity (which many thought to be considerable) by allowing men to take the lead, talk about themselves, and engage in “subtle flattery.” Men, on the other hand, were instructed to cultivate “strength, resolution, and . . . force of character.”45 Of particular significance for Wheeler in her discussions of beauty and the laws of physical attraction were the eyelids, which, when wide open and circular in nature, indicated that “the instinct of mating-­love is strong.” Eyelids that appeared to be vertical were said to indicate a weak mating-­ love instinct. Wheeler, in fact, offered a different view from that expressed by Alfred Story about almond-­shaped eyes, which, she observed, were “so much admired by some.” Rather than seeing these as beautiful, she likened almond-­shaped eyes to those of the pig, characterized in her description as “long” and “narrow.” Wheeler’s statements remind us that absolute consensus about beauty, despite claims to scientific precision among physiognom­ ists, was never possible.46 What is revealing here, and in hundreds of other books and pamphlets, is the reach of a pervasive vocabulary of beauty that emphasized precise description, careful delineation, and qualitative (and in some instances quantitative) assessment. Broadly indicative of this trend is one 1901 physiognomy manual, written in the form of a series of questions and answers by Frank Ellis, which sought to define facial beauty in ways that drew on both classical ideals and notions of proportionality: “A beautiful face according to the classical idea is one whose proportions are equal. The forehead of equal proportions with the length of the nose, and the nose equal in proportion to the length of the lips and jaw—­the width of the face being two thirds the whole length.”47 This tendency toward thinking about beauty, measurement, and the assessment of the face was highly influential in British culture. Physiognomic advice about attractiveness offered to readers of specialized books and

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pamphlets were not the only spaces in which these ideas were shared. Public lectures on the subject were common and, increasingly, new types of commercial ventures appeared.48 The popularization of physiognomy in the Victorian era led most directly to the growth of mail order businesses and unique storefronts that functioned as both spaces of consumption and forms of popular entertainment. Establishments providing physiognomical and phrenological readings, as well as fortune-­telling and palm reading, emerged in a variety of urban areas. One of these was owned by John Barter, identified as a teacher of shorthand and general purveyor of advice on handwriting, dream interpretation, and memory improvement. In 1896, he promised potential customers a “written delineation of character” to those who sent a photo and small payment to an address in the Brixton re­ gion of London.49 More significant were the efforts of the family of Frank Ellis, who opened a storefront on the Promenade in the popular seaside resort of Blackpool in the 1890s.50 The shop, which employed Frank’s parents, Ida and Albert, was depicted on the cover of their early twentieth-­century Guide to Success (ca. 1900–­1916) with an image that reveals how the family used the human head and face in marketing their services.51 Two phrenological heads appear on the storefront sign while images of human faces and sculptural busts figure prominently in the windows. Clients could enter for a palm, phrenological, or physiognomical reading or to receive health advice, all of which were recorded in purpose-­specific pamphlets that they could take with them as souvenirs. Like Frank, the entire family (sometimes individually, sometimes collectively) produced pamphlets, many of which functioned as primers on reading heads and faces. Aside from the Guide to Success, there were titles like What Baby Is Likely to Become (date unknown), and Stepping Stones to Success (ca. 1919). As in the work of Maud Wheeler, all of these emphasized the importance of physical appearance in assessing compatible friends and romantic partners. Additionally, they linked a pleasing appearance to success in life, a theme that would come to permeate the culture of male beauty in Britain throughout the twentieth century. The images the Ellises used to illustrate key principles frequently employed a symmetrical, blemish-­free, and indisputably handsome male face, reinforcing ideals of attractiveness that were equally pervasive in other cultural forms, including advertisements (see figure 1.4). Another component of consumer culture related to physiognomy were the popular journals, youth-­oriented periodicals, and health magazines, purchased and read voraciously by varied audiences. Within them, readers encountered numerous articles and features on facial shape or the nature of noses as well as numerous drawings and photographs. An important

Figure 1.4.  Physiognomic and phrenological portrait from Frank Ellis, Key to Heads, Faces, and Hands (Blackpool: Ellis Family, 1902), 47. Courtesy of the Yale University Libraries.

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contributor was the author and lecturer Richard Dimsdale Stocker who, like a number of other physiognomists, dabbled not only in this field of expertise but also in graphology and psychical research. Stocker was a prolific writer who published a range of books in the first decade of the twentieth century that included titles such as Clues to Character and The Human Face. Like other physiognomists, Stocker offered his readers descriptions of ideal beauty while also linking certain attributes with particular mental or social states. In Face and Physique or Within and Without, published in 1904, sunken, hollow cheeks, in addition to being deemed unattractive, were said to “disclose a lack of sociability or love of friends.”52 One venture that included pieces by Stocker was Vim: A Magazine of Health and Beauty (retitled, in 1904, Vim: An Illustrated Monthly Devoted to Promoting Health & Vigor of Body & Mind). In giving voice to Stocker’s viewpoints, Vim linked the preoccupation with reading the face with concerns about bodily vigor in a period when matters of public health and the fitness of the nation were at the fore of British consciousness.53 Aimed at a youthful, male, and lower-­middle-­class and working-­class readership and edited by J. E. McLachlan,54 the magazine sought to counter, through advice on physical fitness and a “gospel of cleanliness,”55 the effects of bodily and moral degeneration. The causes of these problems were varied and included the exhaustion associated with modern urban life and various forms of indulgence including masturbation, a concern that was more explicitly articulated in another contemporary publication that ran from 1902 until 1914 and was titled Vitality and Health Culture: A Magazine for the Promotion of Mental and Physical Vigour.56 Concerns about physical and mental health and well-­being or, in the case of Vitality and Health Culture, a desire to counteract the “Fatal Vice” of autoerotism were thus central to these magazines’ mission.57 In focusing on these issues, though, contributors also promoted increasingly common conceptions of masculine beauty that emphasized fitness and muscularity, aesthetic standards that would come to predominate (to varying degrees) throughout the twentieth century. In a regular column titled “Phizzes and Physiques,” Stocker commented on the relationship between the appearance of the face and various physiological functions, including digestion and circulation. Most intriguing were the ways in which Stocker employed a physiognomically inflected language of beauty, aimed specifically at adolescent boys and young men, to discuss the face and the body. One piece on digestion and character, for instance, asked readers, “Would you be beautiful? . . . Would you be lovely in the eyes of your fellows?” The answer that Stocker provided was “of course,” assuming that readers maintained their health, monitored their

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bodies, and ate properly. Proper self-­care might result in the acquisition of clear and robust skin and soft, round cheeks, traits “admired by all whose aesthetic perception enables them to judge of perfection.”58 In 1904, Stocker wrote feature articles for Vim on teeth, eyes, mouths, and chins. Aside from asserting a physiognomic commonplace on the “inter-­ dependence of mind and body,”59 this work valorized, through textual devices and visual aids, the attractive male face. For Stocker, in another 1904 piece titled “The Form Beautiful,” beauty functioned as both a mutable category, subject to the whims of taste, and an analytically precise set of measurements that could be used to assess and classify form, color, and proportion. Stocker also asserted that there was a symbiotic relationship between the “‘balanced’ and beautiful face” and the “healthful condition of the physique,” essentially linking attractiveness to pervasive concerns about imperial vitality and the health of Britain’s youthful male population.60 Stocker’s definition of the beautiful face went even further however. While he maintained that it was always “healthy,” he enumerated features that predominated, as we shall see, in many contemporary portraits of strong men, paintings and cartes de visite of athletes, and literary representations of attractive men. For Stocker, the beautiful face was always “bright-­eyed, clear-­ com­plexioned, and glossy-­haired.” Additionally, the attractive male face was to be “of at least average proportions” with “a good sized nose, large nostrils, full cheeks, a curved jaw, a well-­proportioned chin, and a broad, wide brow.” Finally, the cheekbones were to be “somewhat, yet not unduly, prominent, whilst the lips will be full and red.”61 Coupling these descriptions with illustrations, Stocker and the editors of the magazine created a typology of attractiveness and promoted a standard of male beauty that drew, concurrently, on ancient Greek notions of perfect symmetry, concepts of racial purity and Whiteness, and ideas about masculine strength.62 These images were intended to produce, in readers, an ability to “read” both beauty and character, a point reinforced by competitions, sponsored by the magazine, in which readers were asked to send in “correct” interpretations of the physiognomic types that punctuated Stocker’s many pieces in Vim.63 For all who invested in the production and consumption of physiognomic knowledge, the stakes of beauty were, indeed, very high.

Photography and the Language of Male Beauty The language of assessment and discernment that emerged with the popularization of physiognomy and informed vocabularies of beauty for Victorians

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was furthered by an important technological development—­the rise of the photograph. While some, like the art critic John Ruskin, worried that photography might challenge the dominance of painting and drawing as a mode of representation or elevate the mediocre in British culture,64 nearly all acknowledged it as a departure from the past that transformed how nineteenth-­ century Britons saw both the natural world and the human form.65 The emergence of this way of seeing and capturing men and women ushered in new appearance-­centered consumer practices and new thoughts about how the body and face should be posed. It also fostered innovative modes of display in which images of male and female faces and bodies were placed in the shopwindows of portrait photographers, traded as commodities, and, as the nineteenth century pushed toward the twentieth, published in a host of new illustrated periodicals. The ubiquity of these practices meant that men were subjected to forms of public and visual scrutiny that have frequently been cast as a particularly female burden.66 As objects to be viewed and dissected, the man’s face and body emerged as a preoccupation paralleling and, in some instances surpassing, that associated with the woman’s face and body.

˙∙˙ First introduced to Britain in 1839, the French process of creating images with a camera on silver or silver-­coated copper plates (known as daguerreotypes after their inventor, Louis Daguerre) marked a key moment in the history of representing human beings. Daguerre’s process was improved upon by a New Yorker named Alexander Wolcott and his British collaborator Richard Beard. Beard’s work served to popularize the practice in the United Kingdom and, according to one contemporary observer in the Times, reduced the amount of time a sitter had to remain stationary in having his or her image recorded to a “short space of four to five minutes.”67 A series of inventions made the process of producing truly lifelike images easier and cheaper by the second half of the nineteenth century.68 Most revolutionary, in terms of the rapid dissemination of images of the human face and form, was the development of albumen print paper in 1850. This innovation allowed for the production of positive images on a special paper coated with a liquid made from egg whites and sodium or ammonium chloride. The availability of this paper made several Victorian photographic conventions possible, including the production of cheap cartes de visite (small images generally measuring 2.5 by 4 inches) or larger cabinet portraits that could be pasted to card stock and sold and traded in multiple locales.69 Beginning in the 1840s and continuing for much of the nineteenth century, Victorian journalists saw fit to comment on the marvels of photography

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and the new technology’s transformative potential. They often alluded to the ways in which the experience of photographing and being photographed affected how contemporaries reproduced, viewed, and interpreted the human face. Articles about photographic portraiture abounded in the popular press, especially in the 1840s, 1850s, and 1860s as more and more Britons were exposed to the new technology at public events like the Great Exhibition of 1851 and in High Street shopwindows. Ranging from pieces in widely distributed periodicals like the Illustrated London News to a variety of national and regional newspapers, these articles reveled in photography as a symbol of modern scientific progress. It was also, however, a development that fundamentally altered how human likenesses were reproduced and consumed, an invention that, according to one contemporary observer, “cannot fail, therefore, to lay open new ideas.”70 In 1841, for instance, the Bristol Mercury reported that a “saloon and apparatus for the production of photographic likenesses”71 had opened in the southwestern port city, a development that was mirrored in multiple other locales including in London, where a studio was opened by Beard at the Royal Polytechnic Institution that same year.72 In characterizing these developments as a scientific marvel that in the past might have been attributed to “the Prince of Darkness, his emissaries, and votaries,” the author described the process of creating a daguerreotype that detailed the new technology. He also documented the experience of sitting for a portrait, introducing readers to new ways of seeing and being seen.73 Added to these ideas by the end of the decade was an emerging language of photographic aesthetics informed not only by ideas of naturalness and animation but also by an explicit language of beauty and distinction. In a report that appeared in the Times in 1848 on some of the new techniques developed by the always-­inventive Beard, exhibitions of his work in London were described as opportunities to look at “pleasing, minutely beautiful, and really life-­like portraits.” The language of clarity, proportion, richness, and delicacy used to describe Beard’s work in this report helped to create a popular vocabu­ lary for understanding and interpreting photographs. It also contributed substantially to the ways in which Britons discussed the physical attributes of the attractive face and body.74 Journalists, authors, and readers continued to marvel at the technology of the camera and its chief product—­the photographic portrait—­through­ out the 1850s and 1860s in a range of sources including a guide to a Great International Exhibition, held in South Kensington in London in 1862, that featured displays both of photographic equipment and a range of portraits and landscape pictures.75 Added to these discussions were nuggets of advice to photographers and their subjects alike, highlighting the extent to which the portrait studio was becoming increasingly important in

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Britain’s consumer landscape. Hints on how to photograph men to allow them to put their best face forward abounded in a broad range of periodicals. Often veiled or included as brief statements, these instructive asides provided guidance to readers as they contemplated how to best mobilize photographs in displaying their most pleasing attributes. In some ways this tendency constituted part of a broader cultural process, reflected in events such as colonial exhibitions and world’s fairs and the growth of museums, that sociologist Tony Bennett has labeled as a nineteenth-­century “exhibitionary complex.”76 The medium of photography as a technology of representation, along with growing cultural assumptions about the relationship between personal worth and physical attractiveness, led individuals to literally make spectacles of themselves in photographs by manipulating the settings in which their portraits were taken. This tendency on the part of the general public was something that portrait photographers and purveyors of photographic advice readily capitalized upon. One example from 1862, titled “Photographs,” was published in the Saturday Review and reprinted in the Manchester Times. In it, a gentleman of a “solid, humdrum appearance” with a “sort of romance about him which women cannot detect” was informed that his best hope for a pleasant result was to sit for a portrait in a studio setting that distracted the viewer from physical imperfections or deficiencies.77 This point was also established humorously in a cartoon from the same year, where a short and squat man was posed by a photographer among diminutive furniture to allow him to “gain a more imposing stature” in a carte de visite portrait (see figure 1.5). Unlike physiognomy, which tended to discourage artifice by emphasizing the ability of an informed reader to accurately read a subject’s true self, photography held out the possibility that a sitter might employ strategies in a portrait studio to augment the real. An awareness that an individual might improve upon their own personal reality in photographs meant that British men and women were bombarded with helpful hints not only on how they should pose themselves or deal with the discomforts of portrait studios but also on how they should dress. Men were instructed about what they should wear when getting photographed because, as one photographer observed in 1865, “one of the first essentials to the production of a pleasing photograph is the style of dress of the sitter.”78 In offering gender-­specific advice about what to wear, men were frequently exhorted to don black cloth, dark tweeds, or grays and avoid light-­colored accessories. One article that appeared in the Dublin-­based Freeman’s Journal and Daily Commercial Advertiser provided advice to men by excerpting a review of the work of the photographer Adolphe Lesage who, in 1869, showed a series of portraits of Roman Catholic cardinals, archbishops, and bishops. In noting the distinction between men who wore lacey,

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Figure 1.5.  Charles Keene’s take on studio portraits. “Artful!,” Punch, or, the London Charivari, January 1, 1862. Courtesy of the Punch Cartoon Library/TopFoto.

white vestments and those who chose simpler, black gowns (hinting, perhaps, at the anti-­Catholic biases present in some circles at this time),79 the superiority of the latter in photographing the male face was noted.80 Advice on the value of wearing dark colors to showcase a portrait sitter’s features continued to punctuate the popular press until the end of Victoria’s reign, a reminder of just how prevalent the photographic mindset was becoming by the latter years of the nineteenth century.81 This range of material in the popular press undoubtedly contributed to new understandings of what was beautiful and attractive in men, as well as in women. Photographers quickly created a variety of societies and organizations—­including the London-­based Photographic Society (founded 1853) and other bodies such as the Liverpool Amateur Photographic Association—­to promote and further their craft. Such groups were vital in creating the vocabulary of photographic beauty that would come to so completely dominate understandings of masculine physical and bodily attractiveness by the turn of the twentieth century.82 Photographers then, as a nascent artistic profession, expended tremendous amounts of intellectual energy thinking about the meaning and posing of human faces and bodies, focusing on topics like symmetry, coloring, and the shape of noses and mouths as well as techniques for producing more flattering images of clients.

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The new artistic craft was, however, characterized by some inherent contradictions. On the one hand, photographers positioned themselves as especially well suited, through their use of the camera, to “tell the truth about . . . faces” and capture the peculiarities of the human visage. On the other, their ability to manipulate light, shadow, and exposure to the glaring eye of this new technology meant that they, like all artists, could obscure reality, as seen in discussions of so-­called spirit photography in the 1860s, 1870s, and 1880s.83 In one piece that appeared in the Photographic Journal in the 1860s, for example, readers were informed that by stretching a piece of lace on a wooden frame that was then placed between the camera and the portrait sitter, they could produce photographs that resembled a “chalk drawing or engraving,” thus softening the “defects of the model.”84 In these ruminations on portraiture then, photographers detailed a vocabulary of personal attractiveness that placed, at its core, ideas about the normal and the defective, the photogenic and the flawed, the appealing and the ugly, and the real and the fake. This language of contrasts became crucial to discussions of beauty as the Victorians sought to delineate numerous hard and fast, and often highly racialized, categories about physical appearance.85 In a range of specialized journals, which included not just the Photo­ graphic Journal but also the British Journal of Photography and Annual (founded 1854 as the Liverpool Photographic Journal) and the Photographic News (founded 1859), practitioners also reflected on the finer technological details of the photographic process, reported on the activities of regional societies, and ruminated on the place of photography in the fine art tradition. These periodicals were read by interested practitioners and a broader general audience, demarcating the admired attributes and characteristics of the ideal subject and offering advice to men on how they should present themselves when having their portraits taken. In an editorial introduction to the Liverpool and Manchester Photographic Journal, the personality of sitters was discussed: “We scarcely know which is the most objectionable extreme, for a man to have too much assurance or too much bashfulness, but we are convinced that the latter failing with a photographer entails upon him a very considerable amount of inconvenience.” While clearly an expression of the annoyances that portrait photographers occasionally faced, statements like this one also instructed practitioners and sitters how to best produce a pleasing appearance in photographic form.86 In other items in the 1860s and 1870s, photographers and sitters alike were presented with hierarchies of male beauty as they were instructed on how to create flattering photographs. In a June 1865 piece titled “How to Sit for a Photograph,” the editors of the British Journal of Photography printed excerpts from a short manual of the same title published in Newcastle-­on-­ Tyne by a photographer identified only as Mr. Bannister (presumably of the

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Newcastle firm Bannister and Co.). Readers of this piece were reminded of what was undesirable in a sitter (in this case high cheekbones and irregular noses) and the skilled photographer’s ability to disguise or minimize the appearance of these imperfections: “A high cheekbone, for instance, is not an agreeable peculiarity, and should be so managed that it shall not form the outline of the face.”87 Aside from correcting defects and producing brilliant images of faces, practitioners were reminded in the photographic press that they should convey strength of character in creating portraits of older men—­marked by attributes such as “sunken eyes” and “deep-­furrowed cheeks”—­and avoid lighting that attempted to make the sitter look like “a girl of sixteen.”88 In highlighting the harshness of the aged face, the author of this piece elevated the youthful in defining ideals of male beauty, a point reinforced in a 1902 article on the seven photographic ages of man.89 In addition to establishing a hierarchy based on age, it was clear by the end of the nineteenth century that photographers were reflecting on the desirability of certain body types with a marked preference being stated for lean and fit physiques, a trend in keeping with the valorization of athleticism that marked the British culture of male beauty in the late Victorian age. In a brief piece on “Fat Sitters” that appeared in the British Journal Photographic Almanac in 1893, photographer G. G. Mitchell identified the problems associated with taking a portrait of “stout people.” He began by noting that “obesity is undoubtedly a feature in a sitter which taxes all a professional’s skill and dexterity.” While he characterized the “dowdy, globosity, who is simply vulgarly fat,” as beyond redemption, Mitchell held out hope for the “stout lady and gentleman” who, through manipulations of the pose, could still achieve pleasant results in having their portrait taken. Leaning forward to extend the neck and separate the head from the body could elongate the look of the stout sitter, producing an effect that allowed the torso to appear smaller.90 By denigrating obesity and offering photographic antidotes for stoutness this author provided helpful advice. He also, perhaps unwittingly, further contributed to the broader aesthetic project of which the photographer’s craft was such a vitally important part. The personal viewpoints of practitioners themselves offer some insight into how those responsible for creating these images conceptualized the role of their craft. Known for her masterful portraits, Julia Margaret Cameron was among the most accomplished of the Victorian art photographers. Many of her works focusing on the human face and body are both hauntingly beautiful and remarkably honest. Born Julia Pattle in Calcutta, India, she married Charles Cameron in 1838 and moved to Britain permanently in 1848, where she traveled in weighty artistic and literary circles, befriending the author Henry Taylor, the poet Alfred Tennyson, and the

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painter George Frederic Watts.91 Cameron’s interest in photography developed in the 1860s after her family moved to the Isle of Wight. Quickly acquiring an aptitude for the medium, she first showed her work in 1864.92 Cameron’s talent and novelty as a female photographer garnered the attention not only of the individuals lucky enough to receive one of her specially prepared photographic albums but also of critics in the photographic press, who commented, often disparagingly in the beginning, on her tendency to use a soft-­focus.93 Cameron’s personal writings on photography captured the newness of the medium and its potential, particularly its ability to convey various forms of beauty. Her commitment to the pursuit of the beautiful as a central obsession in her photographic career was also made abundantly clear in her short autobiography The Annals of My Glass House (1874). Aside from documenting how she first came to photography after receiving the gift of a “lens” from her daughter, Cameron described her motivations: “I longed to arrest all beauty that came before me.” In commenting on her craft, she noted the appeal of elite and ordinary subjects alike. With regard to her interest in photographing the farmers she observed, Cameron used language that was in keeping with her elevated social status, “the peasantry of our island is very handsome.”94 Her quest for photographic beauty led her to not only pursue working men and women and famous sitters but also to seek, in posing her frequently costumed subjects, inspiration from art history, the Bible, and famous literary and theatrical characters.95 In photographing male subjects, Cameron sought to depict manhood in all its varieties, capturing the elderly, boys, and young adults. She created portraits of prominent intellectuals and public figures like Charles Darwin, Henry Taylor, Benjamin Jowett, and Thomas Carlyle (frequently in old age), focusing particularly on the greatness of their intellectual attainments, reflected in serious countenances that were meant to convey inner character.96 Cameron also captured the youthful beauty of men, as seen in photographs of her sons,97 and of an Indian civil servant by the name of Henry John Stedman Cotton (the suitor and future husband of her maid, assistant, and sometime model Mary Ryan).98 Cotton was described by Cameron as “eminently handsome, with a head of a Greek type and fair ruddy Saxon complexion,”99 a common aesthetic vocabulary employed in many descriptions of attractive men in mid-­Victorian Britain (see figure  1.6). Other photographs of men by Cameron highlighted attractive youthful features, luxurious heads of hair, and, in one case, the body of an athlete. In capturing the physical beauty of an Italian artist’s model or the prize-­winning runner Patrick Connor,100 Cameron was not just using the medium to capture admired attributes but also encouraging those who viewed

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Figure 1.6.  Julia Margaret Cameron’s portrait of Henry John Stedman Cotton (1867). Albumen print. Courtesy of the Victoria and Albert Museum.

her photographs to indulge in the sensual pleasures of gazing at men. As an artistic intervention, her work contributed to a broader set of cultural developments that were placing men increasingly on display and encouraging Victorians to pay attention to masculine beauty in its many forms. Cameron’s views and some of the others examined earlier in this chapter were evident in one final medium of communication that emerged out of the mania for producing and viewing photographs. The photographer’s manual, written and published for amateurs and professionals alike,

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became a popular mode of communicating ideas about how best to capture the human face and form. While some of these manuals were more focused on technical matters, like the Amateur’s Photographic Guide Book (1874),101 others mixed discussions of photographic processes with artistic musings. Providers of photographic advice, such as William Heighway, contributed to the creation of an aesthetic vocabulary that resonated throughout beauty cultures in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Photographers and, as we shall see in the next chapter, grooming and beauty entrepreneurs, embraced contradictory impulses. On the one hand, they wanted to promote and enhance what was natural. On the other, they relied on manipulation and, sometimes, alteration, to achieve the best possible aesthetic results. Heighway, a regular contributor to the photographic press, published a number of manuals in the 1870s and 1880s on various aspects of portraiture that picked up on these, and many other, themes. In an 1876 book titled Practical Portrait Photography, he sought to provide pragmatic advice on the nature of both photographic spaces and processes. In addition to discussing lighting, the posing of subjects, and the need for clean and pleasant dressing rooms and lavatories in studios, Heighway also warned against the dangers of excessive retouching. The “injudicious removal of all lines, muscles, natural defects, and character,” he observed, would result in the loss of individuality, creating an “unmeaning block of ivory-­like roundness and polish and vacancy.”102 Producing effective likenesses, however, involved much more than avoiding overly zealous retouching. It also required kindness, courtesy, and an even temper to “make the best of the sitter . . . especially of his face.”103 To achieve this result, Heighway instructed his readers, the heads of those posing should be turned in a different direction from the rest of their bodies. Because most men parted their hair on the left side, he also observed, the photograph should generally favor the part, “except where the head is beginning to grow bald, when the other side is to be preferred.”104 Reiterating a sentiment revealed in advertisements for a broad range of baldness remedies, Heighway’s remarks and others like them reinforced mid-­Victorian standards of masculine beauty. The aesthetic obligations of the photographer and their claims to artistry were further reinforced by Heighway in The Esthetics of Photography (1882). While a large portion of this short book is devoted to regular photographic fare—­including practical hints on achieving harmony through simplicity, lighting, and studio backgrounds—­in it are interesting insights about the broad principles of beauty and the photographer’s responsibility in capturing them. In encouraging photographers to achieve excellence, Heighway noted that they had an obligation to study the “human form divine” and

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review how painters and other artists conveyed the beauty of the face and body.105 Indeed, the ability to discern beauty was of paramount importance: “Without a natural perception of pictorial effect, a recognition and admiration of the beautiful, and a knowledge of what that beauty consists in, not the greatest amount of industry will ever make an artist.”106 In seeking beauty, the photographer was expected to look past imperfections to record the essential characteristics of their subjects.107 The photographer, Heighway observed, had an obligation to master the human face and capture the beautiful in its multiple forms. As he put it: “The appreciative mind of the artist, keenly alive to the beauty of nature, finds the greatest gratification in the delineation of the human face.” Of course, this delineation of the human face meant that photographers had to recognize the value of the “winsome face of the innocent girl; the rugged countenance of the man . . . or the front of age . . . with its seams, lines, and furrows.”108 Yet, despite his contention that beauty need not only be sought in the youthful and the unblemished, Heighway’s writing served to reinforce that a hierarchy of beauty did, indeed, exist in Victorian culture, a point reinforced in a guide for amateur photographers published in 1899 by author and photographer Richard Penlake: “a pretty face is not absolutely necessary for the production of a good photograph, although undoubtedly it goes a long way towards a ‘pretty’ result.”109

The Visual and Material Culture of Photography Ideas about photography and beauty clearly circulated in a variety of unique, text-­oriented ways in the nineteenth century. This new technology did not just produce novel means for representing the human face and figure, though. It also generated distinctive visual and material cultures and new types of social rituals. Photography was represented in pictures, prints, and cartoons as an innovative practice that signified Britain’s entry into the modern age. It was also depicted as a process that could produce considerable anxieties about physical appearance, the human body, and the individual’s ability to function and, indeed, compete in an increasingly visual society. Photography also created new rituals of viewing and collecting. Photographic prints were regularly exhibited in a variety of venues, including annual shows hosted by organizations like the Photographic Society,110 and in a multitude of shopwindows. Practitioners of this new craft produced a number of distinctive artifacts, including advertisements for their services, cartes de visite and other forms of portable portraiture, and specialized, photographically illustrated books on “Men of Note.” These tangible

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artifacts conditioned Britons to view the face and body in distinctive ways: commodities that literally reduced the beautiful and the famous to a single consumable form.

˙∙˙ The public fascination with photography, formulated in the popular press, in advertisements, and in public exhibitions of the work of photographers like Heighway and Cameron created multiple opportunities for display and the visual representation of the portrait-­taking process. The opening of Richard Beard’s London studio in 1841 occasioned commentary in both the popular press and in the work of the prominent caricaturist George Cruikshank who, in 1842, produced an image of a man being photographed that showcased the novelty of the new technology while pointing to the discomfort of posing and the length of time it took to take a picture, referenced by the watch in the photographer’s hand.111 The new technology itself was also harnessed to illustrate the intricacies of the photographic studio and the process of creating a portrait. In a brilliant daguerreotype from 1843, the photographer, journalist, and ophthalmologist Jabez Hogg is shown making a portrait of an older male subject, in a scene that would become increasingly common as more and more people flocked to photographic studios to have their images captured (see figure 1.7). The prevalence of the male subject is worth noting in both cases and points to the extent to which men were on the receiving end of the photographer’s gaze in the earliest decades of the new technology, producing an acute awareness among Victorian Britons that the male face and body were becoming objects of intense public scrutiny. Individual Victorian illustrators and writers like Cuthbert Bede (the pen name of clergyman, cartoonist, and author Edward Bradley) and that most quintessential of Victorian satirical publications, Punch Magazine, found humor in the process of photographic portraiture even as they sought to impart valuable insights to their readers. Bede, for instance, in his book Photographic Pleasures (1855), reinforced prevailing cultural norms and attitudes, including perspectives on what was ugly and beautiful. In one illustration, the difficulties that some men encountered in trying to secure a pleasing portrait were detailed, especially for the balding and middle-­aged who possessed neither a full head of hair nor a recognizably attractive face (see figure 1.8). As photographic portraiture and the craze for distributing and collecting cartes de visite took off in the 1850s and 1860s, Punch similarly saw fit to depict the process of being photographed and to offer commen­ taries on different visions of manhood and male beauty. In a cartoon titled

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Figure 1.7.  Photograph of Jabez Hogg making a portrait in Richard Beard’s studio (1843). Courtesy of Historic Images/Alamy Stock Photo.

“Photographic Beauties” (1858), for instance, several features of the photographer’s studio were highlighted including the characteristic skylight, the camera, and the presence of the photographic colorist (see figure 1.9). The significance of the image extends, however, well beyond these issues. Contained within it are several additional commentaries. The caption picks up on a masculine desire to be depicted in a handsome light and to be attractive to the “ladies,” a tendency certainly not new to male culture but exacerbated by the rise of the photograph and its growing importance to heterosexual courtship. The humor for Punch’s middle-­class readership was undoubtedly to be found in both the working-­class status of the subjects and their decidedly unappealing countenances and body shapes. Like in so many other contemporary sources, the preoccupation with masculine beauty is both surprisingly pointed and explicit. Other cartoons in Punch noted the ubiquity of the photographic mindset taking hold in the mid-­Victorian period just as they lampooned the pretentiousness and presumptuousness of dandified men, commented on the dreariness (and thus aesthetic inferiority) of old age, and expressed the annoyances associated, for some, with being photographed.112

Figure 1.8.  “To secure a pleasing Portrait is everything.” A cartoon from Cuthbert Bede [Edward Bradley], Photographic Pleasures Popularly Portrayed with Pen and Pencil (London: T. McLean, 1855), opposite page 38. Courtesy of the University of  Vermont Library.

Figure 1.9.  John Leech’s cartoon on the demands of photographer’s clients. “Photographic Beauties,” Punch, or, the London Charivari, June 19, 1858. Courtesy of the Punch Cartoon Library/TopFoto.

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In documenting the emerging photographic age, Punch cartoons also provided some insight into what studio storefronts looked like. As part of an increasingly visual streetscape in the nineteenth century, portrait takers and purveyors of cartes de visite routinely displayed their wares in large plate-­glass shopwindows, a development that transformed these spaces into “stage[s] or exhibition[s].”113 These were increasingly spectacular sites and sights that introduced passersby to the photographic arts and the equipment this new technology required while also capitalizing on the pleasures of looking. In another cartoon from Punch, located next to a shopwindow advertising “photographic chemicals and apparatus” were several stereoscopic viewers mounted on the wall that enabled pedestrians to engage, however fleetingly, with Britain’s increasingly complex visual culture.114 While the degree to which such a depiction was true to life might be questioned, like with so many Punch cartoons, social realities were never far below the surface. Highlighted in this image, admittedly with the expectation of prompting a laugh, was the tendency toward showmanship and gimmicks that some portrait studios embraced in drumming up business. Indeed, the power of the photographer’s shopwindow to draw audiences and entertain was reflected in an 1877 article that appeared in the Photographic News. In this case, the author (who was advocating for the establishment of a permanent photographic exhibition in London) cited an overheard comment of one gentleman who “pointed out how attractive all shop windows were in which photographs were exhibited and mentioned the names of some dealers before whose premises a crowd of spectators was always to be found.”115 It was in simple observations such as these that the emerging photographic consciousness and penchant for looking was revealed. This consciousness did not just produce new ways of representing the self or engaging with the visual in city streets. It also generated new social experiences and rituals connected to the production, consumption, and viewing of photographic images. Cartes de visite and the albums that were produced by stationers and photographers for collecting and displaying them—­such as the large, leather-­covered, and highly decorated version ac­ quired by a young woman named Agnes C. Smith in the 1860s and 1870s116—­ represented not just a new form of material culture but also a profound epistemological shift. These changes created for the Victorians new ways of thinking about methods at their disposal for depicting family members, cherished friends, and celebrated political figures, actors, or athletes. While members of the upper classes, who had commissioned painted portraits for centuries, were joined in this practice by the aspiring middle classes after about 1750, the reach of new and relatively inexpensive photographic

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likenesses meant that many more were able to enjoy them, particularly after the 1860s and 1870s.117 Given the dominance of men in the public sphere, it should not surprise us that elegantly displayed photographic portraits and many cartes de visite depicted the male form and face, providing numerous opportunities to reflect on those attributes that made men either appealing or repugnant. One daguerreotype of a member of the Scottish Lanarkshire Yeomanry regiment from 1853118 showcased the sitter as a fit, uniformed, and youthful specimen of manhood, a tendency that not only reinforced masculine hierarchies but also standards of attractiveness.119 Similarly, one 1862 contributor to the Hampshire Telegraph and Sussex Chronicle commented simultaneously on the self-­doubt and anxiety generated by posing for a portrait and the trend among young women to affectionately and obsessively collect photographs of handsome clergymen. Most significant in this piece were the observations offered on the value of the carte de visite for capturing the aesthetic preferences and standards of the day for future historians: “There will be considerable historical value in the record which these photographs are preserving of the type of manly beauty which the English middle classes of the nineteenth century specially admired.”120 This author and others recognized that the mania for photographic portraits and cartes de visite had produced a distinctive consumer culture that was organized around capturing images and systematizing the collection of the beautiful, the handsome, the famous, the eccentric, the different, and the remarkable.121 The acquisition of cartes de visite and other photographic forms was routinely noted as a distinctive feature of the penchant for consuming images in the nineteenth century, labeled by one contemporary as the “fashion of photograph collecting.”122 One self-­confessed collector summarized the pleasure of acquiring photographs in 1878 in the North Wales Chronicle: “A well-­filled album is a miniature history of mankind, a panorama of lives well and ill spent, of that strange mingling of bitters and sweets called existence.”123 Entrepreneurial photographers, many of whom had connections to what might be broadly defined as a Victorian “beauty culture,”124 found themselves able to make large sums of money as they capitalized on this trend. Some became photographers to Queen Victoria’s large royal family (early patrons of the new art form),125 as others produced images that showcased, in particular, the boys and young men of Britain’s public schools and ancient universities, political figures, clergymen, soldiers, and athletes. While many firms emerged in the years after the initial introduction of photography and appeared in cities and towns large and small, two were especially important: Hills and Saunders and Elliot and Fry.

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The firm Hills and Saunders began life in the 1850s when Robert Hills parlayed an occupation in the hairdressing trades into a photographic career by opening a shop catering to Oxford men in that university city’s Cornmarket. In the 1860s, he partnered with John Henry Saunders and quickly began to expand the business beyond Oxford to London, to Aldershot and Sandhurst (where they photographed military men) and to Cambridge, Harrow, Rugby, and Eton (catering further to Britain’s educational elite).126 The London offices of the firm were known to be commodious and likened to “the reception room of a private gentleman.” Similar accommodations were occupied by the studios of Elliott and Fry, a business established by Joseph John Elliott and Clarence Edmund Fry in 1863.127 The firm, a leader in celebrity photography, also established offices in Oxford and Cambridge where their carte de visite images of young men were left as calling cards and given as mementos.128 This experience did not come cheaply for those noncelebrities who chose to patronize a studio of the quality of Hills and Saunders or Elliott and Fry (celebrity portraits were generally taken for free with the hope of substantial profits by photographers). Both, in fact, charged what amounted to a week’s wages or more for many laborers for cartes de visite or cabinet portraits—­one guinea (a price gauge used in valuing luxury goods, worth one pound, one shilling).129 The tangible products of these two firms, and many others, were prevalent in Victorian society and displayed in a variety of contexts: including on mantle pieces and in albums owned by women like Agnes Smith.130 Advertisements revealed the growing ubiquity of the practice. One Man­ chester Guardian piece from 1864 announced the technologically enhanced services of three carte de visite photographers, including two firms on Mar­ ket Street, a major shopping thoroughfare.131 Similar advertisements appeared throughout the country in the 1850s, 1860s, and 1870s in London papers such as the Times and in more localized publications like Jackson’s Oxford Journal.132 Spiers and Son, an Oxford retailer that sold photographs alongside a variety of other products, called readers’ attention to “their large stock of cartes de visite, including the . . . Princess, Alexandra, the crowned heads of Europe, Oxford celebrities, and eminent persons of all nations, price 1s. 6p. each,” in addition to their large selection of albums. In so doing, they illustrated the ways in which contemporary photographic culture could elevate the relatively ordinary (Oxford students and dons) to celebrity status, thus enabling them to sit comfortably among royals (at least in photographic studios).133 Shopwindows, such as those for Taunt and Co., another Oxford establishment, also allowed photographers to showcase their skills and, in the process, display human faces and bodies to passersby (see figure 1.10).

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Figure 1.10.  Photograph of the Taunt and Co. storefront, 9 and 10 Broad Street, Oxford (ca. 1870s). POX0118647, Oxfordshire County Council. Courtesy of the Oxfordshire History Centre.

Hundreds of thousands of cartes de visite and other forms of smaller portraiture survive, highlighting the ubiquity of this practice as well as the masculine posing conventions, dress, and hairstyles that predominated in the late nineteenth century. While wealthier and younger men tended to embrace “cartomania” most emphatically,134 customers of every ilk seemed interested in recording the male visage, especially as business expanded. The parents of Eric Richard Bryan of Saltcoats, Scotland, for instance, saw fit to have a carte de visite portrait of their infant taken in September 1888.135 Similarly, the family of a boy (likely in his very early teens) commissioned the Maidstone photographers Mortimer Field and Son to capture the youth’s likeness as he entered puberty.136 In these cases, a tendency toward documenting childhood and delineating personal genealogies, common to parents and present in family letters and personal diaries, was rendered visible through this innovative photographic medium.137 Artifacts such as these also documented the stages of life, marking transitions from infancy to old age. Within such a context, portraits of older men, such as the one produced by the Welsh photographers A. Clarke and Son, provided mementos to families as their loved ones entered the final phases of life. Images of the aged also functioned as cultural counterfoils to those of fresh-­faced

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Figure 1.11.  Various nineteenth-­century cartes de visite contrasting age and youth. The images from A. Clarke and Son and C. R. Trueman referred to in the text appear at the top. Author’s personal collection.

adolescents, such as that of a Shrewsbury schoolboy produced by the photographer C. R. Trueman (see figure 1.11). In visiting studios such as those of Hills and Saunders and Elliott and Fry, schoolboys and university men were clearly taking advantage of the new medium to document the transition from boyhood to manhood.138 By choosing to have a carte de visite portrait taken, they were also participating in a culture of male beauty that increasingly valorized the brand of youthful, physically fit attractiveness that many of these men embodied. Traded with friends and collected by admirers of undergraduate manhood, these pocket-­ sized portraits function as tangible reminders of how prominent images of appealing faces and bodies were as photography came of age. Portraits of William Fleming Blaine, an undergraduate at Trinity College, Cambridge,

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from 1876 to 1880, and Arthur B. Sole, an undergraduate at Jesus College, Cambridge, from 1873 to 1877, reflect the various ways in which young men chose to have themselves represented (see figure 1.12). Schoolboys and university men struck a variety of poses in these photographs, which ranged in format from head-­and-­shoulder bust portraits to full-­body images that included props (frequently walking sticks) and emphasized sartorial styles.139 Cartes de visite could also represent various middle-­and upper-­ class Victorian masculinities including those, as we have already seen, of the contemplative clergyman and the uniformed military man.140 Cartes de visite and cabinet portraits were particularly well suited to celebrating the accomplishments of athletes. As sporting mania spread throughout the nineteenth century, first in public schools and universities and then more broadly in British society, images of athletes abounded. It is no coincidence that the elevation of the athletic hero as an exemplar of Britishness and masculine vigor coincided with both the rise of the photograph and the emergence of modern visual culture. Admiring the physical attributes of the athlete was easiest through visual media, precisely because the pleasures of well-­conditioned bodies and handsome and youthful faces

Figure 1.12.  Hills and Saunders, carte de visite of  William Fleming Blaine (Cambridge, 1878) (left); carte de visite of Arthur B. Sole (Cambridge, ca. 1873–­77) (right). Author’s personal collection.

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were most easily comprehended through the senses of sight and touch. The emergence of photography and the rise of the illustrated press was, thus, a necessary precondition in fostering the cultural obsession with the athlete as an icon of masculinity and a premier emblem of masculine beauty.141 Beginning in the 1860s, in a range of popular cartes de visite, cabinet photos, and photographic illustrations in published books, images of athletes were consumed, admired, and traded with alacrity. The travails and successes of university boat crews were documented, for instance, in a variety of different ways. The annual Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race, which was first rowed in 1829, became, as the century progressed, an important social event in springtime London, drawing tens of thousands of spectators annually. In addition to a broad array of photographs, the material culture connected to this event consisted of programs, souvenirs, and regular features in periodical publications.142 These items also celebrated the faces and bodies of rowers as athletic notables in definitively visual form. Cartes de visite from the latter decades of the nineteenth century included composite head-­and-­ shoulder portraits of the crews143 and more informal photographs of rowers wearing everyday clothes or assembled in casual groups (see figures 1.13a and 1.13b). Images of young men in action were also common, showcasing the bodies and exertions of rowers as indicators of how a crew might fare and reminders of an increasingly admired body type. As highly collectible artifacts, contemporaries (like they did with other admired individuals or groups) assembled these images of rowers in purpose-­specific albums. One example from the early 1860s, housed in the Magdalen College Archives, Oxford, contains images of various college crews. Another, from the 1880s, documented the successes of Oxford rowers by assembling signed and annotated (indicating rowing positions on the boat) cartes de visite and cabinet photos.144 The connections between athleticism, popular notoriety, and cele­brated physical attributes were also evident in depictions of the Eton and Cambridge cricketers John Edward Kynaston Studd, Charles Thomas Studd, and George Brown Studd (referred to collectively as the Studd brothers). These young men were known for their successes on the cricket pitch and occupied the status of late Victorian media darlings in the 1880s. One article from the Times, for instance, chronicled an 1880 match in which the brothers Studd were said to work in “partnership” perfectly, clearly affecting the final outcome. The Times also rhapsodized about the brothers’ abilities in reporting on a famous 1882 Cambridge match against the visiting Australian team: “The brothers Studd deserve and will certainly receive most hearty congratulations. Between them they made no fewer than 297 runs out of a total of 403 from the bat.”145 Like other celebrities, the brothers could not escape the

Figures 1.13a and 1.13b.  Hills and Saunders, carte de visite of Trinity College, Cam­ bridge Boat Club (1875) and carte de visite of Oxford Varsity Eight (1882). Tom Weil Collec­ tion. Courtesy of the River and Rowing Museum, Henley on Thames, UK.

Figure 1.14.  Elliott and Fry, carte de visite of  John Edward Kynaston Studd, Charles Thomas Studd, and George Brown Studd (“Brothers Studd”) (1880). Courtesy of Alpha Historica/Alamy Stock Photo.

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attention of the camera, and their successes on the pitch were, in part, what made them attractive or appealing. In an Elliott and Fry photo from 1880, undoubtedly reproduced in carte de visite and cabinet forms, the group is posed in formal cricket whites. Each subject donned a well-­trimmed mustache and stared directly and intently at the camera. Highlighting both brotherly love and teamwork, the portrait (as a collectible item) also put the clothed athletic body on display, reminding owners and viewers alike of not only admired masculine attributes but also the commodification of sporting successes (see figure 1.14). It was this tendency toward consuming and collecting the beautiful and the famous in the Victorian period that set the stage for a celebrity-­obsessed culture in the twentieth century that focused on the appealing and attractive man.

˙∙˙ By the early twentieth century, Britons were regularly bombarded with images and discussions of who and what was attractive. Physiognomists and photographers, both potent cultural arbiters in the nineteenth century, conditioned Britons to think about physical appearance in ways that were nearly unparalleled, producing an obsession that had an important impact on women and men alike. Popular physiognomists provided a broad range of advice on how readers might learn about one’s inner character and worth through the dissection of facial structure. In the writings they produced in pamphlets and books, in magazines, and by the end of the period, in manuals that extolled the virtues of a healthy lifestyle, they also articulated standards of attractiveness for those who might use this material in choosing potential employees or romantic partners. Similarly, as photographers reflected on their new methods of documentation and artistic expression, they produced a photographic mindset and aesthetic vocabulary that came to dominate how Victorians understood attractiveness and commodified it in the form of illustrated books and collectible carte de visite portraits. In so doing, both ways of seeing produced a language of beauty that focused on assessment and display and placed men at the fore of many discussions of physical appearance As we shall see in the next chapter, this new physiognomically and photographically infused vocabulary of beauty also affected how entrepreneurs advertised products and individual men consumed, preened, and, ultimately, presented themselves, their faces, and their bodies.

[ Ch a pter 2 ]

Beauty Experts and Hairdressing Entrepreneurs Ill-­fitting garments, warts, pimples, crooked limbs and bald heads, corpulency and meagre looks, we are fully aware, are drawbacks to our prosperity and happiness. . . . The eyes, the nose, the mouth, the hair, the teeth, and the figure, gait, and deportment, all require the hand of artifice to place them to advantage, and in its time artistic appliances are more in request for its service than any other. a le x a n d er ross , The Art and Science of Personal Beauty: Exemplified by a Narrative (1888)

The act of purchasing physiognomic advice or photographs points to the numerous ways in which the thriving consumer culture of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries had, at its core, a concern with the face and the body and the relationship between personal appearance and notions of selfhood. These were not the only items that composed the consumer culture of male beauty. A host of manuals, public lectures on appearance, and periodical publications that offered readers advice or celebrated admired physical attributes showcased the male form and harnessed the increasingly important role of the visual in British popular culture. They also advocated for the pursuit of beauty as a valued social endeavor. In print advertisements hawking a range of products from Pears soap to Cadbury’s Cocoa (featuring artistic renderings of beautiful men) and early men’s fashion magazines, the virtues of handsomeness, health, Whiteness, success, and Britishness were linked in explicit ways.1 Drawing as it did on some of the vocabularies of beauty that were common to the work of physiognomists and photographers alike, this material placed a particular emphasis on the male face, highlighting the importance of healthy hair and skin as well as symmetrical, well-­proportioned features. Of course, the focus on the face was not just evident in print or visual culture. It was also present in a range of products and services intended to 50

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correct perceived defects or enhance personal appearance. Driven, in part, by industrial growth and a fervent belief in the redemptive power of goods,2 the quest for personal beauty, and the purchase of those ointments, devices, and services that helped achieve it, became an obsession for all Britons, male and female alike. Self-­styled beauty experts, manufacturers, quacks, and enterprising hairdressers and perfumers readily embraced the culture of self-­improvement and enhancement that seemed to take off in the wake of the physiognomic and photographic moment. This was also true of some medical professionals and those in possession of scientific training, who also brought their skills and expertise to bear. In so doing, these groups helped to create a global culture of male beauty—­through their products and sales gimmicks—­that continues to influence grooming practices and the masculine relationship with shaving products, cosmetics, and hair treatments.3 Central to these developments in commodity culture were both a faith in progress and a Victorian turn toward aestheticism that emphasized the ability to cultivate and enjoy beauty.4 This mindset was, as others have established, intimately linked to the scientific and technological developments of the nineteenth century. The Great Exhibition of the Industry of All Nations in 1851 celebrated the role of the manufactured commodity in Western civilization and imparted an appreciation for beautifully designed furniture that, in some instances, showcased perfectly formed male figures depicting Bacchus (the Roman god of agriculture, wine, and fertility) and a gladiator.5 Similarly, the introduction of public wash and bathhouses as part of urban health initiatives in London and other cities beginning in the 1840s contributed to the well-­being of city-­dwellers while also creating a gospel of “personal cleanliness” and celebrating healthy body aesthetics.6 Not surprisingly, this tendency, alongside what one historian of Amer­ ican advertising has labeled the “perfectionist project,”7 also contributed to the spectacularization of both faces and bodies.8 The idea of spectacle, developed most notably in the work of French theorist Guy Debord in his 1967 book Society of the Spectacle, has figured prominently in many discussions of modernity and its attendant cultural forms, including advertisements, department stores, and the international exhibitions that became an increasingly important part of global capitalism, imperial expansionism, and international relations in the years after 1850.9 Late nineteenth-­century retailers, theatrical professionals, and music hall entrepreneurs relied on spectacular displays and sets to draw in customers and appeal to increasingly varied audiences.10 The desire for spectacle in Victorian society was also reflected in circuses, freak shows, and various acts and initiatives that literally placed colonial bodies on display to both entertain and instruct about the normative and the nonnormative.11 This appetite for visual

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stimulation created a tradition of spectatorship that contributed, in a number of telling ways, to the elevation of the male face as a particular object of cultural fascination.12

Print Culture and the Promotion of British Male Beauty Large amounts of printed material encouraging the pursuit of beauty and an engagement with consumer culture appeared in the late nineteenth and earlier twentieth centuries. 13 Most common were those publications that provided advice, guidance, and practical information, in keeping with the Victorian obsession, especially pervasive among the middle classes and aspiring members of the working classes, with self-­help and self-­improvement.14 These books and pamphlets, a body of literature that we might label loosely as beauty treatises and guides, ranged from the pragmatic to the philosophical and, sometimes, to the downright strange. Frequently overlapping with physiognomical texts, these treatises often employed a language of classification and hierarchy in dispensing helpful hints. As sources, they provide insights into contemporary grooming practices and the faith that many had in the transformative potential of technology. They also illustrate the popular application of scientific and medical principles and the social capital that was thought to accrue to the physically attractive and appealing.15 Newspapers and, by the end of the nineteenth century, magazines were also vitally important to the emerging culture of male beauty in this period, particularly as their prices dropped following the full elimination of taxes on news in 1861.16 In an era when many Britons looked to periodical publications not only for information on current events but also for lifestyle advice, commentaries on personal appearance punctuated literary ventures such as Saint Paul’s Magazine and decidedly more specialized journals for men alike.

˙∙˙ The beauty treatise was not unknown in earlier periods, as evidenced by the existence of toilet guides and grooming manuals geared to elite Britons in the eighteenth century.17 The growth of this genre in the nineteenth century is, however, undeniable. Many small beauty manuals before 1850 were frequently little more than an assemblage of recipes. On the eve of the Victorian era in the early 1830s, London perfumer L. P. Lamont wrote The Mirror of Beauty; or, The Lady’s and Gentleman’s Companion to the Toilet and Dressing Room Assistant, a fairly pedestrian publication that contained

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instructions on how to make concoctions that could thicken the hair, preserve the gums, or whiten the teeth.18 Between 1837 and the turn of the century, a broad range of materials were published on personal care and bathing, fashion, and bodily self-­management. While the focus on female consumers is notable, men were also the targets of much of this literature where they, too, received instruction on the finer points of physical improvement and adornment. The Book of Health and Beauty, or The Toilette of Rank and Fashion (1837), for instance, was explicitly directed at “both sexes”19 and contained ruminations on the nature of beauty (including the inescapable influences of ancient Greece) as well as practical recipes for skin care, dentifrices, and hair pomades. In addition to labeling the desire to mitigate the “approaches of old age” as a “pardonable” and “rational desire,” the author endeavored to define the pursuit of beauty as an admirable virtue: “We have had many opportunities of observing that the desire of beauty, when restrained within moderate bounds, may prove a source of virtuous and laudable pursuits, and may also be greatly instrumental in the preservation of health.”20 Treatises directed at men explicitly, frequently about shaving but also about hairdressing and other matters related to personal grooming, were also a feature of the emerging beauty culture at midcentury. One attributed simply to a London hairdresser and titled The Gentleman’s Companion to the Toilet, or A Treatise on Shaving (1844), offered practical advice on razors (which at this point were of the straightedge or “cut-­throat” variety), stropping, and shaving soaps. Focused partly on the pain that some men suffered from hard beards and sensitive skin, the work was highly pragmatic in nature, offering advice on how to preserve shaving equipment and maximize comfort for those who found the daily scrape a torturous ordeal. Like many midcentury beauty treatises, The Gentleman’s Companion combined simple instruction with useful knowledge, in this case about the differing understandings of beards across time and cultures. As such, it provided readers with a lesson in aesthetic history and acceptable standards, reminding them that what passed muster in one age was, in fact, highly inappropriate or even “disagreeable and ridiculous” (as long beards were characterized) in another.21 This hairdresser was not alone in discussing facial hair. Beards, in fact, featured prominently in the middle decades of the century in numerous discussions of manly fashionability.22 Publications such as Charles Dickens’s Household Words and the Penny Illustrated Paper addressed the virtues, appeal, and healthfulness of facial hair, with the latter declaring in 1864 that “the beard is the distinguishing characteristic of the male sex.”23 Baldness, too, preoccupied writers of beauty treatises, many of whom were in the hairdressing trades. Henry Paul Truefitt, the proprietor of a

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prominent Piccadilly, London, establishment, invoked scientific knowledge and medical expertise when he published an 1863 treatise titled New Views on Baldness. Clearly intended to drum up business for his Burlington Arcade establishment, the work also provided insight into contemporary care practices and views. The operating premise of the work was that skin, in fact, was central to hair health and beauty in general. The skin, he asserted, “not only produces perspiration, but the nails; and not only serves as a medium of sensation but as a tunic to the invested structures, and gives warmth and beauty to the body.”24 A main issue was, of course, the unfortunate aesthetic consequences of hair loss: “The hairs that have so long stood by him fall off one by one, and curl by curl, until, finally, his formerly well-­garnished cranium emulates the billiard-­ball in its absolute freedom from encumbrance.”25 Here we have both a humor-­inflected, aesthetic assessment and a version of the phrase “bald as a cue ball,” an idiom still in common usage in descriptions of hairless men. Truefitt’s comments also contained interesting asides about the nature of hair and its relationship to the physical appearance and social status of men. In a section on the functions of human hair, he genders its properties as specifically masculine noting that it “is not an effete structure,” a mere castoff of the skin. Using language reminiscent of earlier medical discussions of sperm as a particular kind of vital life force and the biblical story of Samson and Delilah (with the former deriving his impressive strength from his hair), Truefitt noted “the growth of hair is . . . intimately related to the energy of the vital forces, and dependent, in our opinion, upon organic nervous supply.”26 In gendering hair, though, Truefitt also noted certain rituals of haircutting that accompanied the progression of male Britons from infancy to boyhood. This generally occurred around the age of six, when boys abandoned the practice of wearing dress-­like garments and petticoats in favor of trousers, a process sometimes referred to as breeching.27 With reference to the tendency to provide boys with shorter haircuts as they moved toward greater independence, Truefitt observed: “The infant prodigy of an admiring circle and the beautiful pet of the fondest of mothers, no sooner loses his curls than the chains which riveted him are loosened, and off he is packed to school.”28 Hair’s role in marking the stages of manhood reminds us that concerns with grooming and appearance were anything but trivial in the Victorian age. Contained in much of this beauty writing were clear understandings that good health was a necessary prerequisite for a pleasing personal appearance. Victorian obsessions with promoting health through cleanliness as a symbol of progress led to an intriguing cultural emphasis on aesthetics and beauty in the writings of clergymen (following in the footsteps of John

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Wesley who first preached in 1778 that “cleanliness is indeed next to godliness”), public health reformers like Edwin Chadwick, and advertisers, including those peddling manufactured soap, which was produced in large volumes following the repeal of the tax on soap (formerly a luxury good) in 1853.29 Perfumers, hairdressers, and other beauty industry entrepreneurs clearly predominated as the authors of beauty treatises. Yet, the focus on health in much of this writing meant that physicians also lent their voices, not to mention their increasing professional heft, to the discussion.30 In one 1857 pamphlet on the connections between health and beauty, Robert Dick—­a doctor who wrote on physiology, marriage and population, and literary issues—­offered up a range of advisory tidbits. In attempting to reach a wide audience, he reassured readers that his treatise was not just for the “more nervous and excitable” sex,31 but also “for those of the male sex, who are desirous of being distinguished by a fine personal appearance.”32 In addition to establishing the connection that he thought existed between “moral and corporeal beauty,”33 Dick illustrated the impact that “derangements of the digestive organs” and various sedatives and stimulants might have on physical appearance. For Dick, the relationship between “the maintenance of the body in healthful condition” and beauty was self-­ evident. Indulgence of many varieties could compromise health, vitality, and, most importantly, aesthetic effect, a “penalty” that could only be remedied through proper care and nourishment. Exercise and the reading of “pure and refined literature”34 were prescribed as antidotes for imperfections of the countenance and characterized as generally beneficial components of all (female and male) beauty regimens. Dick, like many of his contemporaries, articulated for his readers a vision of attractiveness that privileged “clearness and delicacy of the skin, the brilliancy of the eye, the colour of the lips and cheeks, the smoothness and fineness, and glossiness of the hair, the perfume of the breath, [and] the colour of the teeth.”35 In so doing, he offered a class-­specific definition of beauty that assumed that attractive faces belonged to those in possession of good health and clean bodies, attributes not always attainable for the Victorian poor. At the core of Dick’s work, and many other treatises like it, was a belief that those with the means to access the power of science, medicine, and modern technology could contribute to what one American beauty expert popular in Britain described in 1861 as the “physical improvement of the human race.36 Purveyors of so-­called toilet medicine manuals often medicalized remedies for the “removal of certain bodily imperfections” at the same time that they embraced this notion of improvability. Edwin Wooton, an affiliate surgeon at Charing Cross Hospital who also lectured on physiology and psychology, provided readers of his 1882 pamphlet advice on the

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“improvement and preservation of personal appearance.”37 In his estimation, individuals needed to resort to both external and internal remedies to improve their looks. These included bracing and hot baths, the use of pumice stones to remove rough skin, the application of chemical formulas that included ingredients like liquid ammonia and glycerin, and, in some instances, the application of “mechanical appliances.”38 Wooton also offered practical advice on how best to maintain or improve one’s appearance by caring for specific parts of the face and body. With regard to the eyes, Wooton reminded his readers to avoid wind, dust, or excessive sunlight, anything really that might “dim” sight or render “lustrous, piercing” eyes “blear [sic] and weak.”39 Wooton’s treatment of beauty as a whole system meant that he touched on topics that included sleep, alcohol use, and defecation. Similar prescriptions appeared in a 1907 book titled Beauty and Health in Youth and Old Age: An Appeal to Men and Women of All Ages. To avoid “the complete loss of personal beauty” in old age, the author maintained, readers should strive for a diet free from uric acid and the use of stimulants like coffee, tea, and cocoa.40 The particular role that doctors might play in promoting beauty culture by medicalizing physical appearance was noted in an 1883 pamphlet on the scientific culture of personal beauty and the cure of ugliness. At the core of this work, authored by an unidentified fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, was an assertion that medical men were “specially fitted . . . to superintend measures primarily directed towards improving physical appearance.” Despite their particular preparation for such an undertaking, the author continued, doctors were generally only consulted when patients faced a “recognized disease or deformity.”41 To remedy this, he proposed applying scientific principles to the study of beauty and writing “of the various forms of plainness, ugliness, and other minor disfigurements just as if they were manifestations of disease.” Rather than treating the exploration of personal aesthetics as a matter for philosophers, writers in fashion magazines, or hairdressers, the author of Kallos expressed an intention to “study the laws which govern the culture and growth of human beauty after methods analogous to those applied by the hygienist in studying the laws of health.”42 In so doing, he opined on obesity and thinness, the feel and look of hair, the complexion, the shape and size of eyes, noses, and lips, and the movement of the human body. Aside from reflecting on the nature of beauty, the author of Kallos also offered his perspective on masculine handsomeness and the body and face as a marker of socioeconomic status. Distinguishing aesthetic qualities was, in fact, central to the process of defining social and class distinctions in the nineteenth century, an era in which scientific observers and urban

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explorers alike frequently viewed the working classes in Britain as a separate “race.”43 In asserting the desirability of a trim physique, he contrasted this ideal with that of a “thoroughly coarse” person, described as possessing “thick, rough, muddy skin, bristly hair, large hands, wrists, feet, and ankles.” Other terms like “pendulous,” “heavy,” “blotched,” “swollen,” and “congested” were punctuated with specific examples that, in popular culture, were associated with both good humor and excess—­the butcher and the publican.44 The visual culture of the era captured these popular perceptions in works by the prominent illustrator George du Maurier (depicting a robust butcher and poulterer being photographed) and the woodcut artist William Nicholson (depicting an obese publican) (see figure 2.1 and plate 1). In offering his characterizations, the author sought to define ugliness as an attribute determined, in part, by social class, a point established emphatically in another section of this work: “undoubtedly certain forms of ugliness, especially coarseness of the face and of the hands or feet are common among the lower classes.”45 Judgment about appearance abounded, then, in Kallos. Those in possession of coarse physiques and the poor were singled out as were men in possession of muscular “bull” necks, which the author asserted made them look like stupid animals.46 While excess muscle in men (particularly that acquired through physical labor) was decried, the author did admit that a “certain amount of muscular development . . . is essential to a handsome limb.”47 Medical concerns merged with anxieties about beauty in the rise, over the course of the nineteenth century, of dermatology as a specialty. This development had several important effects, especially in the latter decades of Queen Victoria’s reign. It created new opportunities for doctors working in the field to open practices that catered specifically to those suffering from dermatological disorders. It also led to the creation of new institutions such as Saint John’s Hospital for Diseases of the Skin, which opened in London in 1863 and moved to a prominent location in Leicester Square in 1865. This specialty hospital had as its core mission the alleviation of suffering among poorer segments of the city’s population. With reference to the social consequences of disease, Charles Mercier, a supporter of the hospital and vice chairman of an Appeal Committee, noted the impact that disfiguring illnesses might have in a letter he wrote in 1873: “certain forms . . . not only incapacitate the patients but render them repulsive outcasts from society.” 48 This mindset, and a focus on skincare in combating ugliness, entered the popular consciousness through specialized dermatological manuals that dealt with various appearance-­related matters. One such publication was a small 1893 book simply titled Beauty Culture. Produced by self-­proclaimed dermatologists and professional skin and hair care specialists Bayard, Vane, and Co.,

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Figure 2.1.  George du Maurier engraving depicting a butcher and poulterer being photographed in front of his Christmas display (ca. mid-­late nineteenth century). Courtesy of the World History Archives/Alamy Stock Photo.

this small booklet, like other beauty manuals that offered advice in an effort to cultivate new customers, provided readers with a detailed rationale for their existence. A small establishment located in the Bishop’s Road in the Battersea region of London, their business philosophy and the basic intellectual premise of their manual was that “every woman, and for that matter, every man takes pride in personal beauty.”49 Bayard, Vane, and Co. recognized that some were born lucky but asserted that, regardless, all had the potential to achieve clear, healthy skin and glossy, plentiful hair through dermatology—­“the science of treating the diseases of the skin.” In introducing readers to this medical specialty, which, the authors asserted, was practiced far less frequently in London than it should be, they cast the skin as central to a pleasing appearance and an organ of vital importance to overall bodily health: “The skin is a very delicate and sensitive membrane, and requires far more careful treatment than many of the organisms of the human body.”50 In discussing the importance of the skin to personal beauty, the authors articulated what was appealing by defining what was not in brief entries on acne, rosacea, eczema, and warts, among other ailments. In identifying symptoms, the authors chose to note the marring effects of each disorder. Acne, for instance, was described as giving the face the appearance

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“as if gunpowder grains had been shot into it.”51 Because of its severe consequences, the treatment of acne required care and vigilance: “it is of vital importance that suitable remedies be used if there is irritation, and equally so that all poisonous and deleterious cosmetics and applications be avoided in order that the texture and perfect structure of the skin may not be destroyed.”52 The solution was to seek treatment by post and to consume skin-­oriented products. If readers submitted their questions about general health and skin conditions (and a stamped return envelope), they would be answered with a diagnosis and a prescription for a cure, which could be purchased from Bayard, Vane, and Co. Consisting of special soaps, powders, and ointments, these items were invested with meanings that focused on clarity, renewal, and restoration.53 By the late nineteenth century, such prescriptions reminded various audiences that the face was indeed something to be primped, preened, and scrutinized by professionals. While medical and scientific discourses lent power to the writings of beauty specialists and entrepreneurs, other intellectual currents were also evident in the panoply of handbooks and guides that they produced. As beauty treatises circulated and as the number of hairdressers, perfumers, and other purveyors of body-­oriented products grew,54 the emphasis on the economic value of good looks and the financial and professional advantages that accrued to those who cultivated personal attractiveness became more powerful. Before offering his readers practical advice, the surgeon-­author of Kallos reflected on what he called the “legitimate commercial value” of, particularly, facial beauty: There is hardly any walk of life in which personal appearance will not be found rated by business people at a considerable money value. The shopkeeper choosing a young woman to wait behind the counter, the doctor engaging an assistant, the solicitor picking out a barrister, seldom forget the power of good looks. The same qualities tell in contested elections of every kind.55

By locating the value of good looks firmly within the realm of commercial activity that, in this excerpt, crossed several different classes, he defined the assessment of attractive appearances and pleasing features as a specific form of masculine knowledge. He also highlighted the value of cultivated handsomeness in a capitalist and, increasingly, democratic society. A similar emphasis is present in the work of Professor Boyd Laynard, a self-­proclaimed expert about whom relatively little is known. In 1900, he published his enormously popular and widely advertised Secrets of Beauty, Health, and Long Life, a manual directed at women and men alike that went

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through some fifty editions and was published in multiple languages including Italian and Norwegian. With the bombast and hyperbole characteristic of many in the beauty industry, Laynard asserted that his work was essential reading, even for those who “who tread beneath their feet the vanities of the world.”56 Like his contemporaries, Laynard elevated the face as a marker of attractiveness and argued forcefully that “beauty of the human countenance has always been understood to include the beauty of form in the various features of the face.”57 Contemporary advertisements for the publication, which appeared in a variety of popular periodicals including The Penny Illustrated Paper and Illustrated Times, showcased both the potential of facial transformation and the acquisition of beauty. 58 They also identified the range of facial types in British society, effectively juxtaposing pleasing, symmetrical, and youthful countenances with those of the balding, the aged, and the imbecilic, further establishing, visually, hierarchies of beauty (see figures 2.2 and 2.3). More importantly, Laynard made explicit the causal relationship between health and beauty on the one hand and beauty and wealth on the other: “In these days of keen competition such persons [who do not possess health and beauty] stand little chance in the great battle of life. They are pushed aside, and others take their place. It is the great law of the ‘survival of the fittest.’”59 With direct references to the Social Darwinist ideas circulating in late imperial Britain,60 Laynard established the social, cultural, and racial relevance of his study to his fellow countrymen and countrywomen and, in the process, elevated the face as an emblem of celebrity, a personal marker of distinctiveness.61 Another important feature of Laynard’s work was an emphasis on mental culture, a focus on a kind of positive mindfulness that could, when practiced diligently, lead to positive aesthetic results. While Laynard recognized that the cultivation of good health and a fit body was essential to achieving personal beauty, he also asserted that “the character and expression of the countenance can be beautified by correcting and directing the various influences of the mind,”62 a theme that also emerged in the writing of other late nineteenth-­and early twentieth-­century beauty culturists and proponents of self-­realization like William Joseph Ennever, the founder of Pelmanism.63 Influenced by a range of transatlantic metaphysical ideas including the American creed of Christian Science that placed a high premium on the power of the mind to affect physical appearance and the body,64 this work drew upon The Gospel of Beauty, a book by the American metaphysic Harriet Bowker Bradbury that was also published and read in Britain. In it, she noted that beauty functioned as a “hidden treasure . . . a glorification, a point of view” that could provide “spiritual nourishment . . . of the most character-­building kind.”65 In some ways, then, discussions

Figures 2.2 and 2.3.  Faces of beauty and ugliness in circulars announcing Boyd Laynards’s Secrets of Beauty, Health and Long Life (1901). Courtesy of the John Johnson Collection, Bodleian Library, Oxford, Beauty Parlour 3(55) and 3(56a).

Figures 2.2 and 2.3.  (continued )

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of beauty provided late nineteenth-­and early twentieth-­century Britons with an opportunity to merge scientific worldviews and a faith in technology with discussions of the human spirit and emphases on character. Frequently mimicking the writings of physiognomists, works like Laynard’s outlined the complex cultural forces that influenced ideas about personal attractiveness. An emphasis on the mind and the gradual appearance of what we might think of as a practical psychological language were important features of some beauty treatises that emerged during the early years of the twentieth century.66 One manual, titled A Mental Method of Beauty Culture: How to Be Beautiful in Face and Form, was authored in 1912 by a so-­called beauty culturist and released by the Power-­Book Company. This organization, which only published “books that give power of mind and body through right thinking and action,” was affiliated with the London-­based Society of the Students of New Life (directed by a Mr. S. George).67 Influenced by spiritualism, metaphysical ideas, and mental science, this manual placed a high premium on the power of one’s “inner consciousness” to transform the body.68 Referencing earlier works that dealt with similar subjects such as The Science of Beauty (1881) by philosopher Avary William Holmes-­Forbes, the author of A Mental Method of Beauty Culture applied the study of the “psychology of human personality” in devising new schemes that were said to harness “the dynamic power of consciousness” to foster “a symmetrical form and a beautiful face.”69 In this instance, a beautiful countenance was to be acquired not so much through physical interventions or the purchase of goods but through a mental method of positive thought: “If one is conscious of being ugly, he need not remain so. He may change that consciousness through dynamic effort and be conscious of being ideally beautiful.”70 By the late nineteenth century then, even those who embraced alternative religious worldviews and practices that were anything but mainstream, saw fit to weigh in on the subject of personal beauty, highlighting just how prevalent concerns about physical appearance had become in British society. Ranging from the pragmatic to the metaphysical, authors of beauty treatises weighed in on the substantive issues of the day in reflecting on faces and bodies. Embedded in this material is, simultaneously, a faith in medical knowledge, technology, and science; a belief in the commercial value of good looks and the redemptive power of consumerism; and an understanding that, even in the modern world, the spiritual components of beauty could not be ignored. These fascinating sources should also, however, remind us that concerns about beauty were not confined, to borrow from the Victorians themselves, to the “fairer” sex but, rather, of central importance to men as well.

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Treatises and manuals were undoubtedly important to the development of a thriving masculine beauty culture that focused on body aesthetics and sartorial appearance. Specialized journals and magazines, geared to those with some disposable income, also provided important opportunities for men to learn about attractive faces and bodies. The existence of publications of this sort remind us that a men’s lifestyle press predated the ventures of the 1920s and 1930s. These included Men Only (founded 1935), which is frequently cited as the first venture of this sort in Britain.71 One interesting publication that fits into this broader narrative was Ross’s Monthly Toilet Magazine (1861–­76), a venture edited and published by a prominent London beauty entrepreneur. Alexander Ross, who operated out of business premises in High Holborn (in the City of London proper), produced this innovative publication to reflect on the “manner for dressing the face and hands” and help readers overcome bad complexions and “dull eye[s].” In offering a rationale for his magazine, he emphasized the value of cultivating a male clientele, the “rougher part of humanity.” Ross asserted that men should not be content with wearing unfashionable garb or simply washing their hair, faces, and hands, calling on them instead to be introspective and work to improve their appearance. In so doing, he instructed readers that, by paying attention to looks, “you produce pleasure to yourself, and agreeableness to those with whom you come in contact.”72 Features from 1863 point to just how concerned Ross was with the subject of masculine beauty and the cultivation of male customers for his products and services. The perennial issues of balding, premature graying, and the care of facial hair functioned as preoccupations for Ross in his Toilet Magazine. In one piece, Ross asserted that “anxiety, close mental application,” and “great effort of the mind” contributed to hair loss among the highly educated, rehearsing common theories about the dangerous physical consequences of modernity at the same time that he denigrated the aging body.73 In prescribing a care regimen, Ross noted the need for “temperance in all things” and careful cutting and cleaning, practices that would have, of course, benefited him financially.74 Ross also opined on facial hair, at the height of the so-­called Beard and Mustache Movement in the 1850s and 1860s.75 Following the lead of others, he highlighted the healthy properties of whiskers as natural respirators as he labeled them a “great improvement to the appearance of most faces,” partly because they had the ability to hide imperfections. While this may have been the case for the vast majority, Ross allowed that there were some whose faces were so beautifully formed that a “full display” of them was desirable.76 While Ross, in cultivating customers, was unapologetic in his promotion of masculine good looks, discussions of the care of the male face and

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body also occurred in publications that were more ambivalent about this concern with external appearances. The Young Man: A Monthly Journal Review was published by the YMCA in the 1880s with the intention of providing advice on “wealth and progress” to boys, adolescents, and those in early adulthood.77 Including features on manly deportment, temperance, and the admired attributes of Christian heroes, the magazine also commented on physical health and matters related to grooming. In an article by the Scottish Presbyterian minister John Thain Davidson, the importance of ample cold water for pore health and the circulation of the blood was emphasized. While the encouragement of abstemiousness seemed to be the primary goal of this piece, Davidson did not neglect aesthetics in his prescriptions: “Cold water puts not dimness into the eyes, nor trembling into the limbs, nor gout into the toes.”78 Some contributors to the Young Man, like others writing about physical appearance in the later decades examined in this book, worried about the implications of caring too much about how one looked, especially as gender nonconformity came to be associated more and more with same-­ sex desire in popular cultural representations and the studies of sexologists like Havelock Ellis.79 While contributors like Davidson saw value in the cultivation of a good healthful appearance and a strong body (a trend that only increased in intensity as the nineteenth century marched toward the twentieth), things could be taken too far. One piece from February 1887 discussed the propensities of one “ladylike” youth whose excessive emphasis on the “folly and fetters of fashion” was both “empty” and “aimless,” and potentially disruptive to his place in the gender order.80 Many publications directed at young men then emphasized a need for balance. Those writing for the Young Man did not just fret about the sexual implications of effeminacy or the dangers of fashionability, though.81 They also worried that beautiful men might endanger both themselves and young women, even going so far in one 1888 article on male flirts as to warn those who have “been given beauty and other attractions” to be careful in their dealings with the opposite sex.82 Other publications such as Fashion (founded 1898) were less torn about the cultivation of male beauty in all its varieties, particularly as it related to matters of dress. While Fashion’s focus on clothing is notable, this work must be situated within the broader aesthetic revolution that elevated the masculine body and male beauty as a general cultural obsession that extended beyond the rarefied confines of the fashion press, the department store, or the tailor’s shop. Fashion, following a format that was also common in magazines that were published for students at Oxford and Cambridge in the same period,83 combined pieces on dress directed at the upper classes

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and aspirant members of the middle classes with discussions of hunting, political, and military topics. The aesthetics of the male face and body were, however, also central, as discussions of mustaches, beards, the popularity of the slim athletic body, and the emergence of physical culture revealed. Advertisements also focused on the importance of body aesthetics, with one from April 1898 advertising the services of the “Eureka Toilet Saloon” in the West End with an appeal to the socially aspirant: “The Eureka Toilet Saloon, which is one of the finest Saloons in the West of London, is patronised regularly by prominent members of the Legal, Medical, Dramatic, and Literary Professions.”84 Such a statement serves as a useful reminder that the most lucrative market for these services tended to be found among the professional classes who placed high stock indeed in the relationship between occupational success and good looks. These efforts at catering to masculine consumers in the Victorian and Edwardian eras culminated in the years just before the outbreak of the First World War. The Modern Man: A Weekly Journal of Masculine Interest, published between 1908 and 1913 and explicitly labeled by one historian as a “male ‘lifestyle’ magazine,”85 followed a format similar to that of Fashion with features not just on physical appearance but also on sport, etiquette, crime, and dogs. Geared to single men from the middle and professional classes and, to an extent, aspiring office clerks, the magazine contained a surprising amount of material that defined beauty for men and prescribed paths for achieving it. In the first issue, the editors ensured that readers knew how important the cultivation of a robust facial appearance was, as reflected in a piece that instructed men working in offices on achieving a “Ruddy Countenance” through a diet heavy in meat and regular exercise.86 Also contained in this first issue was a column on “Rapid Physical Development” in which readers were provided a chart of “Ideal Measurements for men of all ages” that prescribed that a twenty-­three-­to-­thirty-­four-­year-­old should have a thirty-­one-­inch waist.87 The Modern Man thus sought to offer suggestions for improving face and form and to define the standards and meanings of attractiveness. The magazine also routinely ran features that afforded the editors and contributors opportunities to mark the boundaries of masculine attractiveness. In one piece from 1908, H. Neilson opined that the “ugliness” of “ugly men” was to be located, most frequently, “in an insufficiency of muscle.” Neilson continued by likening the aesthetic effects of regular exercise and cultivation of muscle to the “lady’s pomades and beauty washes.” In prescribing a diet rich in meat, bread, and beer, he also posited that the attractive man was one in possession of a healthy complexion, alert and bright eyes, and a manly demeanor. “The main thing is to be and to look manly. If a man is that he

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cannot be ugly.”88 Other features on neatness, appealing athletic faces, and proportion left little doubt, for readers, as to what constituted male beauty in the period.89 They also left little doubt as to the links that were thought to exist, as other publications noted, between good looks and financial and professional success or the need for men to balance between effeminate dandyism and good grooming.90 The gendered meaning of certain grooming practices appeared in discussions of hair on the head and the face in the magazine. In one piece from 1908, the virtues of short hair were extolled as becoming and easier to clean, especially in the sports-­obsessed days of the early twentieth century. Its author, H. B. Impy, decried the prejudice against men who parted their hair in the middle as effeminate, citing the well-­known example of renowned military leader Lord Herbert Kitchener as an indication that such a style might be easily pulled off without compromising one’s gender status. 91 Shaving was also a grooming topic repeatedly taken up by Modern Man, with the clean-­shaven ideal clearly hegemonic by the turn of the century.92 In one piece from 1909, Charles Blyth observed that the beard was a “dead horse” and that, while the mustache might be acceptable for those with bad teeth or a weak mouth, generally speaking it was probably best to avoid. To counter arguments that facial hair was an emblem of manliness, he turned (as many Britons did) to the ancient Greeks who in statues almost always represented the masculine ideal as free of whiskers: “Wherever the Greek sculptors desired to typify the summit of manhood they gave us a clean-­ shaven face.”93 Reflections on these topics, and their gendered implications, appear throughout the twentieth century in Britain and remind us that matters related to adornment of the body were anything but simple.

Selling Male Beauty: Commodities and Services The dramatic growth of beauty treatises, manuals, and magazines intended for a male audience was, of course, accompanied by a wide range of new products and advertising techniques. These sought to not only make male beauty big business but also to commodify the faces and bodies of attractive men as both “aesthetically pleasing and sexually desirable.”94 Combined with a flourishing trade in men’s clothing reflected in high-­end establishments like Henry Poole and Co. in Savile Row and suburban establishments like G. J. Wood of Highbury and Hackney in northeast London,95 the trade in grooming products and services for men reminds us that the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were not, in fact, marked by the masculine renunciation of physical adornment.96 Rather, this was an era in which men

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embraced a consumerist ethos and pursued diverse modes of personal display openly as a means of marking their social status and positioning themselves in the gender order.97 It was also one in which a dramatic shift in perspective occurred; a perspective that placed a much higher premium on seeing and being seen in defining modern social identities and assessing personal worth. Furthermore, the Victorian and Edwardian eras witnessed a growing commercialization of the aesthetics of gender. This process—­ whereby recognizable masculine images (and the products associated with them) became a central feature of British consumer culture—­was increasingly crucial to the ways individuals understood themselves as gendered or sexual beings.

˙∙˙ While tailors and outfitters were undoubtedly important in focusing men’s attention on consumption,98 hairdressers and perfumers were really the industry leaders in helping to develop a specific culture of male beauty in the nineteenth century. Entrepreneurs like Francis Truefitt fundamentally transformed the experience of hairdressing for wealthy men when he founded, in 1805, a gentlemen’s salon in Cross Lane, Long Acre. Throughout the early decades of the nineteenth century, other members of the Truefitt family opened branches of the establishment on New Bond Street and in the Burlington Arcade, where they catered to the prosperous men of the West End who frequented their shops for haircuts, shaves, and the perfumes and hair ointments that were manufactured on site. By midcentury, the leading figure in this family was the author of the 1863 treatise New Views on Baldness, Henry Paul (H.P.), who became president of the British Hairdressers’ Benevolent and Provident Institution (in 1858); first master of the Incorporated Guild of Hairdressers, Wigmakers, and Perfumers (in 1882); and founding patron of the important journal the Hairdressers’ Weekly Journal (also in 1882).99 Like many important hairdressers, the Truefitt family used word of mouth, reputation, printed notices, and street signage to draw attention to their business, a point tellingly revealed in a circa 1836–­41 comical sketch by the artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti.100 In it, Rossetti points to just some of the ways in which establishments that emphasized good grooming and fashionability were becoming central to urban streetscapes and urban experiences around Britain, a development also made evident in Victorian and Edwardian postcards and advertisements (see figures 2.4 and 2.5). The Truefitt family, like other hairdressers in the nineteenth century, emphasized the potential of their establishments to function as an extension of

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other homosocial masculine spaces such as elite gentlemen’s clubs, voluntary associations, and working men’s societies.101 Through the provision of subscription services that allowed men to visit any of their establishments for a haircut or a shave, they were providing both savings and an indispensable opportunity for their clients to share a common experience that fostered a unique and consumer-­oriented form of masculine camaraderie. The formation of what came to be known as “Toilet Clubs” seems to have been common in the industry in the nineteenth century, as reflected in the business practices of another London establishment owned by the mid-­ Victorian hairdresser J. H. Cain.102 The Truefitt family was not alone in marketing their establishments to increasingly image-­conscious consumers, through posters or published announcements that showcased both their transformative services or the splendor, comfort, or social cachet of their establishments. A diverse range of products advertised in the Victorian era emphasized the notion of human perfectability and the importance of retaining youthful good looks.103 Comfort could also be increased as John Teetgen, the creator of the “Diamond-­edge, Unpolished Tally-­Ho! Razor,” noted in an 1845 promotional pamphlet that discussed the ability of new technologies to achieve positive aesthetic results. As a “perfection of modern science,” his razor, he asserted, had the virtue of being heavy and notch free, thus ensuring the ability of the possessor to “remove a beard clean, without causing pain or

Figure 2.4.  Postcard detailing the front of H. P. Truefitt, Ltd., Hairdressers, 13 and 14 Old Bond Street, London (ca. 1910). Courtesy of Chronicle/Alamy Stock Photo.

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Figure 2.5.  Advertisement for Professor Browne’s Celebrated Hair Cutting Saloon (ca. 1850). Courtesy of the John Johnson Collection, Beauty Parlour 1(14a).

unpleasant feeling more than would the touch of a smooth round piece of steel.”104 Able to be used by any man, the razor was said to produce pleasing results. In promoting his product, Teetgen also offered advice to readers on how to prepare the face for shaving and a diagram outlining how one should proceed in removing whiskers.105

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Hairdressers could be even more explicit in establishing the importance of an attractive face and an appealing head of hair in advertising their services and products. In one mid-­nineteenth-­century advertisement promoting the Hair Cutting Saloons of Mr. Frederick Browne (active, according to city directories, in the 1850s and 1860s),106 for example, the proprietor utilized simple verse and illustrations to make his point. In one notice he compared a male face rendered ugly by an inferior haircut from the fictitious “Cut-­Bush & Chopper” with that of a Browne customer, an exemplar of well-­coiffed hair and mid-­Victorian handsomeness who had ensured his success (and facial attractiveness) by visiting Browne’s Fenchurch Street, London, establishment (see figure 2.6). The “Chopper” haircut, likened to a “charwoman’s mop; as rough as a turf—­full of dandriff [sic] and scurf,” was contrasted with the cut of the Browne client who was said to possess “a fine head of hair, a tip-­top affair; designed to look smart and well in each part.” Potential customers were, in this clever advertisement, reminded that Browne’s specialized techniques, products, and modern facilities could confer respectability, guard against roughness, and create a “crown” that was sure to turn heads.107 Another product offered to Browne customers was the “concave slanting scurf brush,” a device that removed the scaly flakes of skin associated with dandruff. Once again Browne resorted to verse, recounting an amorous adventure between a young man (who functions as the narrator in this poetic advertisement) and a “sweet pretty girl.” In describing his dilemma, the suitor explained that he was unsuccessful in “’rousing a passion” in the object of his desire because of his appearance. The narrator praised the abilities of the scurf brush to cleanse and smooth the hair, but it was the potential for personal transformation and love that he found most appealing about the product: “And I thought if my Hair could be once made to curl, / I should stand a good chance of this ‘sweet little girl.’” The effects of the brush were, for the narrator, immediate and extraordinary: As soon as I tried it, it made such a clearance, That my Tresses presented another appearance: It cleans’d them, and smooth’d them, and made them so bright, That I really began to grow vain at the sight. Nay, it set off my locks on so charming a plan, That I took myself, once, for another young man!

With humor, Browne appealed to the occasionally comical vanity of men and the connections that were thought to exist between success and personal appearance. While business or professional achievement would

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Figure 2.6.  Advertisement for Professor Browne’s Celebrated Hair Cutting Saloon titled “A Contrast Complete” (ca. 1850). Courtesy of the John Johnson Collection, Beauty Parlour 1(16c).

have undoubtedly been in the minds of Browne’s intended audience, it was success in another area of life that most concerned the narrator. Returning, in the final stanza, to his young woman, he noted a shift in attitude: “The instant she saw me, she ceas’d to look strange, / And her countenance shew’d a felicitous change.” Improved grooming, in this case, was characterized as essential to romantic success in courtship, especially important in an era when the companionate ideal, which focused on marriage as a “union of soulmates,”108 was ascendant: “From that happy day, she was graciously supple, / And now we are bound—­an affectionate couple!!”109 Constructing a narrative that both emphasized transformation and a happy ending, Browne’s services and products linked beautification, regeneration, and sexual and romantic success, a theme that would come to play an increasingly important role in British advertising in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

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Advertising techniques that frequently made a spectacle of human facial beauty110 were also evident in the career of Alexander Ross, the hairdresser, perfumer, and general beauty industry entrepreneur who ran his popular shop located on Lamb’s Conduit in High Holborn and had a career that spanned the latter half of the nineteenth century (see figure 2.7). In an effort to promote his products (which included liquid hair dye, hair restorers, hair destroyers, and skin tonics) and articulate his vision, equally, of what male and female beauty entailed, Ross relied on attractive packaging and print advertising as well as the production of pamphlets, guides, and, as we have already seen, the fascinating Ross’s Monthly Toilet Magazine. Building, in many of these idiosyncratic works, on the ideas of Lavater and the popular physiognomists of the nineteenth century, his customers were introduced to an intellectual world that privileged the categorization of human types (something many would have been at least partially familiar with through the proliferation of imperial culture).111 They were also reminded of a range of aesthetic expectations for inhabitants of the modern city. The enormous variety of advertising gimmicks employed by Ross provides a wonderful point of access for understanding how hairdressers and perfumers contributed to contemporary understandings of who and what was beautiful. In an 1861 pamphlet that offered both hints on dress and suggestions for the “arrangement of the hair,” Ross noted that human nature had been imparted, by its creator, with a “love of the picturesque and the desire of admiration,” a statement that rendered attention to personal appearance not only natural but divine. Unsurprisingly, Ross placed great stock in the importance of hair as an ornament: “A man may be handsomely attired, and dressed with taste too, but if the hair be not in keeping with all else, he will look slovenly and untidy.”112 Going further, Ross noted that men with plump faces and necks should wear their hair short while those with a “sharp appearance” were better served by longer styles.113 In another pamphlet from the early 1870s titled Ugliness and Its Remedy, Ross sought not only to differentiate the appealing from the unattractive but also to tout his own personal prescriptions, including a curling fluid for hair. This work, like many of his other writings, urged individuals to improve their appearance by enumerating the advantages that accrued to the handsome: careful consideration by society, a confident gait and voice, and admiration.114 In a number of cases, Ross was even more explicit in offering advice to men on the “art and science of personal beauty.” In separate essays that appeared in an 1888 collection of his writings, Ross offered advice and general remarks on mustaches, “the male toilet,” and “handsomeness.” In discussing the male toilet, Ross began with a basic premise: that the desire to improve

Figure 2.7.  Advertisement for Alex Ross’s hair preparations detailing the front of his shop. Ross’s Monthly Toilet Magazine 2, no. 12 (1863), back page. Courtesy of the British Library.

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looks and be deemed attractive was innate to men as well as to women. It was also an important social asset that could lead to “success in obtaining lucrative appointments and wealthy positions.”115 Ross particularly addressed his comments to men in middle age who, he asserted, should not shy away from the consumer culture of body-­oriented goods to improve their appearance and counteract the distorting effects of a widening girth, graying, or balding, a process that deprived the masculine sex of the “manly appendage of hair.”116 This essay was punctuated with footnotes announcing both Ross’s services (including advice correspondence) and products (such as hair dyes, ointments, and limb splints to correct crooked appendages). This technique was also employed in another essay in this collection in which Ross outlined a history of handsomeness that started with the ancients and ended with a series of brief notices about Ross’s products, including figure improvers, pimple medicines, and skin tonics or tighteners.117 Some of Ross’s material was more specific in its focus, celebrating his many products and inventions, a few of which—­including his mechanical chin, cheek, and nose improvers118—­clearly placed a heavy emphasis on the power of technology to alter human appearance. This belief was also embraced by other beauty entrepreneurs, like J. H. Cain, who celebrated his establishment, in image and text, as one that employed the latest technologies like steam-­powered brushing and cutting machines,119 a tendency also seen in the twentieth century.120 Guided by assumptions that it was possible to train the face to achieve a higher state of attractiveness, Ross asserted that bones and cartilage were malleable substances that could be manipulated toward physical perfection.121 In discussing his machine for the chin in a pamphlet on the angularity of the human face, Ross outlined beauty ideals for his readers. The chin, he noted, should be “rather prominent, without noticeably projecting, and should be round and decisive in outline.”122 Ever the salesman, he argued that these features were achievable through the manipulation of cartilage in the chin (with the assistance of his specially constructed device that enabled the focused application of pressure). The use of this machine, along with other contraptions for the nose, Ross noted, would enable men (and women) to distinguish themselves from others and make “the difference” between “ugliness and beauty.”123 Ross also advertised his products in pamphlets that contained mediocre verse, humble attempts at playwriting, and fiction. One of these, published in 1874 and titled The Black Wizard: A Wonderful Toilet Tale, focused on the travels and observations of an African beauty provider while another, titled Love in a Square, chronicled an aristocratic romance.124 Perhaps most interesting in this vein was a short story that Ross published privately in 1880 under the title of Second Sight: A Spiritual Toilet Tale. In his intriguing

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account, he marries physiognomy with spiritualism, early modern English history, and reflections on beauty in a narrative about a twenty-­one-­year-­ old man named Charles who discovers, while training for the law, that he possesses a “second sight.”125 In one scene, Charles, joined by a friend disfigured in a tragic railway accident and nine other guests, is visited at a séance by the ghost of the Admirable Crichton, a famed rhetorician and soldier born in 1560 who was known throughout Europe for his intellect and physical beauty. Sixteenth-­century contemporaries, according to one biographer, described him as “extremely beautiful” and in possession of a “body . . . gracefully formed,”126 while Ross asserted, in another essay where he invoked Crichton, that he surpassed all others in his “toilet and natural good looks.”127 The apparition of Crichton, an “outbursting of a human face,” presents Ross with an opportunity to articulate his vision of male beauty. As “the most refined and beautiful masculine face that it is possible to conceive,” Crichton’s visage epitomized all that men should desire in terms of physical appearance: “The complexion was clear, without being feminine. The eyes were dark and full, with an expression within them that would require a poet to describe. . . . The shape of the face was oval, the nose aquiline, and the chin was physiognomically one of character, as well as of the utmost beauty. . . . The throat was exposed, and its shape was of such symmetry as to far surpass the Apollo and Adonis, or any representation of Greek or Roman.”128 The very “acme of perfection,”129 Crichton’s beautiful face also served another more practical purpose in Ross’s story. Instead of simply uttering musings about the supernatural or the pleasures of the afterlife, the apparition of Crichton’s head, upon appearing before the séance’s participants, chose to offer a formulaic prescription for the beautiful face and suggested (in wholly predictable terms) that perfection might be achieved through the application of Ross’s very own hair tonics, astringents, and ointments. Evident in the career of Alexander Ross, beauty consumerism could be cast by hairdressers and other entrepreneurs as both redemptive and transformative, a technique also evident in the craze for patent medicines and the pursuit of alternative treatments for healing mind and body such as hydrotherapy.130 Indeed, many in the beauty industry peddled products that easily fell under the rubric of patent or alternative medicine, a vital component of late nineteenth-­century consumer culture.131 For those producers interested in marketing a broad range of products, this development provided a perfect opportunity to remind men of what they should be striving for in their personal appearance. Numerous advertisements for hair tonics,

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cures for baldness, and antigraying agents played on these concerns (and anxieties) by establishing explicit connections between success, physical health, germ-­free bodies, and hair growth. In an 1883 advertisement for Eau Lodois, the proprietor of the “French Hygienic Society” established the fashionable foreign provenance of his baldness cure by providing testimonials written in both French and English.132 More significant here, of course, is the use of pictures in which the appearance of bearded, mustachioed, and clean-­shaven men is improved through the intervention of Monsieur Lodois’s miraculous eau (see figure 2.8). The emphasis on transformation was noted especially by those advertisers who, like Monsieur Lodois, focused on the before and the after, effectively creating a narrative of regeneration that cast the acquisition of handsomeness as an achievable and laudable goal.133 In one advertisement for the London-­manufactured Latreille’s Excelsior Lotion that appeared in 1882, the tonic was said to produce “luxuriant and beautiful hair,” improve the growth of whiskers and mustaches, and cure baldness. Foregrounding

Figure 2.8.  Advertisement promising a cure for baldness using Eau Lodois (1883). Courtesy of the Wellcome Library, London, Hair Care Ephemera 8, EPH 160A.5. Photograph by the author.

Figure 2.9.  Advertisement declaring Pear’s Shaving Soap a luxury for shaving (ca. 1886). Courtesy of Amoret Tanner/Alamy Stock Photo.

Figure 2.10.  Advertisement for Cadbury’s Cocoa featuring a handsome, fit cyclist from the Illustrated London News, August 29, 1885, 228. Courtesy of the Advertising Archives/Alamy Stock Photo.

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images of two male heads (one deficient in hair and chin alike) and the other resplendently hirsute and decidedly handsome, the advertisers invited viewers to “look on this picture,” compare, and assess. The invitation to the gaze is important here.134 Modern beauty culture in Britain was contingent on close inspection and the ability to discern the beautiful from the ugly, capitalizing on the act of looking that was also central to physiognomic and photographic worldviews.135 Pears, in advertising its shaving soap for instance, encouraged the viewer to inspect the handsome man carefully at the same time that it encouraged men to closely examine themselves while shaving (see figure 2.9). Other advertisers encouraged the viewing of the beautiful and “smart man” in peddling products ranging from Cadbury’s Cocoa to Kauzeroon Moustache Preparation (see figure 2.10).136 Visually oriented advertisements from the early twentieth century reveal, in their various devices and cultural references, just how far-­reaching assumptions were about links between good looks and the ability to compete in a modern economy. In one advertisement for the aptly titled product “Tatcho: The Great Hair Grower” (created by journalist, poet, playwright, and haircare entrepreneur George R. Sims), viewers were presented with an unambiguous message in this early version of the product testimonial: “Bald, Grey, or Sparse of Hair: What are your Chances in Life?”137 Similarly, in a 1907 endorsement for Capsuloids, a pill ingested to attack the problems of grayness and balding through the bloodstream, attractiveness, effectiveness, and, indeed, masculine strength and vitality were linked by the advertiser (see figure 2.11). In such accounts the commodity was invested with tremendous potential: it could secure an individual’s “chances in life,” promote handsomeness, and ultimately produce a youthful state of happiness in which the twin demons of gray hair and baldness were eradicated and germ-­laden blood was purified. Beauty industry entrepreneurs, hairdressers, and purveyors of various hair growth products and baldness remedies were thus vitally important, in the words of the producers of Harlene hair tonic, in establishing that “the value of personal appearance is really inestimable.”138 Unsurprisingly, perhaps, these themes were also evident in notices for a variety of other products. With a focus on the importance of personal initiative in the pursuit of good looks, Arthur Girvan, “the six-­foot specialist,” advertised his system for increasing height in 1913. By noting that “the tall man is always the man who is wanted,” Girvan enumerated the advantages that accrued to the vertically blessed, showcasing an aesthetic preference for height and strength, a feature of male beauty culture that features prominently in the next chapter. Girvan seemed especially preoccupied

Figure 2.11.  Advertisement announcing the restorative power of Capsuloids (1907). Courtesy of the John Johnson Collection, 2(3a).

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with marketing to aspiring working-­class and lower-­middle-­class men by observing that in offices “the tall man is preferred because his personal influence is greater than that of the short man.” Similarly, he continued, “behind the counter none but the tall man is wanted” because “his arguments carry conviction.” The benefits of his system, Girvan maintained, were not just increased height but also a general improvement of the physique and health, a point conveyed visually with an image of a tall, good-­looking man.139 Once again, the youthful, clean-­shaven face was used to link specific products with prevailing standards of attractiveness, a tendency also seen in visually stimulating advertising postcards produced by the London tailors Doré & Sons in 1906 (see plate 2).

˙∙˙ The turn toward the visual that was so central to both the photographic and physiognomic mindset was also of vital importance to Britain’s thriving consumer culture in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. A core component of this culture was the peddling of a whole range of body-­ oriented advice, products, and services that promoted the pursuit of good looks, good health, and good prospects in life. Men, as we have seen, were indeed central to this project as entrepreneurial producers and acquisitive customers. Male beauty became, over the course of these years, an important cultural preoccupation in Britain. The authors of beauty manuals and contributors to various periodicals reflected on the place of the attractive man, noting both his admired attributes and the advantages that those blessed with a pleasant face and a fit body were able to enjoy. The commodities that catered to this growing preoccupation with male beauty were remarkably varied, with some firmly falling within the realm of the useful (like shaving soap) and others appearing to be downright silly (like Girvan’s system for helping men grow three inches). Regardless of purpose, producers knew that money could be made by promoting masculine good looks, healthiness, and the possibility of transforming the physical self. In so doing, they characterized care for the face and body as a particular kind of masculine responsibility in a capitalist economy but also as a kind of pleasure. The pleasures, however, did not belong exclusively to those who possessed or cultivated a beautiful visage or physique. In fact, Victorian and Edwardian Britons placed a high premium indeed on the pleasures of viewing handsome men, particularly in their more spectacular forms. Within such a context, advertisements that peddled images of beautiful men in selling body-­oriented goods were meant

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to appeal to varied audiences, cement prevailing aesthetic standards, and stimulate all sorts of desires. As we shall see in the next chapter, this process was furthered by a whole host of additional developments. The practices and cultural forms discussed in the preceding pages were, in fact, just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

[  Ch a pter 3   ]

Artists, Athletes, and Celebrities Among the minor excitements of the week at Cambridge, had been a competition, decided by votes, as to who is the handsomest man in the University. The proud distinction has been achieved by Mr. J. C. Gardner, of Emmanuel, the powerful and popular stroke of the Cambridge boat, by a majority of eleven, Mr. Orde, of Trinity, coming next. “Topics of the Week,” Beauty: An Illustrated Journal for Men and Women of the World (1889) I went out to his studio many times. He painted Charlie Mitchell and me often. He might have a different head on a figure. I sat in the studio for a body or a head. I never sat in the studio in fishing clothes. He used to rig us up with clothes the old sailors used. I was the boy in Jack Hone’s “Going Aloft.” He had a lot of paintings for sale at a shop in the High Street. Harry Giles on posing for painter Henry Scott Tuke (1963 interview)

The emergence of photography, the influence of physiognomy, and the rise of a new kind of mass consumerism focused on the delivery of body-­ oriented goods were undoubtedly vital to the emergence of the British culture of male beauty in the latter decades of the nineteenth century. Several other important forces, however, encouraged Britons to view, assess, and appreciate the attractive or appealing man. If the developments discussed thus far focused on the face, the hair, and the skin, those addressed in what follows contributed, most especially, to a growing obsession with the body. Discussions of sexual selection and the popularization of racial science, the focus on the youthful form and physique in several artistic and literary movements, and the rise of physical culture contributed in important ways to understandings of the beautiful man’s place in British society. These cultural forces, rather than being in tension, were, in fact, in dialogue with each other, operating on a cultural continuum that placed the male body 84

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at the center of a range of ethnocentric, aesthetic, and health-­related preoccupations.1 The emphasis on appearance triggered by them resulted in ritualized shows and contests and forms of visual culture that spotlighted physical allure and the well-­developed face and body as a marker of status and celebrity and a trait that could be categorized and judged.2 Each of the developments outlined here was different in origin and purpose. Each, however, was also undeniably preoccupied with harnessing the powers of observation to draw broader conclusions. Naturalists like Charles Darwin, for instance, examined the bodies of animals and humans to explain the processes of sexual selection while eugenicists sought signs of inferior or infelicitous breeding on the human form.3 Racial scientists, particularly those involved in the expansion of the British Empire, rationalized colonial rule by comparing the standards of beauty and grooming habits of Europeans with those of colonized peoples.4 Aestheticism—­an artistic and design movement that focused on “art for art’s sake” and the elevation of beauty in all aspects of life—­attached profound importance to physical appearance.5 The attention to facial and bodily beauty in art also led to an intensified focus on the male figure in painting and sculpture and to discussions of the place of the male nude in British culture.6 Finally, the emerging cult of the athlete and the rise of a physical culture movement that emphasized muscular development contributed to what one contemporary labeled an “abiding passion for personal beauty and physical strength.”7 Marked by a tendency toward judgment and assessment manifested in newspaper articles and illustrated books, portrayals of male celebrities in specialized magazines like Vanity Fair, postcard images of popular actors, and beauty and physique contests, the years around the fin de siècle must be seen as a transformative moment in the cultural history of male beauty. What was present in this veritable explosion of the male form in visual culture was a unique opportunity for aesthetic indulgence, an unparalleled moment in which the ability to gaze upon and consume masculine beauty increased dramatically. The events and material artifacts examined in this chapter were telling markers of a complex and body-­oriented modern consumer life.8 Also present in these developments was a clear understanding that the cultural investment in male beauty was anything but trivial or inconsequential. For some, like those involved in the physical culture movement, the future of the nation and the empire was rooted in an investment in the aesthetics of physical appearance, the cultivation of attractiveness, and the preservation of a beautiful form. For others, like same-­sex-­loving men, the ability to articulate their attractions by collecting images (perhaps of those very same men held up as exemplars of imperial strength) allowed them to

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fuel their desires and express an increasingly explicit object-­and consumer-­ oriented form of sexual subjectivity.9 When Victorian and Edwardian Britons cultivated or idolized male beauty, they could frequently blur cultural lines. What to one person may have been a chaste expression of national vitality to another may have been a profound object of desire. And for still many others, it was both and much, much more.10

The Desire to Categorize: Science, the Taxonomic Impulse, and Understandings of Beauty Those interested in understanding scientific ideas such as natural selection or distinguishing between the races paid very close attention indeed to personal aesthetics and the social functions of beauty. Evident in work by Charles Darwin, Herbert Spencer, and other Victorian thinkers, this material further contributed to British vocabularies of beauty. As part of a process whereby the laws of physical attraction were outlined and markers of racial difference were rendered observable through photographs and anthropometric measuring tools, these developments explained why attractive men made better mates, justified colonial rule in India and Africa in aesthetic terms, and constructed Whiteness as an idealized category. The invitation to gaze and gawk that was at the core of much of this work generated ample opportunities for Britons to scrutinize bodies and faces at the same time that it provided important object lessons in what was considered beautiful and ugly.

˙∙˙ In developing some of the nineteenth century’s most influential and forma­ tive theories about natural selection and human evolution, Darwin paid great attention to the aesthetics of animal and human forms. In On the Origin of Species (1859), he discussed the place of strength, vigor, and beauty in his theories of sexual selection, a process that allowed for the survival and perpetuation of advantageous traits. Bodily vitality and the judgments of aesthetic attractiveness that went along with it were, for Darwin, central to some of his ideas: “Generally, the most vigorous males, those which are best fitted for their places in nature, will leave most progeny.”11 His most explicit statements about beauty’s role in sexual selection were reserved for his discussions of birds. Noting the more colorful and elaborate plumage of the males of this species, he argued that the powerful displays and courting rituals of some were attempts to appeal to the aesthetic sensibilities and preferences of females. Taking this further, he observed, with reference to

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the breeding of birds, that bantam roosters with an “elegant carriage and beauty” would likely achieve the best results given a female propensity, established over generations, to select the “most melodious or beautiful males.”12 When Darwin published The Descent of Man (1871), which received wide attention in the British press following its release, he turned his attention (and that of his readers and followers) more emphatically to human evolution and sexual selection.13 In a section titled “Secondary Sexual Characters of Man,” he differentiated between the physical appearance and intellectual capacities of men and women while also explaining “the influence of beauty in determining the marriages of mankind.” Similarly, in looking at human coupling, Darwin turned first to what he described as the tendency of “savages” to pay significant “attention to their personal appearance,” citing, as examples, body painting among the “naked Indians of South America”14 and the desire among Maori men in New Zealand to tattoo their faces to “render themselves attractive to the ladies, and conspicuous in war.”15 While such displays were, for Darwin, more pronounced among those human cultures and races closer to our animal ancestors (in keeping with prevailing nineteenth-­century ideas about racial hierarchies), he was careful to note the power of these tendencies among those he deemed more evolved. The civilized, he asserted, chose spouses based, in part, on “external appearance,” noting how the preference for certain attributes influenced “the form of inheritance which has prevailed.”16 Ideas of this sort entered the popular imagination through the press, as reflected in one humorous poem published in Blackwood’s Magazine and other periodicals following the release of Darwin’s work. Proceeding after a stanza about good breeding, the verse continued: If this is our wish, we must act with due care; And in choosing our spouses no pains we should spare, But select only those that are wise, good, and fair—­17

The powers of observation that were part and parcel of the scientist’s craft were central to Darwin’s findings in both Origins and Descent, but they were also crucial to his 1872 work The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals. Despite Darwin’s own reservations about physiognomy, he nonetheless borrowed some of its principles in attempting to understand human emotions through facial expressions.18 Herbert Spencer also drew on the techniques of close observation that characterized Darwin’s work. Influential among natural scientists, philosophers, sociologists, anthropol­ ogists, and psychologists, Spencer possessed broad intellectual interests, a

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trend common in an era when intense specialization was not expected. Like many of his contemporaries, he saw considerations of physical appearance as especially relevant in explaining human cultures. Spencer’s conception of beauty tended, according to a recent biographer, toward the aesthetic and the nonfunctional, meaning that it need not do anything but provide pleasure.19 This did not mean, however, that he completely rejected the notion that social significance could be attached to the appealing face and body, as reflected in several pieces he wrote for the radical, freethinking newspaper the Leader in the spring of 1854. Drawing on phrenology and physiognomy as well as his own ideas about social evolution and psychology, Spencer reflected on the place of personal beauty in the development of human civilization. In particular, he was very careful to explain the links between “organic ugliness and mental inferiority” on the one hand and on “organic beauty and comparative perfection of mind” on the other.20 While allowing for departures from this general rule, Spencer maintained that these principles generally held true and that there was a specific link between civilization and beauty. Nonhuman mammals and primitive humans, for instance, were said to have protruding jaws that reflected the use of that joint as a tool for tearing meat off bones. Such traits, however, also functioned for Spencer as a marker of cultural and aesthetic inferiority. In listing those features that were deemed by many of his contemporaries as undesirable, Spencer identified not just projecting jaws but large lips, recessed foreheads, flat noses, and “jutting-­out” cheekbones—­ traits frequently associated with non-­W hite races—­as “detraction[s] from beauty”21 These emblems of ugliness, particularly when compared with the idealized visions of human attractiveness evident in the revered sculptures of Greek antiquity, served to elevate Whiteness as both a racial and an aesthetic category. This perspective was evident in numerous works published in the 1850s, 1860s, and 1870s that blurred the lines between racial theories and cultural commentary. Some authors were quick to link notions of cultural superiority and bodily attractiveness. In discussing the relative beauty of the European races, the artist and engraver Thomas Woolnoth observed: “in order to find the right standard of Beauty, we must come to the right place, and look for it amongst the most refined of the European states.” In differentiating European standards from those of other cultures in his work (first published in 1852 but reprinted multiple times over subsequent decades), he sought to establish comparisons between European views and those of primitive (and frequently colonized) peoples: “on the coast of Guinea, thick lips, flat noses, and tawny complexions, are reckoned beauties.”22 For Woolnoth, beauty could be organized metaphorically as a chain of repre-

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sentative heads that he believed revealed an evolutionary pattern from the “lowest stage of deformity to the highest point of beauty.”23 To reinforce this point and to provide greater geographical and cultural specificity, he located Britain as the “very home and centre of Beauty.” The beauty of the inhabitants of this “highly-­favoured isle” was “the pride and ornament of this country, and the envy and admiration of every other.”24 Conclusions of this sort were only possible through careful observation. Like his contemporaries, Woolnoth privileged both casual and precise looking in helping his readers understand what was truly beautiful. Conjuring images from antiquity as exemplars, he maintained that those who employed their powers of close reading could distinguish between reality and artifice, what he defined as “superlative beauty.”25 With these understandings in place, Woolnoth continued, readers could take to the “streets of the metropolis” to closely observe those who populated the capital city. Walking London’s streets, he maintained, provided an opportunity to view the “the vulgar or unrefined of this community” along with the genteel and the attractive.26 By practicing the skills of assessment and careful observation, Britons might come to recognize “general proportion and uniformity,” “purity and adjustment” in the complexion, and “linear advantages and glowing appendages.”27 Skills considered to be part and parcel of both the scientific method and cultural analysis in the nineteenth century were not then just to be employed by great thinkers like Darwin and Spencer but also by the ordinary man or woman on the street. The powers of observation, the desire to establish hierarchies, and a willingness to denigrate the attributes of non-­W hite races were all clearly evident in other Victorian writings. Grant Allen, a Canadian-­born professor, scientific writer, and popular novelist published an 1877 book, titled Physiological Aesthetics, that he pointedly dedicated to Herbert Spencer. In this book, Allen established aesthetic standards rooted in class-­based and nationally specific comparisons that echoed Woolnoth’s comments on Britain as the “centre of Beauty.” Good taste, Allen argued, was contingent on social position, geography, and race. It meant, for instance, a preference for London’s West End squares over the working precincts of Seven Dials near Covent Garden, the beauty of Europe over “African degradation” or “Mongolian ethical filthiness,”28 and the color White over Black.29 For Allen, good taste also entailed the ability to read “strong and muscular” and weak male bodies alike, a point that was also made in an 1879 collection of essays by Dr. William Sharpe. Titled The Cause of Colour among Races and the Evolution of Physical Beauty, Sharpe argued in this work that there was a correlation between skin tone and levels of civilization. He also noted that colonial peoples who failed to progress or those at home who experienced

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degeneration were doomed to inferior physical states and ugliness: “the people collectively will more and more diverge from the transcendent beauty of the ideal human form; the flowing and symmetrical lines of the latter being replaced by divers unsymmetrical variations, rapidly passing into general ugliness of bodily outline and facial expression.”30 These concerns about physical appearance and racial betterment punc­ tuated the work of late nineteenth-­and twentieth-­century eugenicists who concerned themselves with military preparedness and maternal health in the wake of American, German, and Japanese challenges to British economic supremacy, nationalist tensions in India, and the South African War of 1899–­1902.31 Led by Francis Galton and Karl Pearson, eugenicists attempted to build the British race through policies that encouraged increased birthrates among middle-­and upper-­class Britons as well as birth control and, in some instances, sterilization of the poor and mentally handicapped. As eugenicists began to define their programs of action in earnest in the 1880s, many looked to physical appearance (as well as physical fitness) as a measure of racial soundness or weakness.32 As the central British figure in an international movement, Galton gathered information about the physical appearance of human types through methods of observation using the human eye as well as new technologies like anthropometric and composite photography that measured physiological differences.33 Galton employed these techniques, as well as a unique system of recording his findings, as he traveled the British Isles in the late nineteenth century to produce a beauty map of the British Isles.34 While Galton’s beauty map relied primarily on his observations of women, in some of his other work he had more to say about the physical appearance of men. One notable example of this related to the establishment of an anthropometric laboratory in which “the chief physical characteristics of man” were “measured and recorded.” First established at the International Health Exhibition—­held in 1884 to encourage improvements to public health and welfare and peddle a range of body-­oriented products, dietary supplements, and patent medicines from across the British Empire35—­it was then set up by Galton in South Kensington near the complex of museums that appeared there beginning in the late 1850s. Measuring everything from hearing capacity and sight to hair and eye color, the laboratory provided invaluable data for Galton’s assessments of the differences in body shapes and sizes between the various social classes of Great Britain.36 Like many projects in which bodies were measured, such activity allowed for the articulation of physical ideals. In an 1888 interview that he gave to the Pall Mall Gazette, Galton noted the physical capacities and desirability of university athletes as specimens, what he labeled as

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“quite another race.”37 In discussing the measurements, lung capacities, and physical allure of elite young men in both Oxford and Cambridge, Galton reinforced some of the findings and aesthetic asides made by John Edward Morgan in a physiological study of university rowers fifteen years earlier.38 The tendency toward careful observation and measurement contained in this work should remind us just how important the scrutiny of the male body became in the years before and after 1900, when, to borrow from the American psychologist Knight Dunlap “the conservation of beauty [was] the problem of the present day and of all time.”39 Part of the reason why it was the problem of the day was the tremendous stock that was placed in physical appearance. For those worried about the status of the working poor in Britain, standards of cleanliness and grooming were central to understandings of how they were different from those characterized as their social betters.40 Similarly, in colonial settings standards of hair care or the adornment and exposure of the body were routinely used to differentiate European colonizers from the colonized peoples of India or Africa.41 In this context, measuring and assessing standards of male beauty became essential to the preoccupation with racial and national security that so characterized imperial expansion in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The words of the hairdresser and perfumer Alexander Ross effectively reveal how conceptions of beauty served to mark difference and the position of Europeans at the top of the racial heap. Writing in the 1880s, he observed that the “negro” possessed “strange notions of handsomeness” rooted in ideas of “grotesqueness” that were “diametrically opposed to civilized taste.”42

Artistic Movements and the Idealization of Youthful Beauty in the Fin de Siècle Evolutionary and racial science as well as eugenics clearly emphasized strength, vitality, symmetry, and Whiteness in examining and outlining the admired attributes of the beautiful man and the principles of masculine attractiveness. Other cultural developments, however, contributed to this process, celebrating bodily vitality and youthfulness and elevating a particular type of Anglo-­Saxon beauty in late Victorian and Edwardian Britain. Textbooks directed at working-­class students in elementary schools, for instance, emphasized the physical attributes of the Anglo-­Saxon (including blue eyes and blond hair) in an attempt to encourage common ethnic and national identities43 Racialized conceptions of British beauty also featured prominently in other facets of late Victorian and Edwardian culture. In particular, they were present in the works of sculptors like Frederic

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Leighton and Hamo Thornycroft, in the private and public writings of proponents of aestheticism, and in the work of the painter Henry Scott Tuke, who sought to capture the youthful nude body. Like other developments from this complex moment in the history of modern Britain, these artistic interventions further scrutinized the male body in their search for beauty and profoundly influenced aesthetic categories well into the twen­ tieth century.

˙∙˙ The developments discussed in this section have not escaped the notice of those interested in their impact on British cultural and artistic traditions. Rarely, however, have they been situated in the longer-­term history of male beauty that is the central preoccupation of this book. Furthermore, recognizing their role in contributing to the late nineteenth-­century tendency to look at and consume images of men helps us to understand their reach beyond rarefied artistic circles. Those who took seriously the injunction to enjoy “art for art’s sake” and to cultivate beauty relied on the careful employment of the human senses, most particularly vision. Admirers and adherents could feast on paintings and sculptures that showcased beautiful faces and bodies, lavish domestic interiors that drew inspiration from nature and Japanese design, and human forms attired in draped and rich fabrics like velvet.44 The youthful and fit male form was front and center at this moment. Despite occasional critiques, like those that emerged when Edward Burne-­Jones exhibited his 1870 painting Phyllis and Demophoon, which featured a curiously androgynous full-­frontal male nude,45 artistic depictions of naked men were becoming increasingly common.46 This was nowhere more apparent than in the work of those practitioners of what Edmund Gosse labeled as the “New Sculpture” in a now famous 1894 essay that appeared in the Art Journal.47 Foremost in this movement was the work of Frederic, Lord Leighton and Hamo Thornycroft, both of whom produced beautiful and widely admired depictions of the muscular, youthful body in bronze. Leighton’s most famous work employing the male nude form was An Athlete Wrestling with a Python, exhibited at the Royal Academy and purchased for the nation by the Chantrey Trust in 1877 (see figure 3.1). Commentary on this important work, which displayed a perfectly muscled and athletic body struggling with a large serpent and took inspiration from both realism and the myths of the ancient world, was not confined to reviews of it in publications like the Art Journal or to columns in the Times devoted to discussions of recent exhibitions at the Royal Academy. The British Medical Journal, for instance, celebrated the Chantrey Trust’s purchase by calling the piece a “grand fig-

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Figure 3.1.  Frederic, Lord Leighton’s famous sculpture An Athlete Wrestling with a Python (1877). Tate Gallery. Courtesy of Tate Images.

ure in bronze.” The journal, however, went further in taking stock of the piece’s significance by highlighting the cultural power that attended the admiration of the male form: “It is unquestionably one of the greatest works of sculpture which has ever been produced by an artist of the British school, and will be specially admired by those who take interest in studying the

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representation of the human form in violent and heroic action. The upper part of the figure especially is a masterpiece of anatomical study, rivalling the antique models.”48 Depictions of the male body in sculptural form were not meant to only be displayed in the galleries of the Royal Academy or in the pages of art and medical journals. A thriving market in statuettes that replicated ideal masculine bodies from past and present existed in the late Victorian and Edwardian periods.49 Part of a broader “domestication of art,”50 households could purchase copies of a range of pieces. In the 1890s, for instance, small replicas (produced by the Somerset firm of Arthur Collie)51 of Hamo Thornycroft’s The Mower, a sculpture that celebrated the muscular physique of an agricultural laborer, were advertised in the Art Journal. Similarly, Parian ware (a white porcelain meant to imitate the look of marble) statuettes and figurines, depicting admired antiquities and more recent sculptures alike, were sold by a variety of houseware firms throughout the country.52 These statuettes point to the fact that, for some at least, it was possible to possess the beautiful male body in ways that extended beyond photographs and prints. Edmund Gosse, writing in 1895 on the place of sculpture in daily life, noted that even the moderately well-­off could afford small sculptures that would have considerable aesthetic impact: “I know nothing which gives a room a greater air of refinement than such statuettes. They fill up the awkward angles; they remove the impression that the room is a box.”53 While the cult of the beautiful man evident in the work of Leighton and Thornycroft celebrated, in particular, the aesthetic appeal of the well-­ developed body, there was a perspective, advocated by followers of the aesthetic movement, that prioritized a more ethereal form of masculine appeal, elevating, in particular, youthfulness and fairness. Frequently associated with what is often labeled as the decadent phase of aestheticism toward the end of the nineteenth century,54 this perspective was also a reflection of the desires and predilections of some same-­sex-­desiring men in that period. Clearly present in the actions of the Anglican vicar James Outram who engaged in relations with choirboys and other adolescents, it was, perhaps, most evident in Oscar Wilde’s trial for gross indecency in 1895 when he sought to defend the affection that older men felt for younger.55 This desire was rooted, of course, not just in intellectual exchange but also in the pleasures, beauty, and glamour of youth. It was also part of a larger cultural preoccupation that placed great symbolic importance on the power of the young face and body to convey meaning, a shift away from depictions, for instance, of mid-­Victorian bourgeois men as exemplars of manhood.56 This tendency was especially present in Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. Dorian Gray (a character, most biographers and critics assert,

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based on one of Wilde’s lovers, John Gray) was first introduced to readers in Lippincott’s Magazine—­an American periodical with a wide British readership—­in the summer of 1890 and published as a single novel in 1891.57 The meaning of this story, which focuses on the actions and dissolute behavior of the beautiful Dorian, has been the subject of extensive literary criticism, with some discussing its homoeroticism and others identifying it as a commentary on the dangers and excesses of aestheticism.58 It is brought into the narrative of this book, though, primarily as an example of how literary works could convey notions of eroticized beauty and racial difference simultaneously. In establishing Gray’s “extraordinary personal beauty,”59 Wilde embraced a vision of attractiveness that would have resonated with many: Yes, he was certainly wonderfully handsome, with his finely curved scarlet lips, his frank blue eyes, his crisp gold hair. There was something in his face that made one trust him at once. All the candour of youth was there, as well as all youth’s passionate purity. One felt that he had kept himself unspotted from the world.60

The racial implications of depictions of this sort were established, in several places in the novel, by invoking anti-­Semitic images of Jews, a group whose numbers grew in the late nineteenth century with immigration from Eastern Europe and Russia.61 In one case, a man hawking theater tickets is described as a “hideous Jew,” a “monster” wearing an “amazing waistcoat” and “soiled shirt,” smoking a “hideous cigar,” and in possession of “greasy ringlets.”62 Wilde was not alone in depicting the physical beauty of men in ways that could be erotically charged. One curious story, published in 1894 and attributed to Wilde by the Marquess of Queensbury during his infamous libel trial, focused on a love affair between an Anglo-­Catholic priest and a teenaged acolyte, celebrated for his pure spirit and remarkable physical attributes.63 This story, actually written by Oxford student John Bloxam (an “undergraduate of strange beauty” according to Oscar Wilde64), acted as a justification for same-­sex love between older men and adolescent boys, an ideal familiar to many elite Victorian men through their reading of Plato’s Symposium.65 It also, however, served to elevate youthful male beauty in a way that came to acquire surprisingly broad resonance in British culture.66 Wilfred, the adolescent in the story, is described not just as possessing “long soft [blond] curls” and “large moist blue eyes,”67 but also a beautiful, graceful body and appealing legs and feet.68 Just as they might in viewing the sculptures of Leighton or Thornycroft, readers of texts such as these were

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Figure 3.2.  Gillman and Co.’s photograph of Oscar Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas in Oxford (1893). Courtesy of the Archivio GBB/Alamy Stock Photo.

encouraged to indulge the senses and take pleasure in admiring the beautiful man. Some of Wilfred’s traits were similar to those possessed by Oscar Wilde’s lover, Lord Alfred Douglas (see figure 3.2). In one 1892 letter to his friend Robert Ross, for instance, Wilde described Douglas as “quite like a narcissus—

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s­ o white and gold . . . I worship him.”69 The elevation of these ideals was not confined to the aesthetic or queer margins. Indeed, the conception of youthful beauty was replicated in several other places in Britain’s increasingly vibrant visual culture, most notably in several advertisements for Pears soap from the final decade of the nineteenth century and the first decade of the twentieth. In peddling the product as a way to improve “personal attractions,” images of cherubic choirboys and altar boys or acolytes were employed to convey both purity and one ideal of masculine beauty.70 The youthful body, in a more exposed form, was also utilized by the Cadbury company to sell its cocoa. In one image from 1897, an infant, an adolescent, and an older man are all featured sipping the chocolatey beverage. The adolescent, who is preparing to engage in athletic pursuits, is given pride of place in a way that highlighted Cadbury’s muscle-­building properties as it reminded viewers of an aesthetic hierarchy that cast the youthful face and body as both a symbol of purity and an object of fascination and allure. The cultural traditions that have been described up to this point had a profound influence on one artist whose career notably celebrated the youthful and appealing male body in the period prior to the First World War—­Henry Scott Tuke. Famous for his seaside depictions of young fishermen and boaters, Tuke was born in Yorkshire in 1858 to a wealthy Quaker family whose accomplishments included, in the late eighteenth century, the establishment of the York Retreat for the mentally ill (founded 1792; opened 1796). Educated at the Slade School of Fine Art, he quickly emerged as an impressive and talented painter. Following his formal training, he traveled to Italy (where he was introduced to the pleasures of painting nudes en plein air) and embarked on a career that was characterized by movement between Cornwall and London (with occasional trips overseas).71 His life is well documented in private and published records that reveal much about how he saw the world and the male body, how he related to the young fishermen and sailors who modeled for so many of his paintings, and how his work might be understood as part of a larger aesthetic history and tradition.72 In exploring Tuke’s role in the culture of male beauty, I am concerned primarily with the nude bathing scenes and images of athletes that he produced at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries. Before Tuke could present these images of beautiful young men to the viewing public, though, he needed to draw inspiration from models. Indeed, his reactions to models and his own assessments of their appeal and attractiveness provide us with some insights into how one man, at least, expressed both artistic appreciation and aesthetic temperament.73 Throughout his career, Tuke worked with specific models intensively and, in some cases, developed intimacies with them, like the young man Jack

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Figure 3.3.  Photograph of Henry Scott Tuke with Tom White on Newport Beach (ca. early twentieth century). Tate Gallery Archive 9019/1/4/2/21. Image ID MB 8772. Courtesy of Tate Images.

Rollings (Rowling/Rawlings) that clearly expressed a form of same-­sex desire.74 Walter Shilling, who modeled for the artist in the 1880s, was described in an 1885 letter to Tuke’s sister Maria as both “cheeky” and prone to “cockneyisms” but, more significantly, as “the vehicle of splendid flesh colour and form.”75 He was also constantly on the lookout for new sources of inspiration, which meant that attractive young men frequently came into his field of vision. Tom White, a model with whom Tuke worked from 1915 until 1918, offered a reflection on the artist’s method in locating potential subjects: “Tuke saw me bathing at Sunny Cove early on Sunday mornings, probably in 1914, and he asked Webber [a shop assistant at a men’s outfitters in Falmouth] formally would I pose for him.” Following this invitation, White regularly modeled for Tuke “usually on the beach, and always nude” (see figure 3.3).76 Tuke employed photography as part of his craft. The images he produced with a camera frequently captured his nude models in particular poses and documented the seaside ambiance that was so central to his work (see figure 3.4). Combined with his portraits of models, this material forms a visual archive of male beauty that is instructive on a variety of levels. At its most obvious, it reminds us of Tuke’s artistic process. He clearly relied on these photographs to complete his paintings and to evoke settings and memories. The photographs also serve, however, as a record of those attributes of masculine beauty that aesthetes, the same-­sex-­desiring Uranian poets, and others

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most admired.77 Collectively, these photographs—­particularly one of a young group dressed as seamen—­celebrated youthfulness, litheness, and Whiteness in ways that clearly informed Tuke’s work (see figure 3.5). As a source, though, this intriguing image also highlights a tendency toward the elevation of a brand of British attractiveness evident in other media from the period, including one 1890 advertisement for Cadbury’s Cocoa that features an attractive young sailor.78 The appeal of Tuke’s aesthetic, and its broader resonance in British culture, was probably most clearly revealed in the words of admirers who corresponded with the painter and in reviews in the popular press, preserved and organized by Tuke himself into a Register of Paintings. One 1890 letter, written by the cultural historian and advocate of love between men John Addington Symonds, expressed the author’s admiration for the artist’s work. With reference to Tuke’s Perseus and Andromeda, Symonds stated that “the nude in it seems to me as delicate as it is vigorous” before asking for photographs of Tuke’s “pictures and studies” to help him cope with the isolation he was feeling in Switzerland where he was recovering from “ill-­health.”79 Notices of Tuke’s work situated his paintings even more emphatically in spe­ cific aesthetic traditions, emphasizing his celebrations of youthful appeal

Figure 3.4.  Photograph (likely by Henry Scott Tuke) of unidentified male nudes on the beach (ca. early twentieth century). Tate Gallery Archive 9019/1/4/5/9. Image ID MB 8835. Courtesy of  Tate Images.

Figure 3.5.  Photograph of teenagers Francis Brewer, Joseph Parker, and Jim Preece wearing sailor uniforms (ca. early twentieth century), in the Henry Scott Tuke collection. Tate Gallery Archive 9019/1/4/4/27. Image ID MB 8819. Courtesy of  Tate Images.

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and his resurrection of the study of the male nude in Britain. With reference to 1893’s A Woodland Bather, one National Review contributor identified it as a depiction of a “nude youth striding through a glade towards a neighbouring pool—­a frank study of the beauty of male adolescence.”80 Similarly, one unidentified press clipping told readers that Tuke’s work relieved “the tedious monotony of the female nude studies by drawing attention to the neglected male body.” The author continued, with reference to the 1894 painting August Blue: “the firm masculine lines are quite as beautiful in their way as the soft curves of feminine beauty, and have been far too long relegated to an inconspicuous place in art, owing, no doubt, to the fact that most painters being men, their sex blinds them to masculine merits in decorativeness while exaggerating feminine ones.” For this reviewer, Tuke’s work represented a revival of the traditions of the ancient Greeks who “would justly have been scandalized at the idea that only female beauty of form was to be reproduced in art.”81 Similar sentiments were expressed in a piece on Tuke written by artist and author Marion Hepworth Dixon in 1905. Dixon argued that Tuke was especially influenced by “classic ideals,” a tendency that gave the artist “his zest for the male rather than the female outline.” In ways that

Figure 3.6.  Henry Scott Tuke, Noonday Heat (1902–­3). Royal Cornwall Polytechnic Society, Falmouth, UK. Courtesy of the UtCon Collection/Alamy Stock Photo.

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perhaps functioned as a knowing nod to his predilections, at least as they were interpreted by contemporaries, Dixon observed “it is clear that when Mr. Tuke lets himself go, when he is most characteristic and original, he occupies himself exclusively with the studies of men” and that he finds the “masculine body a more strenuous and satisfying exercise than the curved contour of the female” (see figure 3.6 and plate 3).82 With these statements, Dixon summarized the culmination of a cultural and artistic moment in British history when the preoccupations with the exposed male form and male beauty more generally were anything but tangential, as reflected also in the paintings of John Singer Sargent and Duncan Grant (both of whom depicted the nude male form in aquatic settings) and in the physical culture movement.83

Physical Culture Movements and the Male Body Beautiful at the Turn of the Century The places where the male body beautiful and the attributes of youthfulness, Whiteness, and athleticism were examined and celebrated were remarkably varied. While muscularity was clearly present in the sculptures of Leighton and Thornycroft and the paintings of Tuke, it rose to the level of a fetish with several specific developments that emerged as the nineteenth century turned into the twentieth. With the rise of life reform or physical culture crazes, the quest for muscle came to figure prominently in the lives of British men living in the years around 1900. These movements were concerned, first and foremost, with encouraging fitness, vitality, and racial soundness through strengthening exercises and weightlifting. In part, the impetus for this movement was located in the anxieties about military preparedness (particularly during the South African War of 1899–­1902), physical degeneration, and moral laxity (especially as it related to masturbation). It was also, however, a movement concerned with steeling British manhood; solidifying bodies and minds through exercise, diet, and temperate behavior; and contributing to a general state of well-­being that was thought to be as much psychological as it was physical.84 As part of a broader cultural shift, these developments encouraged myriad forms of visual scrutiny, a set of conditions that further foregrounded the display of the masculine body.

˙∙˙ The physical culture movement in Britain is most closely associated with the Prussian-­born Eugen Sandow (the stage name of Friedrich Wilhelm Muller), who achieved fame as a weightlifter and performer. Notable among

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his accomplishments was his appearance as a “Perfect Man” in a Chicago theater during the World’s Columbian Exposition. Performing nearly nude and cleanly shaven across his body (with the exception of his trademark mustache), Sandow elicited a variety of intense responses. Those able to pay could touch his “perfect” body, and one female critic who was present pronounced him “a dangerously handsome man.”85 Other proponents, some foreign like the Russian George Hackenschmidt and some British like Thomas Inch, were also responsible for what would become a veritable craze among British men (and some women) by the turn of the century. Like others who acquired celebrity status in the media-­saturated world of the later Victorian and Edwardian eras, these men, much like actresses such as Sarah Bernhardt did in this period, capitalized on their physical appearance to enhance their public appeal. Like Bernhardt, as well, they were dependent on the media and their fans alike to ensure that what fame they were able to generate resonated with multiple audiences.86 Sandow and other proponents of this movement capitalized on the growth of consumer cultures by selling their services through the opening of gyms, correspondence courses, and a host of books and pamphlets published between the 1890s and the First World War. The movement was also propelled forward by the creation of organizations like the Health and Strength League (founded 1906), which was devoted to promoting healthy bodies through practical physical culture. Partly reliant on visual media to get their message across, proponents regularly utilized photographs and illustrated magazines to promote their aesthetic ideals.87 As others have noted, the images they produced could possess a kind of erotic charge for those who looked at them.88 While erotic considerations emerge throughout this book, my goal in this brief discussion is to illustrate the relationships that existed between this particular celebration of the healthy male body and other “ways of seeing” in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The physical culture movement drew explicitly on the language of comparison and the narratives of transformation that were evident in various cultural forms including the work of racial theorists, advertisers, and antimasturbation crusaders. The latter group was especially dramatic in their comparisons (see figures 3.7a and 3.7b). Gustavus Cohen, in his work True Manhood (1885), contrasted the ugly and “bent” bodies of those who indulged in the “secret vice” with the muscular beauty of those with “self-­ possession,” a point tellingly illustrated in two drawings that appeared in the book.89 While devoid of references to masturbation, one 1894 description of Eugen Sandow’s development into the “ideal perfection” of “physical manhood”90 employed the language of contrast and transformation to

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Figures 3.7a and 3.7b.  Contrasting male faces and figures in “An Attitude of Mental and Physical Weakness” and “An Attitude of Self-­Possession,” from Gustavus Cohen, True Manhood: A Book Specially Designed for Young Men (London, 1885), 28 and 36. Courtesy of the Advocates Library, Edinburgh.

achieve somewhat similar results. Sandow was said, in this account, to have had an epiphany during an adolescent visit to Rome where he had the opportunity to examine ancient sculptures and compare “his own slight figure with the mighty thews and graceful forms of the statued heroes about him.” It was at this moment that Sandow “conceived the idea to train his body.”91 The narrative—­like the one produced by Cohen—­established a hierarchy of undesirable and desirable attributes that was reinforced through other devices, including before-­and-­after photographs that detailed the effects of physical training (see figure 3.8).92 Given their intent, physical culture pamphlets and periodicals relied heavily on the visual experiences of readers, a point simply established in one photograph, submitted to the magazine Vitality and Health Culture  in 1904, that showed an enthusiast carefully perusing an issue.93 Publications of this sort also served a didactic function by instructing British men about what was beautiful and what they should be aspiring to by providing lessons on how to discern, measure, and assess. Developing the ability to recognize an appealing body

Figure 3.8.  Before-­and-­after pictures in Eugen Sandow, The Construction and Reconstruction of the Human Body: A Manual of the Therapeutics of Exercise (London: John Bale, Sons and Danielson, Ltd., and Francis Griffiths, 1907), opposite page 78. Courtesy of the Springfield College Library.

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began for many physical culturists, of course, with the self. In one 1897 publication by Sandow, Strength and How to Obtain It, the man interested in improving his appearance was instructed to exercise, stripped to the waist and in front of a “looking glass” every morning for thirty minutes. Such an approach, Sandow argued, allowed the enthusiast to “follow the movements of various muscles . . . and to mark their steady development,” a form of looking that was cast as both “a help and a pleasure.”94 Looking was, arguably, even more central to assessing the images of physique amateurs and professionals that generously punctuated physical culture publications. Aside from before-­and-­after photographs, British readers encountered a variety of other types of images, including extravagant covers that provided readers, as one was said to do in 1901, with a “Rembrandtesque study of a muscular marvel.”95 Photographs like that of F. R. Slade Jones that appeared on a 1903 cover of Health and Strength were vital in establishing ideals of masculine beauty by showcasing a handsome and supremely manly face, good skin, and a clearly developed physique,96 attributes also highlighted in a 1906 textual description of beauty that appeared in Sandow’s Magazine of Physical Culture and British Sport.97 More abundant, still, were photographs of readers from around the British Empire that highlighted a range of aesthetic types while also emphasizing the possibilities of self-­improvement (see figure 3.9). These images, appearing in published portrait galleries that celebrated individual achievement and in group portraits that advertised the services and effectiveness of individual instructors, were frequently accompanied by text that provided vital statistics (name, address, age) and measurements (height, weight, waist, upper arm, forearm, thigh, calf, ankle, neck, etc.), effectively creating both a concrete point of comparison and a gauge for the aspirant.98 Images in the published works of physical culture advocates did not just delineate admired attributes or provide a kind of aesthetic education to readers. They also functioned as possessions that served a variety of purposes in the commodity culture surrounding male beauty at the turn of the century. Eugen Sandow himself was expert at promoting his skill and services by literally commodifying his body in a variety of intriguing ways. The sale of his books relied partly on the ability of consumers to possess pictures of Sandow and, by extension, to partake of his beauty in an enduring way. In a 1907 exercise manual, Sandow produced a fascinating cardboard cutout that opened to reveal the author’s handsome face, his muscles, skeletal structure, and internal organs.99 In other instances, including 1919’s Life Is Movement, Sandow’s life history as a literal history of his body from the age of ten until the age of fifty-­two served as a visual record for his fans

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Figure 3.9.  Physical culture enthusiasts from the empire. “Some Sons of the Empire,” Sandow’s Magazine 16, no. 18 (May 3, 1906), 559. Courtesy of the British Library.

and a reminder that beauty could endure if care of the body was given due consideration.100 Other physical culture entrepreneurs, such as Thomas Inch and William Bankier (a Scot known professionally as Apollo), were more than happy to commodify their bodies in promoting various products and services. While

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their muscular development and success as practitioners of physical culture were always present, some clearly relied on their facial attractiveness to peddle their wares. Inch’s appealing face graced the cover of the 1903 issue of Health and Strength,101 but his portrait (showcasing just his face, not his musculature) was also used to sell his “Strength by Mail,” highlighting just how central the correlation between handsomeness, personal appearance, and the opportunities presented by Britain’s consumer culture was becoming in the early years of the twentieth century.102 Bankier used his own Scottish origins, good looks, and considerable bodily accomplishments to cast aspersions both on Sandow’s foreignness and on his truthfulness, claiming that he exaggerated his measurements and thus harmed his followers who found it impossible to live up to his “enormous measurements.”103 In publishing this work, Bankier illustrated his system of bodily improvement with ample photographs of his own face and body (unclothed, partially clothed, and resplendent in the latest fashions) (see figure 3.10). He also weighed in with his own articulation of attractiveness, which for the successful man consisted of an “interest in his body” and “care of his outside appearance.”104 Private photographs also featured prominently in the celebration of faces and bodies that accompanied the rise of the physical culture movement. Harnessing the technology of photography was vitally important to a movement that was, at its core, preoccupied with elevating the masculine aesthetic as a matter both of personal fulfillment and national interest. So much so, in fact, that Thomas Inch published, in a series of articles in Vitality and Health Culture in 1903, posing advice for men interested in capturing their image. In introducing his topic, Inch noted, “Photographers have certainly benefited by the widespread interest taken in the ‘cult of the body,’ as, perhaps, the first thing our young culturist does on gaining an improved physique is to go to some ‘knight of the camera’ to be photographed.”105 In offering suggestions in his next installment, Inch emphasized the need to avoid the appearance of strain in “posing a strong man,” noting that “strength is beauty not brutality.”106 Images of this sort were important so as to avoid scaring recruits to the movement who might read strain as pain. These points were reiterated in a piece that appeared in a February 1909 issue of Modern Man (hinting at the ways in which physical culture extended beyond the published organs of the movement) that identified the value of the photograph as a device. Apart from its “utilitarian purposes” of recording changes to the body, “a photo of muscular development has a distinct artistic value, or ought to have.”107 Images of this sort were shared with the editors of physique magazines and privately collected by some women and, more significantly, by physical culture enthusiasts and some same-­sex-­desiring men,108 a tendency also

Figure 3.10.  Apollo [William Bankier] putting his best face (and body) forward. From Ideal Physical Culture and the Truth about the Strong Man, 3rd impression (London: Green and Co., 1900), frontispiece. Courtesy of the Library of the University of California, Los Angeles.

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reflected in the trade in photos of Sicilian and Tunisian youths produced by Wilhelm von Gloeden.109 Indeed, when thinking about the culture of male beauty at the turn of the century, distinguishing between heterosociability, admiration for the athletic and the muscular, and the homoerotic is difficult, highlighting the caution that must be exercised in naming desires or assigning identity categories to historical actors.110 Photographs with the widest circulation were undoubtedly those peddled in muscle-­oriented periodicals. Readers were offered the opportunity to purchase reproductions of faces and bodies (including of Eugen Sandow who offered a series of “Classical Studies” in carte de visite, cabinet, postcard, or panel form for private enjoyment, personal edification, and inspiration).111 One 1901 advertisement in Health and Strength, for example, informed readers who wanted photos of “Finely-­Developed Athletes” that they could purchase them through the magazine’s offices in three sizes: “carte de visite, Cabinet, and Boudoir.” These images, the copywriter noted, were “real artistic studies of models of manly health and strength” that would enable the reader to “form a portrait gallery of his own” in “any room, ‘den,’ or gymnasium.” These portrait galleries, the advertisement noted, were also intended to inspire aspiring physical culturists by reminding them of the beauty and perfection it was possible to achieve through diligent hard work. To drive this point home, the copywriter likened the purchase of these photographs to the practices of the ancient Greeks and Romans who, he noted, “encouraged physical strength and beauty by costly statuary of which the Apollo, the Pharnese Hercules, and others well known to our readers, remain to-­day the finest examples the world has ever seen.”112 By linking the modern practice of collecting photographs to those of the ancient admirers of Olympic athletes and Roman gladiators, the author legitimized the physical culture craze’s obsession with masculine facial and bodily beauty, effectively locating these spectacular preoccupations on a historical and ultimately masculine continuum that accommodated both normative and nonnormative desires while maintaining distance from the suspect musings of decadent aesthetes.

Profiling the Beautiful Man Images of physical culture “stars” were not the only ones at the disposal of late Victorian and Edwardian consumers. Ranging from the caricatures and portraits that appeared in publications like Vanity Fair and Play Pictorial to books celebrating masculine achievements, Britons were clearly receptive to depictions of both the famous and the not-­so-­famous and routinely found themselves exposed to images of the beautiful and the notable as

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well as the ugly and the notorious. The desire for the extraordinary and the noteworthy was noted, in one instance, as a particular facet of life in the metropolis: “London, we know, loves dearly to have an idol, however brief and inconstant.”113 This quest for idols was not just about engaging with the cult of celebrity that emerged in the late nineteenth century. Victorian and Edwardian Britons saw within illustrated publications an opportunity to acquire information, escape and indulge in fantasy, and learn how to behave, how to look, and how to enjoy beauty.

˙∙˙ It was not just exceptional specimens like Sandow whose “clear blue eyes,” “curling fair hair,” and “marvelously striking” muscles were extolled in the Daily Telegraph.114 These were, as we shall see, attributes that enhanced the standing and reputation of countless military men, police officers, actors, and athletes. Less extraordinary exemplars were featured in several telling ways, including in an 1894 Hampshire Telegraph and Sussex Chronicle piece titled “Some Handsome Men. Renowned in Past Ages” and an American article from 1903 on “The Handsome Man” that discussed British military figures, actors, and aristocrats.115 Similarly, books identifying “Men of Note” almost always included photographic images and descriptions of physical attributes.116 Finally, there were those who achieved their status by appearing in the pages of magazines that had, as their stock-­in-­trade, the ability to elevate achievements big and small and literally construct celebrity for both the famous and the relatively ordinary. To explore this development, I probe the phenomenon of the “celebrity profile” that appeared in publications such as Vanity Fair in the years leading up to the First World War. The idea of celebrity status is a relative one, heavily contingent on the circumstances that give rise to individual renown as well as to the fickle whims of fans.117 The discussions of celebrities that follow include both men with national and international reputations and those whose celebrity was decidedly more circumscribed. Vanity Fair catered to an upper-­and middle-­class audience and began life in 1868. Starting in 1869, the magazine produced a regular feature that was initially titled “Men of the Day.” Including a brief biographical statement along with a nicely executed caricature or portrait in color (created through the use of chromolithography), this weekly column became an enormously popular component of a magazine that also contained gossip, court news, politics, and fashion advice. The images in these features were produced either by Carlo Pellegrini, who worked under the name Ape or Apey, or Leslie Ward, who worked under the name of Spy. The magazine’s founding proprietor

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(until 1889), Thomas Gibson Bowles, wrote many of the life sketches, using the pen name Jehu Junior.118 The images, which undoubtedly achieved the greatest notoriety and re­ main popular to this day as decorative pieces in pubs, sporting venues, and clubs around the United Kingdom and, even, in North America, served several important functions. On the one hand, especially during the first few decades of the magazine’s existence, they could critique bombast, arrogance, or priggishness. On the other, they were also vital in marking out physical attributes, sometimes in exaggerated ways, that were considered to be either appealing or repugnant. By employing these strategies, publications like Vanity Fair helped to establish masculine aesthetic categories in text and image, denigrating or celebrating appearance at the same time that they commented on the political maneuvers of Britain’s gentlemanly elite.119 Over the life course of this feature, a number of different aesthetic types emerged. Not surprisingly, the fashions worn by men (in terms of clothing, hairstyles, and whiskers) varied significantly when one compares, for instance, the 1870s to the 1910s. Those marked out as appealing, however, shared some attributes in common and reflected the consolidation of certain ideals in the late Victorian and Edwardian period. In general, the profiles that were deemed good-­looking trended toward litheness, youthful vitality, good posture, symmetrical features, a beardless face with a good complexion, and (given the audience of the magazine) a decidedly upper-­ class bearing. From the 1880s, those deemed best looking also tended to embrace some aspect of muscularity or athleticism with certain sportsmen, including cricketers and rowers, celebrated as especially fine specimens of manhood. In showcasing admired specimens of British male beauty, depictions of handsome aristocrats, imperial explorers with “keen blue eye[s],” and dashing actors were fairly standard fare.120 Vanity Fair’s celebration of masculine attractiveness was perhaps most evident, though, in its depictions of athletes, which focused not just on facial beauty but also on the body in ways that ensured that their status as sexually alluring objects of desire was not lost on readers (see plate 4). In 1894, for instance, the outstanding all-­round, Oxford athlete Charles Burgess Fry, who would later go on to distinguish himself as a cricketer and footballer, was featured with a textual description that called him a “nice, good-­looking young fellow” and a portrait that featured him in his athletics uniform, emphasizing his muscular forearms and legs and attractive face.121 Fry also possessed a fine brain (reflected in his First Class degree from Oxford), but it was his athletic prowess and beauty that most marked him as a celebrity in British culture (see figure 3.11). Recognition of this beauty abounded among his

Figure 3.11.  Photograph of C. B. Fry as an ideal body type for artists. From Arthur Thomson, Handbook of Anatomy for Art Students (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1896), plate 9. Courtesy of the University of  Vermont Library.

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contemporaries, and one Oxford professor of human anatomy used (unidentified) photographs of Fry’s well-­developed body in his 1896 Handbook of Anatomy for Art Students.122 Leslie Ward, in discussing his work as a caricaturist, noted that he had an obligation to “touch upon the defects of the ugly man.”123 In some cases, the defect seized upon by contributors to Vanity Fair was the old age of some senior government official, military man, or member of the clergy. The second Earl of Stradbroke ( John Edward Cornwallis Rous), for instance, was described as a resilient eighty-­one-­year-­old even as he was depicted, in 1875, stooped over and with a cane. Men of “weight and substance” were frequently shown in all their fat glory as the caricaturists and authors of Vanity Fair sought to comment on features of notable individuals and establish aesthetic hierarchies.124 Unattractiveness was also assigned to those in possession of attributes associated with ethnic or racial difference. In depicting Jews, including the journalist Henry Opper de Blowitz (the Paris correspondent for the Times) in 1885, Vanity Fair relied on some common stereotypes that served as an important contrast to the British beauty of individuals like Fry or the Marquis of Bath.125 While the depiction of the Jew performed one type of racial work, invocations of difference that focused more emphatically on skin color established an explicit connection between British fitness and the aesthetic elevation of Whiteness.126 While famed cricketers such as Kumar Shri Ranjitsinhji and Indian military officers could occasionally be situated within British traditions of male beauty, the Maharaja of Patiala (Rajinder Singh) was cast in 1900, despite his admiration for things Anglo, as an aesthetic counter to muscular Britishness (see figure 3.12).127 Most obvious to readers would have been his extreme thinness and the requisites of his Sikh faith, a beard and a turban. Examples of this sort remind us of the complex cultural work that periodical publications did in policing the boundaries of race and nation that were so central to the imperial project at the end of Victoria’s reign. When viewed together, Vanity Fair portraits also functioned as devices that placed prevailing hierarchies of beauty prominently on display at the same time as they narrated British economic, political, and social life through an aesthetic lens. There were many other places in which handsomeness as both a marker of achievement and a celebrated trait figured prominently. This was especially true in publications such as Play Pictorial, a magazine devoted to documenting and promoting London’s vibrant theatrical scene. Features on actors that provided biographical sketches, copiously illustrated with artistic renderings and photographs, frequently foregrounded aesthetic appeal, as was the case in one late nineteenth-­century piece on stage actor,

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Figure 3.12.  Caricature by Mary Catherine Rees (née Dormer) of Sir Rajinder Singh, Maharaja of Patiala, for a series in Vanity Fair, January 4, 1900. Image no. D 44994. Courtesy of the National Portrait Gallery, London.

producer, and manager George Alexander. 128 Other late Victorian and early twentieth-­century actors including Seymour Hicks, Cyril Maude, Matheson Lang, and Lewis Waller were featured in the magazine both as accomplished actors and specimens of British masculine beauty.129 Contained in Play Pictorial was also evidence of another feature of the celebrity culture that emerged around famed actors. The magazine itself sold postcard images of performers in particular plays130 and also advertised the services of

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Figure 3.13.  Postcard of Lewis Waller from Raphael Tuck and Sons’ series “Celebrities of the Stage” (1903). Author’s personal collection.

companies that specialized in their production, such as Raphael Tuck and Sons in Moorfields in the City of London. Depicted in these interesting artifacts were many theatrical stars who were celebrated as much for their appearance as they were for their acting ability, including Henry Ainley, a Shakespearean actor known for his arresting looks.131 Lewis Waller’s status as a favorite matinee idol meant that his image in postcard form was sent through the mail routinely to individuals like a Miss Ford of Bexley Heath in Kent, who received a portrait of Waller in 1903 (see figure 3.13). Images of the actor were also collected in various scrapbooks and albums, in keeping with what one author, W. J. Scott, iden­ tified as a particularly British obsession, also in 1903: “We Britons are born collectors.”132 One, assembled by a young woman named Hilda Milford,

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painstakingly documented the plays she attended. As a fan of Waller and some of his contemporaries like George Alexander, Milford clearly prized images that allowed her to celebrate their aesthetic appeal.133 Indeed, the great admiration for Waller was reflected in the formation of a group, composed of young women, who identified themselves as the Keen Order of Wallerites and made it their mission to attend Waller’s performances and collect memorabilia that reminded them of his handsomeness.134 This celebration of men who were famous, in part, for their beauty was an important feature of popular culture for early twentieth-­century Britons. It was also furthered through handsomest men contests and male beauty shows.

The Popular Culture of Competition and the Assessment of Beauty A prominent culture of competition existed in Victorian and Edwardian Britain. The mania for sport, reflected in the growing popularity of increasingly professionalized football and cricket, public spectatorship at the annual springtime Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race, and the emergence of the modern-­day Olympic Games in 1896, emphasized struggles between fit athletes. Positions in the domestic and colonial civil service and the awarding of different classes of university degrees were determined by competitive examinations that tested knowledge and manly professional mettle.135 And, the nationalistic quest for empire and desire for industrial supremacy that was so central to international relations in this period meant that Britons were only too conscious that their position in the world was predicated on struggle with other countries. Competition also permeated the culture of male beauty, which placed a heavy emphasis, during these years, on the ability to perform and meet expectations. Assessing beauty in this context was, of course, contingent on looking, comparing, and measuring, a situation that easily lent itself to all sorts of contests and competitions in which individuals were ranked and rewarded based on the appearance of face and physique alike.

˙∙˙ The physical culture movement hosted a number of competitions to determine either the strongest man or the best physique. Eugen Sandow, the physical culture entrepreneur, sponsored a series of contests in 1898 to locate the most perfectly developed body.136 Local competitions held in provincial towns and cities throughout Britain culminated in a major show at the Royal Albert Hall in 1901 at which some sixty men were scrutinized by

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two judges, Sherlock Holmes creator Arthur Conan Doyle and the sculptor Charles Lawes. Fifteen thousand people attended the event, which was reported in accounts in the Times and the Penny Illustrated Paper and documented in photographs and illustrations.137 The event was a veritable extravaganza of viewing men. Aside from the competition, in which men on pedestals were revealed for all to see, there were “physical displays by a selected team of boys from the London Orphan Asylum, Watford, and gymnasts from the Army Gymnastic Staff at Aldershot.”138 As a spectacle, this event lauded the aesthetically appealing male body as an object to be enjoyed and consumed, even among those who might have questioned the desirability of excessive muscular development. Sandow encouraged a range of other types of competitions and contests in his own writings. In one 1904 piece that appeared in Sandow’s Magazine, he discussed the merits of “Physical Culture Competitions and Beauty Shows,” even as he questioned the profit motive of some and the advisability of women displaying their bodies in public. Significant to Sandow was the ability of contests to inspire: “Competition is a great aid to existence. Without competition apathy reigns supreme and instead of going ahead we should be steadily on the down grade. For this reason, if for no other, competition in everything is to be encouraged, for it makes you ‘buck up!’”139 To this end, Sandow sponsored multiple events, including a “Gold Medal Photo Competition” in 1906, during which contestants submitted their image and a full accounting of their measurements. Competition was also fostered, perhaps less directly, by reproducing images of well-­developed men who might function for readers as sources of inspiration. The magazine Vim, for instance, provided revealing portraits of Sandow to show that “cultivation of the physique” might “pay” both psychically and financially.140 Male beauty shows, too, functioned as important spaces in which competition based on physical appearance predominated. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the ritual displays of the male face and form became a common feature of entertainment at a variety of seaside resorts, popular leisure destinations for many but especially the working and lower-­ middle classes.141 They were also popular items in magazines and newspapers throughout Britain, its empire, and parts of Europe. As stories with global resonance, events of this sort highlighted the reach of the British culture of male beauty. The Te Aroha News in New Zealand, for example, reported in 1889 that a London restaurateur hosted a “Handsome Man Show,” which would award a prize for the best-­looking contestant, “for the most killing moustache,” “the largest nose,” and for the “biggest bald head.” The male body here functioned as an object of admiration but also as a source of humor that mocked ugly men, the handsome man’s other.142 Male beauty

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and physique contests were held across the United Kingdom. It is difficult to know who attended such shows, but Sandow’s Magazine noted in 1906, that the beauty competition held in the Grafton Galleries in Mayfair, London, as part of the Health, Beauty, and Toilet Exhibition attracted many more men than women.143 Another such show held the next year in Folkstone drew a large crowd, with more than 1,200 people having to be turned away. Those gathered saw nearly sixty men compete. Most contestants were from England, but there were a number of international entrants and one “negro” contestant (origins not specified). The winner of this contest was Sergeant W. T. Hodgetts of the Eighth Hussars, who, according to reports, possessed an impressive head of curly, dark hair.144 In 1908, men “display[ed] their charms in public” at Victoria Pier, walking on stage and posing inside a gold frame, where they courted the “favour of the ladies” while vying for votes. The author of this piece in the Folkestone Daily News observed that “English beauty was challenged strongly by foreign competition” and that a North American Indian—­identified as Ojijatekha Brant Sero, “a typical representative of the last of the Mohawks”—­was a contestant, highlighting the ways in which racial politics could play themselves out in the most frivolous of settings. Sero came in second in the competition, but one suspects that this may have been due to his appearance in “Indian dress and war paint” rather than a full aesthetic appreciation of his beauty. “Indians,” “Negroes,” and “foreigners” were allowed to compete, but a Mr. W. Weatherhead, a member of the Folkestone lifeboat crew won the event. This choice highlighted the appeal of the athletic, White, and disciplined military body.145 In Southend-­on-­Sea, another coastal destination, in Essex, male beauty contests and shows usually took place in an entertainment pavilion known as the Kursaal, part of a purpose-­built amusement park. In a 1907 issue of the Daily Mail, the author commented that yet “another beauty show for men” (hinting, perhaps at the ubiquity of these events) would be hosting some 127 contestants in September of that year.146 Two years later, New Zealand’s Evening Post explained that “beauty shows at the Southend Kursaal” that “for some years [have] been among its principal attractions” entertained an audience of five thousand consisting mostly of women. Six actresses who functioned as judges whittled down the field, but the audience decided on a final winner through applause, with tankards, teapots, and other items being awarded as prizes.147 These rather spectacular displays provide telling evidence of how popular forms of mass commercial entertainment merged with a complex culture of display, looking, and assessment. One final example of this culture of competition with regard to male beauty is drawn from single-­sex institutions, where the lines between

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mutual admiration and homoeroticism could sometimes blur. Students at Ox­ford and Cambridge commonly lauded the appearance of their peers by creating their own version of the “celebrity profile” in undergraduate newspapers. With titles like “Pen Portraits,” “Isis Idols” (Isis being the name for the River Thames in Oxford), and “Those in Authority,” they frequently contained within them commentaries on faces and bodies. One of these columns noted, with reference to Oxford undergraduate Patrick Stormonth-­Darling, that no biography of him would “be complete without reference to the effect of his Grecian profile on the fair sex.”148 In one “Those in Authority” column that appeared in the Cambridge magazine Granta in 1892, this tendency was revealed in a description of the president of the Oxford University Boating Club (R. P. P. Rowe of Magdalen College): “His biographer in ‘The New Rattle’ compared him to a Greek statue. It is quite certain that he is very good looking. He is well-­built, and excellently shaped, his dark hair curls crisply all over his head (when he gives it leave), his features are good, and his smile is always pleasant.” 149 Undergraduates also held contests to judge the most attractive among them. An 1889 report in one short-­lived magazine discussed a recent “handsomest man” contest at Cambridge “decided by votes” that resulted in the victory of Mr. J. C. Gardner of Emmanuel College, “the powerful and popular stroke of the Cambridge boat.”150 Similarly, a “Handsomest Man in Cambridge” contest was sponsored by the student magazine Granta in 1906. In this instance, the search for a “University Adonis”151 resulted in the choice of Mr. Charles Clayton Mountfort, who was recognized by having his picture published in the “Those in Authority” column.152

˙∙˙ The possibility of all sorts of pleasure (artistic, aesthetic, and erotic) was embedded within many of the cultural forms discussed in this chapter. They could also present certain dangers. Women and men alike indulged in the pleasures of looking at, assessing, and possessing all sorts of images and, in some instances, the very men that they depicted. This was tellingly highlighted in the Illustrated Police News, which reported, in 1898, on the curious case of “A Lady Artist and Her Handsome Model” (see figure 3.14). In this instance, a practitioner of physical culture (likely Eugen Sandow), who “caused a sensation in West-­end circles by giving private exhibitions of his wonderful physique,” became an object of infatuation for a “beautiful art student.” In addition to falling “madly in love with him,” she was also engaged in painting his portrait (posed as a gladiator), an action that her parents protested vehemently. According to the brief report, the young woman

Figure 3.14.  The potential dangers of the handsome man. “A Lady Artist and Her Handsome Model,” Illustrated Police News, no. 1782 (April 9, 1898), cover image. Courtesy of the University of  Vermont Library.

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was characterized as both bohemian and headstrong, a kind of early feminist artist who, it was noted, excused her actions by stating: “Gentlemen artists study the female form divine; why should not ladies paint the manly form?”153 While such acts might be interpreted as assertions of female power and sexuality, the images that accompanied this report leave little doubt that the Illustrated Police News saw the female admiration of the male form as potentially dangerous. Aside from showing the attractive pair drinking inhibition-­lowering bottles of champagne, the suggestive pose of the lady artist’s exposed legs and the nearly naked muscular model left little to the imagination in terms of the dangerous possibilities of such a liaison. The exposed male body, in this instance, was depicted as both a site of pleasure and peril. On the one hand, the ways of seeing that the culture of male beauty created in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries allowed individuals to indulge their attractions and sexual likes and dislikes, fantasize about romantic partners, and utilize their increasingly honed and critically engaged aesthetic judgments. On the other, either in the forms addressed in this image or in the pornographic postcards that were circulating throughout Britain in this period, embedded within the beautiful male face and body was also the potential for moral compromise or, even, arrest.154 As we have seen in this chapter, evolutionary science, artistic movements, physical fitness, and a thriving culture of theatrical spectacle and popular entertainment all influenced conceptions of masculine beauty in this period, contributing to its significance as a cultural obsession in Great Britain, the empire, and throughout the world. The origins of the contemporary obsession with the male body were not, in fact, the product of twentieth-­century sexual liberalization. The obsession with male beauty emerged at the very moment when Britain’s truly modern consumer and visual economy really began to flourish. As we shall see in the next chapter, these developments were profoundly influential in helping Britons determine who and what was beautiful as the country entered the First World War. They were also crucial, though, to how Britons ultimately dealt with the many social, cultural, and aesthetic crises that this devastating conflict brought to the fore.

[  Ch a pter 4   ]

Poets, Soldiers, and Monuments In London, in the summer of 1913, I had seen his photograph for the first time: the beauty of the man—­I repeat the abysmal mythopoetic phrase: The beauty of the man—­astounded me. Maurice Browne on Rupert Brooke, 1927 The injuries were confined to their faces, head, and hands, and they were often ghastly. Some were so terribly burned that it was difficult to tell where their faces were. . . . We had sometimes to force an opening where the mouth had been to insert a tube to feed them. English nurse in a Belgian hospital, 1918

The developments that are documented in part 1 of this book reached their peak on the eve of the First World War in the form of the celebrated author and poet Rupert Brooke, whose personal appearance and appeal were legendary.1 Upper-­middle-­class, public school–­and Cambridge-­educated, fair, clean-­shaven, and strong-­limbed, Brooke embodied the ideals of  Whiteness and youthfulness that emerged in consumerist, artistic, and nationalist definitions of attractiveness.2 His was a face that the camera loved, that physiognomists would all agree was nearly perfect, and that advertisers would have been only too happy to employ in selling their products. It was also the face of a modern man, one who challenged convention, capitalized on his growing notoriety, and recognized that the beautiful possessed certain privileges. As a man celebrated for his extraordinary features, Brooke reveals how fame and physical appearance were, by the early twentieth century, inextricably linked. His was a beauty, though, that acquired multiple meanings. As a figure who appealed to men and women alike and about whom many had much to say, he provides a point of access for grappling with early twentieth-­century understandings of sexuality, the processes of image-­making, and the consequences of  war.3 Like other men of his generation, Brooke willingly volunteered for the 123

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Figure 4.1.  Rupert Brooke in uniform at Blandford, Dorset (1914). Portrait by W. Hazel, Bournemouth, UK. Courtesy of King’s College Library, Cambridge, RCB/Ph/262.

struggle against Germany and its allies. The transition from civilian to soldier was, for many, chronicled in studio portraits and more informal images captured with portable cameras (see figure 4.1). The practice of documenting men, which is explored in several places in this chapter, will not surprise those who know something about the Great War. It was a highly visual conflict in which capitalistic and patriotic Britons exploited images of attractive men to sell products and promote the effort.4 It was also a conflict in which Britons mobilized the technology of photography to honor those in uniform5 and place “soldiers heroes”6 in a “social and moral hierarchy” that celebrated martial masculinity.7 Capturing youthful handsomeness in uniform ensured families that, should their loved ones not come home, they might at the very least be remembered in the best possible aesthetic light. Photographs of this sort also served a practical purpose in modern warfare, providing a record of the soldier’s former self should he be literally robbed, as many were, of their good looks and masculine appeal through a shrapnel wound to the face.8 In Britain alone during the First World, there were 41,000 amputations, 60,500 head or eye injuries, and 272,000 men with injured arms or legs that were not amputated.9 The disfigurement of hundreds of thousands of faces,

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limbs, and torsos had profound aesthetic consequences. Paying attention, as this chapter does, to the sensual experiences attached to admiring the beautiful, recoiling from the ugly, and grappling with disability enriches our understanding of these disruptive years.10 While my insights build on the work of those who have studied the experience of disability during the war, various government initiatives,11 and, even, the history of reconstructive surgery,12 this chapter situates reactions to and the treatment of disfigurement within the larger history of looking, display, and male beauty chronicled in these pages. Men whose faces were severely disfigured by the ravages of trench warfare prompted a variety of reactions from profound sympathy to disgust and forced Britons to rethink whether or not the aesthetic certainties that Brooke represented would ever be recoverable. For the facially injured, the experience also fundamentally affected masculine conceptions of the self in the wake of technological change.13 Processes of commemoration were vital to recovering from the war.14 Monuments and sculptures of the male body that relied on both classical and modernist styles were used, as historian Ana Carden-­Coyne has illustrated, to displace the horrors of wartime destruction and devastation.15 In the final pages of this chapter, I turn to how Rupert Brooke was remembered and memorialized in Britain and abroad in the years following his death. Brooke’s demise in 1915 meant that his physical body was no more. This did not mean, however, that his aesthetic significance died with him. Brooke’s beauty, as a powerful symbol, functioned as an antidote to the disruptions of the conflict. By mobilizing the broader history of male beauty in Britain and elsewhere (and Brooke’s place within it), Britons made sense of the enormity of war, personal loss, and the status of their nation.16 Instead of being the death knell, then, for the culture of male beauty that was so carefully constructed in the Victorian and Edwardian periods, the war had the effect of furthering the processes of celebration and spectacularization. Many voices emerge in the pages that follow as I reconstruct experiences and meanings. While those of the admirers of Brooke are perhaps loudest, those of injured soldiers and the doctors and nurses who cared for them, of photographers and artists who sought to depict young manhood in various poses, and of individual actors tasked with commemorating the sacrifices of the conflict are also front and center. Attention to things aesthetic, to the body as an object of fascination, and to the broader history of the senses enriches our understanding of war. Indeed, the presence of aesthetic commentaries in recollections of the conflict—­including those of  J. R. Ackerley, who, in his posthumously published My Father and Myself, recalled the tendency of same-­sex-­desiring officers to choose “prettier solders” as “personal runners and servants”—­highlights the potential of such an approach.17

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The Aesthetic Appeal and Meaning of Rupert Brooke Sherrill Schell, an American celebrity photographer working in London prior to the First World War, recorded, in an article he wrote for the New York magazine the Bookman in 1926, his aesthetic impressions of Rupert Brooke’s celebrated face (see figure 4.2). Chronicling his first meeting in 1913 with the young poet at his flat and studio, Schell offered readers a description of Brooke’s most lauded attribute: His face was more remarkable for its expression and coloring than for its modeling. His complexion was not the ordinary pink and white of a certain type of Englishman, but ruddy and tanned. His hair, a golden

Figure 4.2.  Sherrill Schell’s celebrated portrait of Rupert Brooke (1913). National Portrait Gallery, P 101(f ). Courtesy of the National Portrait Gallery, London.

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brown with sprinklings of red, added considerably to the impression of vitality that was his in such generous measure. . . . His eyes, rather small than large, were blue in color but at times they seemed to take on a darker pigmentation. Occasionally they displayed an electric flash unusual in a country of limpid blue eyed men.18

As just one of countless physical descriptions of Brooke, Schell’s painstaking account of the poet’s attributes points to how he was seen to be in possession of, as his friend Maurice Browne noted in 1927, England’s most remarkable face.19 Many have noted Brooke’s popular appeal, commenting on how the young poet’s physical beauty functioned simultaneously as a symbol of rural England, youthfulness, and, with reference to the war, bodily sacrifice.20 Here, I examine Brooke’s face and body (in both life and death) as document, image, and text and a point of access for understanding the Brooke mythology in the early decades of the twentieth century. As a central figure in the broader history of male beauty, Brooke must be seen as pivotal, a link between the nineteenth-­century past, the early twentieth-­ century present, and the future of masculine attractiveness. The abundant extant evidence related to Brooke also provides a unique opportunity to explore how individuals responded and reacted to the beautiful man in thinking about their own appearance, about gender, and about the, often inconsistent, complexities of aesthetic pleasure and sexual desire.

˙∙˙ Rupert Brooke was born in 1887. Educated in the best tradition of the late Victorian upper-­middle classes, Brooke went to the preparatory school Hillbrow in 1897 before entering Rugby, the public school where his father was a housemaster, in 1901. Following Rugby, where he engaged in a number of same-­sex crushes and relationships, he matriculated at King’s College, Cambridge, to study classical languages and civilizations. While at the university, Brooke pursued an intellectual life in various discussion groups and societies, including the Cambridge Apostles, as he also dabbled in amateur acting and Fabian socialist politics.21 Following his undergraduate years, Brooke pursued poetry (publishing his first volume in 1911) and the study of English literature, earning a fellowship at King’s in 1913. Even as he continued to pursue intimate (if not always sexual) relationships with men at Cambridge and after, including Denham Russell-­Smith (to whom he lost his virginity),22 he also began a series of difficult romantic entanglements with women and, in the final years of his short life, had relationships with the artist Phyllis Gardner and the actress Cathleen Nesbitt.23

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Men and women alike celebrated Brooke’s beauty, in part because he conformed to the ideals that had emerged by the end of the nineteenth century. In Brooke, we see Tuke’s nude models, public school and university athletes, and the paragons of facial attractiveness that figured in advertisements for men’s clothing and the work of popular physiognomists.24 The attractiveness that he embodied was also evident in the work of literary figures such as E. M. Forster (a Cambridge contemporary), who discussed in his novel Maurice (written, 1913–­14) the beauty of a public school boy who appeals to the book’s main character, Maurice Hall. The morning after the arrival of the young Dickie Barry at the Hall residence, Maurice is instructed to wake him. Upon opening the bedroom door, Maurice discovers the boy, “limbs uncovered,” still asleep. What follows is a description that reveals both aesthetic ideals and the desire for the youthful body: “He lay unashamed, embraced, and penetrated by the sun. The lips were parted, the down on the upper was touched with gold, the hair broken into countless glories, the body was a delicate amber. To anyone he would have seemed beautiful, and to Maurice . . . he became the World’s desire.”25 Brooke’s beauty prompted similarly evocative reactions that were at once articulations of male aesthetic ideals and clear expressions of desire. As such, discussions of the physical attractiveness of individuals like Brooke allow us to explore how Britons around the turn of the century employed dominant vocabularies of male beauty to express their personal wants and negotiate the unstable and uncertain meanings of same-­sex desire in this era. While at Rugby, as his most recent biographer, Paul Delany, documents, Brooke was both the object of many crushes and the admirer of several fellow students.26 In one instance, a younger boy named Michael Sadler asked the school photographer to purchase a portrait of Brooke, a practice in keeping with what we already know about the collectability of images of attractive men. In Brooke’s own words, this led to “a purple and terrific scandal” and also “swelled” his “enormous conceit,” leaving him to give his consent.27 He subsequently developed an interest in Sadler (and also acquired his photo),28 resulting in a discussion of the latter’s own physical attributes in one 1906 letter. Using references to the ancient past that were also employed in descriptions of him,29 Brooke stated that Sadler possessed, “the form of a Greek God, the face of Hyacinthus, the mouth of Antinous, eyes like a sunset, a smile like dawn.”30 Those who encountered Brooke as he grew into full manhood at Cambridge were arguably more explicit in their praise of his beauty, with many—­including the editors of the undergraduate magazine Granta—­ noting his accomplishments and good looks.31 In fact, nearly everyone who wrote about him during the years between 1906 and 1909 felt compelled to

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comment on his personal appearance, either at the time or in subsequent recollections. Magdalene College, Cambridge, fellow Arthur Christopher Benson, for instance, reflected on Brooke’s looks in Memories and Friends, noting the coloring of his hair and face in discussing his “great personal beauty”:32 “it [his hair] was of a beautiful dark auburn tint inclining to red, but with an underlying golden gleam in it. His complexion was richly col­ oured, as though the blood were plentiful and near the surface; his face much tanned, with the tinge of sun-­ripened fruit.” Benson also took pleasure in Brooke’s body, noting that he possessed a “fine statuesque figure.”33 During the final years of his life, Brooke’s attractions were commented upon by international audiences, pointing to the ways in which his pecu­ liarly British form of male beauty resonated transnationally. Ellery Sedg­ wick, a patrician American editor and owner of the Atlantic Monthly who first met Brooke in Boston, talked about his “startling” beauty and ability to cast a “spell” over those he encountered. He also invoked historical pre­ cedent in his description of Brooke by comparing him, simultaneously, to Hermes (a god of trade, wealth, and travel often depicted in Greek statuary as a fine physical specimen) stepping down from his pedestal and the roman­ tic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley.34 While Sedgwick relied on earlier precedents in explaining Brooke’s beauty, he and others also discussed it within the context of modern celebrity culture (similar to actors like Lewis Waller and other early twentieth exemplars of masculine beauty). 35 The author, publisher, and future husband of  Virginia (Stephen), Leonard Woolf, refer­­ enced the “well known photograph of him by [Sherrill] Schell,” indicating that he functioned as a “sexual dream face not only for every goddess, but for every sea-­girl wreathed with seaweed red and brown and, alas, for all the damp souls of housemaids sprouting despondently at area gates.”36 Brooke’s status as a celebrity was not lost on others who noted his ability to turn male and female heads on city streets or to inspire “sighs” and encourage various forms of looking at or, indeed capturing, in the form of a snapshot, his “noble head.”37 For some who encountered Brooke during an extended visit to North America and the South Seas (May 1913–­June 1914) that was chronicled in the Westminster Gazette and later in the posthumously published Letters from America (1916),38 his appearance prompted reflections that highlighted Brooke’s place within gender hierarchies. The beautiful man was not just unsettling for the individual in question,39 though. He was potentially discomfiting because he had the ability to awaken unknown desires or produce rhapsodic celebrations that could, if taken to extremes, compromise the masculinity or sexual orthodoxy of male viewers. One person who grappled with this was the Torontonian R. H. Hathaway, who encountered Brooke

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in 1913 and labeled him the “most beautiful youth . . . I had ever seen.” Even as he noted that Brooke had the “the coloring of a girl” and wore bohemian clothes, he carefully stated: “There was nothing of the effeminate about him” and that he was likely “no stranger to the cricket-­bat and the oar.”40 Chicago photographer Eugene Hutchinson qualified his labeling of Brooke as an “unbelievably beautiful young man” by again denying his effeminacy and continuing: “He was man-­size and masculine. . . . He gave me the impression of being water-­loving and well-­washed. . . . He seemed like a Norse myth in modern clothes.”41 Even as some worried what admiration for Brooke might mean, there were others who saw in his person an opportunity to articulate (however tentatively) nonnormative, and one might argue more modern, sexual subjectivities or contend with problems that were decidedly twentieth century in origin. While Brooke, since his school days, had produced myriad desires in other men, James Strachey framed his own interests in the poet in terms that were more explicitly erotic, reflecting an alternative viewpoint that came to be associated with members of the avant-­garde in the early twentieth century.42 Strachey, who Brooke befriended at Hillbrow, waxed poetic on a number of occasions about his intense, and highly sexualized, attraction to his mate. Writing to Brooke after watching him in a theatrical performance at Cambridge in November 1906, Strachey indicated: “In the excitement of the moment, I must just write to tell you (a truism) that you were very beautiful tonight.” Knowing that such an admission would anger an uninterested Brooke, who frequently spurned Strachey’s sexual advances, he also included the following statement: “How sorry I shall be tomorrow morning that I sent you this! How angry you will be when you read it!”43 Strachey’s friendship with Brooke, which flourished while the two were at Cambridge and subsequently (at least until 1912 when Brooke appears to have rejected Strachey and other members of the Bloomsbury Group, partly because of their nonconformity and unconventional attitudes about sexuality), provided the former with an opportunity to reflect on male beauty in expressing his own sexual unorthodoxy, his radical ideas, and his emerging interest in human psychology.44 His bluntness about sexuality, especially as it related to Brooke, was revealed not just in letters to the poet but also in missives to other correspondents. In one that he wrote to Duncan Grant in March 1907, Strachey noted his continued infatuation with Brooke and concluded that this might have been off-­putting for the beautiful object of his desire. His professions of  love, Strachey asserted, resulted in a particular response from Brooke: “The whole of my behavior must have seemed to indicate that I wanted to bugger him. . . . Naturally he doesn’t want to have

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a tete-­a-­tete with a person who may at any moment try to rape him.”45 The use of the word “rape” is instructive here, highlighting both Strachey’s assertiveness and how he knew Brooke likely perceived his actions. On another occasion, Strachey, who wrote to other confidants about his eroticized admiration of his friend’s fine face and physique, revealed just how attracted he was to Brooke in a 1909 letter to his brother Lytton: “This afternoon for the first time in my life, I saw Rupert naked. . . . I didn’t have an erection—­which was . . . fortunate?, as I was naked too. I thought him—­ if you’d like to have a pendant—­‘absolutely beautiful.’”46 Brooke’s beauty, as well as his youthful tendency to entertain the unconventional, provided Strachey with an opportunity to construct a sexual subjectivity that relied on relatively uncensored expressions of same-­sex erotic desire, a consciousness that one’s sexuality might be central to the formation of social identities, and a willingness to use language that might shock. Indeed, it is clear from some of the letters that Strachey and Brooke exchanged that matters of sexuality were never far below the surface,47 as one that Strachey penned in 1911 about a Trinity College, Cambridge, freshman revealed.48 Strachey was not alone in utilizing Brooke’s beauty to examine desire and experiment with decidedly modern forms of sexual expression and subjectivity. Phyllis Gardner found, in her attraction to the young poet, both significant heartbreak and an opportunity to explore her own budding sexuality. Gardner, the daughter of a middle-­class family from Tadworth in Surrey, first met Brooke as she was embarking on a career as a painter and illustrator. The two first encountered each other while traveling on a train from London to Cambridge in November 1911, where Brooke resided and Gardner had relatives. She was immediately transfixed by the recent university graduate’s appearance, which she recorded during that first journey in one of her sketchbooks.49 In the years following Brooke’s death, Gardner wrote about her relationship with him in a ninety-­page typescript memoir. In this fascinating document, Gardner dissects the intimate details (and fills in some of the gaps in the correspondence) of her brief relationship with the charismatic poet. The relationship was facilitated by Gardner’s mother who began corresponding with Brooke in the spring of 1912, ostensibly to praise his poetry. The first moment of intimacy between Brooke and the Gardner family occurred when the poet called at Tadworth, for tea, in September 1912. This inaugurated a relationship between the poet and the artist that would last, with varying degrees of intensity, until Brooke’s death in April 1915. In re­ counting a London luncheon (an event that Gardner describes as their third meeting and one at which she realized she was “in love with him”), she likens the object of her affection to Apollo, the sun god: “Then the door

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opened, and it was as though the sun had suddenly risen. Whether or not he was really about a head taller than most of us there I am not in a position to say: but so it seemed to me . . . it was extremely easy to see him in one’s mind’s eye with a halo of gold.”50 The memoir also contrasted Brooke with his close friend Edward Marsh: “Eddie with his uncomfortably-­looking over-­neat shoes, spats and collars, his man-­of-­the-­world face and manner and evident preoccupation with things of this life.”51 In so doing, she pointed not only to the rich descriptive symbols that could be employed in capturing the essence of one’s physical appearance but also a very high level of intense emotion. Gardner and Brooke’s relationship blossomed through a series of, largely unchaperoned, rendezvous at the poet’s Grantchester home outside of Cambridge and in the Gray’s Inn rooms of Marsh in London. Gardner’s intense attractions to Brooke functioned as a license for her to embrace a freer, and decidedly more modern, approach to courtship and sexuality, similar to what we saw in Strachey’s interactions with the poet. Brooke’s appeal prompted her (with at least the partial consent of  her mother) to take certain liberties that undoubtedly defied the standards of some of  her more conventional friends and relations. Gardner’s mother’s permissiveness was clearly unique. Yet, in the early years of the twentieth century, some Victorian conventions were indeed beginning to give way to a greater degree of freedom for women as they moved in and out of the public and private sphere.52 These challenges to convention included naked swims, occasions that provided Gardner with more opportunities to reflect on Brooke’s beauty and to begin an erotic relationship with the poet that stopped short of full intercourse. She recorded one of these moments in describing her emergence from frigid waters one day: “he looked like a beautiful statue, and I could keep away from him no longer.”53 While this relationship clearly unfolded in some public spaces (including London’s National Gallery), it was in private moments where they shared their greatest intimacies and pushed the boundaries of propriety by exploring each other’s bodies. Eddie Marsh’s Gray’s Inn flat—­which, Brooke noted, was a place where they could “lunch together & sit there afterwards”—­came to function for both as a place of refuge and a site of sexual contact. As an intimate space, the flat was where the young lovers could engage in intellectual discourse and a chaste version of sexual experimentation. Gardner recounts one of her visits to the flat noting, “we discovered that we wanted to see one another again with nothing on.” The quiet of the sitting room provided her with an opportunity to reflect on her attraction to Brooke: “He was . . . an exceptionally beautiful figure of a man, like some exquisite statue: grand and noble in the general conception, yet with no pains spared in matters of fine detail.”54

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The whole world, as any student of history will know, profoundly changed in the summer of 1914 as Europeans prepared for and ultimately embarked upon what was to become an absolutely devastating conflict. Brooke, like many British men, enlisted, joining the Royal Naval Division in September of 1914.55 By the time war broke out, Brooke and Gardner had rekindled their friendship, the romantic phase of which ended as Brooke prepared to leave for his North American tour in 1913. It is to her reactions to Brooke as a military man that I turn for just a brief moment. In their let­ ters from the final stages of Brooke’s life, both apologized for past behaviors and commented on the progress of the war as well as Gardner’s development as an artist. Brooke also commented on the Gardner women’s typically feminine contributions to the national effort. They knitted socks, secured donations of clothing for the troops, and baked shortbread, an act of gen­ erosity that he noted “brightened our tent for two or three days.”56 The changes in their relationship, as well as the aesthetic shifts in manly beauty, brought about by the war were recounted by Gardner in a description of a London meeting with Brooke that occurred just before he shipped out for the Dardanelles. On this day, she met him in Charing Cross to look at some books before going to the Italian restaurant Gatti’s: “This was the first time I had seen him in uniform: it was also the last time I ever saw him, but I did not of course know that at the time. The uniform did not change him that much. He was tanned a little with the South Sea sun, but his colour came and went as it had always done. His hair was a trifle shorter than I had last seen it; also he was looking serious, ill, and very tired.”57 While the soldier was clearly fetishized in wartime by women and men who were struck by “khaki fever,”58 he also functioned as a potent symbol of the rigors of the conflict and the deprivations that rapidly mobilized troops faced as they prepared to leave for battle. In the solitary form of Rupert Brooke, then, we are able to explore not just the idealized male face and body and its role as a vehicle for sexual expression but also the aesthetic, epistemological, and representational crises that the conflict ushered in.

Capturing the Military Man Gardner’s descriptions remind us that the war prompted Britons to contemplate the male body in different ways and reflect on what impact a uniform might make. Images of soldiers, such as the one depicting Rupert Brooke and other officers of the Hood Battalion, performed complex cultural work during the First World War. In addition to recording prevailing standards of masculine attractiveness and valorizing, as a particular version of British masculinity, the military man, sources of this sort help us to understand

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the First World War as an unquestionably visual experience.59 Images of the male face and body as objects of both admiration and emulation in propaganda served a variety of symbolic functions.60 As personal mementos, gifts, and talismans of sorts, photographic images operated as objects of devotion, reminders of loved ones away, of the beauty of youth, and of the potential that war possessed to either steel or destroy the bodily integrity and attractiveness of British men. Postcard images sent from training camps or the battlefront (as part of the millions of letters and parcels delivered by the army postal service)61 literally communicated to people at home the idea that examining soldiers and sailors was an important component of the wartime experience, an act that simultaneously highlighted the pleasures of looking at the beautiful man and what was at stake in the struggle against the Central powers.

˙∙˙ As soon as war broke out in the summer of 1914, advertisers and the British government mobilized images of handsome young men, sometimes in civilian clothes and sometimes in military uniforms, to encourage consumption and support for the broader effort. In so doing, they were building on important precedents established in the Boer War when advertisers used images of soldiers to sell the beef extract Bovril and groups like the City Imperial Volunteers celebrated their efforts in illustrated souvenirs and specialty postcards that showcased handsome faces and bodies.62 Depictions of striking military men were similarly deployed during the Great War to sell products ranging from Dunlop Cycle Tyres to Wright’s Coal Tar Soap, a grooming essential that consumers were encouraged to purchase and send to the front.63 Drawing on images of male beauty promoted in consumer culture and on a sense that British audiences knew how to interpret masculine attractiveness,64 a number posters created by the Parliamentary Recruiting Committee in the early phases of the war relied not just on patriotic messaging or an appeal to a sense of masculine duty.65 They also sought to connect handsomeness with leadership, sacrifice, and service. One striking example from 1915 portrayed an elderly woman exhorting an exceptionally striking young man to go assume his proper role and, by extension, mobilize his fit, handsome body in the service of the British State (see plate 5). Advertisers and propagandists were not the only ones to peddle images of men in uniform. Photographs, drawings, and paintings of men at war also entered British culture through the work of government-­sanctioned official photographers and artists, the efforts of camera-­equipped officers and some enlisted men (who sometimes had to work surreptitiously), and

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in widely circulated publications like the War Illustrated.66 Celebrations of attractive young men and the aesthetic experiences discussed above were most profound for those who knew soldiers and sailors at the front, which was just about everyone. For many Britons, attachments were preserved, memories were created, and relationships were furthered by engaging with portraits and postcards depicting those in battle (or preparing to leave for it) in different poses. As one photographic journalist noted in 1915 in reflecting on the conflict and its impact on the trade: “Thousands of people who would never have been photographed for the sake of their clothes or their facial perfection have visited the photographer either that they might have a memento at home or send one to the front, and such examples are infectious.”67 Photographs of soldiers were prominent in shopwindows as the war unfolded in late 1914. Establishments of this sort functioned as both museums and social service organizations. They encouraged patriotism by posing soldiers in front of Union Jacks and provided free photographic services to those unable to afford the fees. In a Manchester Guardian article from September, the typical experience of  looking in “photographers’ showcases” at “pretty girls in their prettiest frocks” was described as undone by the conflict. Now, instead of  looking at attractive women, a passerby was most likely confronted by the “solemn gaze of [a] young recruit in his khaki uniform . . . usually very fresh-­faced and ingenuous, a fine, likeable lad.” This experience, the author maintained, was one to be had on countless London streets dotted with photographers’ shops that were patronized by new recruits (including, Edgware Road, Tottenham Court Road, and areas of Islington). Most significant in this piece was the author’s emphasis on the symbolic and practical importance of the very act of capturing one’s image on film. For those who had already been injured and brought back to England to convalesce, having a photograph taken was seen as a “precaution,” an important safeguard against the “horrors” of war, which entailed not just the possibility of death but also severely disfiguring injuries that might render one unknowable to loved ones. One man’s “sweetheart” was said to insist on him being photographed before returning to the front following an injury he sustained at the Battle of Mons (August 1914).68 Other women during the war pushed the men in their lives to record their images. The famous wartime diarist, Vera Brittain, for instance, noted how she was “longing” for an image of her lover Roland Leighton.69 Similarly, a widow with three children insisted that her son, who enlisted as a result of pressure from his employer, have his portrait taken before embarking for the Continent, thus ensuring that she would have a memento and record of his face should the worst happen.

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Figure 4.3.  Memorial card for Geoffrey Harold Spencer (died September 25, 1915). Courtesy of the London Metropolitan Archives, City of London, LMA, P73/LUK/71R, from the collection of Saint Luke, Peckham: Rosemary Road, Southwark.

The notion that having one’s photograph taken before setting off was, in fact, a necessity in a visually obsessed era was not lost on British military officials who made provisions for photographic studios at training camps. At the Halton camp in Buckinghamshire, built on property donated by Alfred Rothschild, there was a “cinematograph theatre, covered with garish and thrilling posters” as well as “a photographic studio whence the men can send home pictures of themselves in their new clothes.”70 Private papers and public press accounts highlight how photographic portraits could temper the devastation of the conflict by preserving youthful vitality or serving as a form of remembrance. The latter function was especially evident in the poignant and frequently haunting memorial cards that were created to mark the death of a soldier (see figure 4.3).71 The portraits and photographs of the type discussed above were thus common during the war and have become important collector’s items,72 a trend furthered by the celebration, in 2018, of the Centenary of the Ar­ mistice. The Imperial War Museum houses, for instance, an enormous collection of studio portraits and biographies taken of men during the war and collected as part of a project, begun in 1917, to create a permanent memorial

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to sacrifice and service.73 In nearly every instance, the portraits (many of which have been retouched) presented soldiers and officers in the best possible aesthetic light, showcasing notable features, well-­groomed heads of hair (and some mustaches), and fit, uniformed bodies. Following many of the conventions of celebrity and athletic portraiture, images of this sort—­ which employed a variety of techniques and poses including profiles, full-­ body shots, and seated portraits in which the subject looked directly at the camera—­ensured a pleasant reminder of the subject’s appeal for family and friends alike (see figures 4.4 and 4.5). Personal papers and small portraits reveal how the process of exchanging photographs was central in communicating expressions of support and affection during the war. John Albert Douglas was an Anglican priest in his forties when the war broke out. He was best known as a long-­serving vicar of Saint Luke’s, a parish in the Peckham region of southeast London, and a proponent of ecumenism and Christian unity.74 During his years as vicar, he was highly active in various social clubs that catered to working-­class boys.75 In this role, Douglas developed a number of close relationships with the lads who participated in the clubs’ sporting and scouting activities intended to promote physical fitness and the persistent nineteenth-­century ideals of the muscular Christian.76 The postcards that Douglas received from soldiers during the war showcased the appealing nature of the youthful British face and body. One, of a young man in a naval uniform, featured a clean-­shaven face, piercing eyes, and a strong, upright body (see figure 4.6). In another addressed to Douglas from J. Millwood, the sender was clearly aware that images of this sort were often closely scrutinized: “This is a poor example of a raw recruit so I hope you will not find too many faults in the position.”77 Millwood was clearly aware that his image would be measured vis-­à-­vis other military men. In sending these postcards, he and his fellow soldiers also acknowledged that, for those at home, the experience of the conflict was visual and aesthetic, a point made in a simple query that routinely appeared in lines penned to loves ones—­“How do you like the photo?”78 In postcards sent to a young woman (born 1883) named Annie Sugden and her stepmother, Alice (who was also her aunt),79 the image of the soldier in a variety of poses is also front and center. One, sent to Annie by a correspondent identified only as Frank, captured a fairly informal group of soldiers in uniforms and civilian clothing assembled outside a tent. In this instance, Frank identified with the collective whole (a group meant to be gazed upon by the recipient), indicating that “we are off to France next Friday to do our share of giving the Germans their deserts. We anticipate lively times . . . we are being sent to the Franco-­Belgium border.”80 In another card sent to Annie, this time with Frank posing alone with his horse,

Figure 4.4.  Photograph of  Private John A. Harris (died September 9, 1915). Imperial War Museum, HU 122952. Courtesy of the Imperial War Museum.

Figure 4.5.  Photograph of  Lieutenant Ronald Duncan Wheatcroft (died July 2, 1916). Imperial War Museum, HU 127320. Courtesy of the Imperial War Museum.

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Figure 4.6.  Unidentified postcard sent to Reverend J. A. Douglas. Courtesy of London Metropolitan Archives, City of London, LMA, P73/LUK/71G, from the collection of Saint Luke, Peckham: Rosemary Road, Southwark.

the sender referred to the group once again but seized the opportunity of a more individualized (and arguably more personal) postcard to offer a few more reflections about his happiness at being moved from a training camp to billets.81 Alice Sugden also received a postcard from her stepson (and Annie’s brother) Arthur that showed him outside a wooden structure holding a rifle, a classic soldierly pose undoubtedly intended to impress and reassure, a point reinforced in a handwritten message that indicates success on his first examination.82 Photographs of soldiers (particularly in postcard form) did not just serve as mechanisms for sharing information, expressing emotion, or remembering the fallen. They also functioned as literal objects of affection that stood

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in for loved ones and as narrative devices that could tell stories about the war’s aesthetic impact. In Vera Brittain’s diary, for instance, she discussed saying good night to her photograph of Roland and using it to discuss his physical attributes with a friend.83 “Albums of individual interest” containing “portraits . . . press cuttings, newspaper pictures, and letters concerning a soldier’s own experiences”84 could function in similar ways. One, compiled by a Canadian Voluntary Aid Detachment nurse (identified as Mrs. Rita Mc­ Laren) who worked at Saint Thomas’s Hospital in London in 1918–­19, includes a number of intriguing photographs. Aside from snapshots of London and pictures of nursing friends at work and at leisure, it contained a number of images of convalescing soldiers in small and large groups, sometimes with nurses and sometimes alone. Interspersed were compelling photographs of able-­bodied and healthy young men.85 The photographic contrast between the injured and the untouched undoubtedly reminded her of  what might be possible through the intervention of medicine.86 The collection and pre­ servation of images must have served, for many then, to counter the literal ugliness and destruction of war with evocative depictions of the handsome, the fit, and the desirable.

The Destruction of the Attractive Face and the Aesthetic Crises of War Aesthetic considerations were probably nowhere more apparent than in dealing with those whose bodily integrity and facial beauty were compromised by injury. New medical practices and technologies, not to mention new drugs and the introduction of steel helmets (which protected soldiers from shots to the head, but not necessarily the face), made it possible to survive devastating injuries in the trenches.87 Unfortunately for some, this meant coping with radical dismemberment and horrible disfigurement that made it nearly impossible to return to prewar occupations or a place in the hierarchy of masculine attractiveness. Perhaps more than any other topic covered in this broad history of male beauty in Britain, bodily injury during the First World War has received, in recent years, considerable attention from historians. Dismemberment, postwar attempts to rejuvenate and reinvent through “bodily spectacles” that emphasized health and reconstruction, and the symbolic importance of the disfigured face as a representation of industrialized warfare have all been brilliantly dissected.88 Yet, there remains much more to tell in recounting this aspect of the Great War. By turning to the disfigured face in this section, I probe how notions of attractiveness and ugliness entered into discussions of modern warfare in a culture that placed a very high premium indeed on male beauty

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as both attribute and symbol. Journalists, government officials, and some ordinary Britons commented on the presence of the facially disfigured as a kind of social and aesthetic problem. Members of the medical community, the War Office, and the Ministry of Pensions sought solutions that could restore the aesthetic order.89 And the injured themselves commented on the connections that they made not just between able-­bodiedness and masculinity but also between attractiveness, sexual desirability, and social worth. What the injured themselves and those responsible for treating them said about their experiences illuminates a crucial and devasting moment in the larger aesthetic history that this book chronicles.

˙∙˙ British men saw war as something that had the potential to profoundly alter their physical appearance, if not kill them. This realization led many to see the particular vulnerability of the faces and bodies that they had worked to cultivate in accordance with the standards of the day. The war also had a significant impact on the psychological relationship of men to their physical selves, a feature of the experience that was commented upon by soldiers at the front, in reminiscences that appeared both during and after the war, and in a variety of literary representations.90 These reactions functioned within the particular aesthetic context created by the complex developments documented in this book. Medical inspectors assigned to examine new recruits, for instance, frequently employed aesthetic judgments that drew on prevailing understandings of disability and ugliness in assessing fitness.91 Lieutenant Arthur Martin of the Royal Army Medical Corps discussed subpar recruits: “We had all sorts of derelicts turn up. One weary-­ looking veteran, unwashed and with straw sticking in his hair, indicative of a bed in a haystack the previous night, was blind in one eye and very lame. A draper’s assistant from a London shop had a twisted spine, one soldier had syphilitic ulcers on the legs.”92 Once at the front soldiers discussed their bodies and their injuries in terms that contrasted battle scars and other forms of disfigurement with normative standards of attractiveness. Sergeant S. Saunders of the Sixth Battalion Gordon Highlanders, as an example, commented on the impact of mud in the trenches, implicitly contrasting the well-­groomed soldiers in photographs with those at the front, pointing to the tensions between ideal and reality.93 More common were letters and comments about one’s appearance following an injury. Albert Edwin Rippington explicitly focused on his looks in a letter written to a friend: “You ought to see my face. They cannot shave me because I have scraps of shell sticking in.” In this example, the

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Figure 4.7.  A quick shave (ca. 1914–­18). Imperial War Museum, Q 33558. Courtesy of  the Imperial War Museum.

aesthetic impact of his injuries was emphasized facetiously with a simple concluding statement: “I look a pretty picture.”94 The hit to his face also effectively deprived him of a prerogative of manhood, the ability to shave and engage in the grooming rituals of daily life, which many men at the front attempted to maintain as a crucial point of connection with normalcy. This point was made visually in official and unofficial photographs that showcased personal grooming at the front as a sign of pluck and British fortitude as well as a marker of civility (see figure 4.7).95 Other survivors were careful to hint at the aesthetic impact of injuries to the face by employing language that sought to convey both significance and horror, even as they attempted to paint a picture of stoicism and calm to potential readers. In a series of reminiscences by facial injury patients that were written in 1922 as part of a class intended to help with their rehabilitation, some chose to discuss the impact of their disfigurement. One, who arrived at the trenches in France in June of 1916, described his battalion’s attempts at the opening of the Somme Offensive and the ways in which it shaped how he would be perceived in the future. An injury received after advancing

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fifty or sixty yards out of the trench was characterized as profound: “I fell a victim sustaining one of the worst afflictions that can befall any person viz.—­Loss of left eye combined with a gashly [sic] disfigurement.”96 Another conveyed the shock that wounds to the face could produce among men at the front, emphasizing anxiety about aesthetic reactions: “I felt a smack on my face and a dull thud in my right shoulder. . . . My friends looked at me in horror and did not expect me to live many moments.”97 Caregivers were especially conscious of the aesthetic impact of facial injuries. One British nurse who volunteered shortly after the war began and served in a hospital in Antwerp, Belgium, recorded her experiences in an anonymous memoir, published in 1918. Writing of the effects of a large explosion at Fort van Walem in the early months of the war, she recorded her observations in terms that remind us of the aesthetic impact of injury: “The injuries were confined to their faces, heads, and hands, and they were often ghastly. Some were so terribly burned that it was difficult to tell where their faces were. . . . We had sometimes to force an opening where the mouth had been to insert a tube to feed them.”98 The words of Dr. Harold Gillies, an attending physician at the Cambridge Military Hospital at Aldershot, provide some insight into the kinds of reactions that facial injuries prompted. As injured men began to arrive back in Britain from the Somme in 1916, Gillies noted the sense of desperation that pervaded his team as they sought to cope with a new kind of military tragedy: “Men without half their faces; men burned and maimed to the condition of animals. Day after day, the tragic, grotesque procession disembarked from the hospital ships and made its way towards” (see figure 4.8).99 Gillies use of the term “procession” would have been ironic to those familiar with the processions of beauty that characterized both physical culture and seaside beauty contests in the years before the war. Particularly telling reactions to facial injuries are contained in the widely cited memoirs of  Ward Muir, a hospital orderly at the Third London Hos­ pital during the war who recorded his observations on facial injury in two books, Observations of an Orderly (1917) and The Happy Hospital (1918). In both instances, Muir makes a range of aesthetic judgments, casting blindness, facial disfigurement, and other types of disability as forms of ugliness that upended popular understandings of masculine attractiveness and the bodily integrity of the British soldier. While he was not without sympathy for the men he treated, the language Muir employed reflects an aesthetic sensibility that rendered beauty and deformity in stark opposition. In recording his interactions with a blind patient whom he escorted home to a decidedly unwelcome reception from his wife and other family members, he offered the following assessment: “Blind men’s faces may have beauty,

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Figure 4.8.  The extensive injuries of  Lieutenant C. V. Smith (ca. 1918). Harold Gillies British Patient Case Files, MS0513/1/1/32, ID 1896. Courtesy of the Archives of the Royal College of Surgeons of England.

even vivacity, or a heightened intelligence and fire; but there is something hard to define, of which they are sadly devoid. The windows of the soul are dimmed. The face inevitably changes.”100 References to ugliness pepper Muir’s discussion of facial injuries in the Happy Hospital. Throughout, he emphasized the importance of the visual and of looking in assessing the impact of the war, referring to one patient as “Wonk-­Eye” and the hospital as a whole as a “spectacle of wounds and blood.”101 Muir also did not mince words in discussing his patients who had been facially disfigured: “Hideous is the only word for these smashed faces: the socket with some twisted, moist slit, with a lash or two adhering feebly, which is all that is traceable of the forfeited eye.”102 The language of ugliness and deformity drives a point home about the devastation of the conflict, but one can only imagine the impact such words might have had upon the facially disfigured man who stumbled upon Muir’s book. Missing noses are discussed as a “climax of mournful grotesquerie,” and men who were formerly “specimen[s] of English youth” are transformed, through facial injury, into “broken gargoyles” who are painfully aware of what they “look like.” In contrast to sexually alluring men highlighted in many aspects of

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British visual culture, the facially disfigured were characterized as potentially repugnant to prospective wives, a reminder of the aesthetic crisis that such debilitating injuries presented.103 This crisis was dealt with in two particular ways, one artistic and the other medical. In the first instance, facial injuries, after they had healed, were obscured or “corrected” through the use of lightweight metallic masks designed by the sculptor Francis Derwent Wood, in a special mask-­making unit that first opened in March 1916 at Muir’s hospital, where, in the words of the artist, “I endeavour by means of the skill I happen to possess as a sculptor to make a man’s face as near as possible to what it looked like before he was wounded.”104 Wood’s techniques were lauded by military officials105 and in newspaper articles that detailed how masks were prepared for wounded soldiers. According to one report, the opening of the mask-­ making unit was accompanied by demonstrations of the techniques Wood used to hide the disfigured face of a Glasgow policeman “who had been cured after terrible wounds received while serving as a sailor.”106 The use of the word “cure” is instructive. The physical structure of many of Wood’s patients’ faces were not necessarily altered by surgical intervention. Yet, faith in the ability of these tin masks to change aesthetic perceptions (and make it possible for these men to circulate more freely) reflected a belief that the horrors of war could be partially erased by literally obscuring the most potent reminders of the conflict. In a letter to Wood from 1916, one grateful wife characterized the mask as a godsend that enabled her husband “to return to work for a large family in a business for which the restoration of his ‘appearance’ was essential.”107 Ward Muir, in chronicling the impact of  Wood’s intervention, used evocative language to discuss the effect of these “tin nose[s].” As an antidote, Muir asserted, these masks were characterized as “the beauty of a fine idea finely materialised.”108 In discussing Wood’s work, Muir returns to more traditional discourses of physical transformation, paying particular attention to the dramatic results depicted in the “before” and “after” photos that lined the walls of the facial mask studio. It was in this setting that the “gargoyle, ashamed to show himself on the streets” became “almost a normal human being” able to “go anywhere.” In discussing the patient’s transition, Muir used language that combined older physiognomical conceptions of beauty (“macabre and sometimes brutish physiognomies metamorphosed into sane and reasonable ones”) with a more modern, psychologically infused language that fo­ cused on “mental health,” “self-­respect,” and the conquering of  “depression,” a trend that continued unabated in the 1930s and 1940s.109 Plastic surgeons also rapidly developed new techniques for dealing with severe disfigurements and burns. The pioneer in this field of surgery was

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Figure 4.9.  C. V. Smith, with a pedicle tube following some reconstructive surgery (1920). Harold Gillies British Patient Case Files, MS0513/1/1/32, ID 1896. Courtesy of the Archives of the Royal College of Surgeons of England.

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Dr. Harold Gillies. In 1916 Gillies began to develop a number of new procedures including techniques for grafting skin tubes—­referred to as pedicle tubes—­onto injured faces at the military hospital in Aldershot and, beginning in 1917, the Queen’s Hospital in Sidcup (see figure 4.9). This was an imperial venture where Gillies worked alongside doctors from Canada, Australia, and New Zealand in a spirit of “friendly rivalry and healthy competition, to the great benefit of the poor mutilés.”110 In a textbook he published in the wake of the Paris Peace Conference, Gillies applied what he learned during the war to civilian life. Reflecting on the importance of good looks and the possibilities inherent in the surgical interventions he pioneered at Aldershot and Sidcup, he reminded his readers that medicine could ame­ liorate the aesthetic crises of war and the deformities of birth or noncombat related injuries: “Ugly scars resulting from burns and accidents, deformities of the nose and lips . . . moles, port-­wine stains, all abound, and are not only the constant source of the greatest distress and anguish, but materially lower the market value of the individual.”111 Gillies’s words, in this instance, linked his ideas with those of the late nineteenth century, which posited a direct relationship between good looks and financial success. The case files from the Queen’s Hospital at Sidcup provide the particulars of the procedures themselves, revealing the mechanics of plastic surgery at an important moment in that discipline’s development. They are also artifacts highlighting the possibility of physical transformation and the ability of the surgeon to affect change, correct horrible tragedies, and, potentially restore outright beauty. Gillies and his team of doctors, nurses, and orderlies, relied on visual records to document surgical interventions and the progression from disfigurement to restoration. While photographs served a vital role, artists like Henry Tonks (who produced beautiful, if graphic, before-­and-­after pastel drawings of patients at both Aldershot and Sidcup)112 also captured an individual’s return to the aesthetic hierarchy of masculine attractiveness. In some instances, these files contained personal papers, revealing how the injured corresponded with their loved ones. In others, like that of Bernard Blackwell Green, images as mementos are front and center. Among the Green materials are a pre-­injury portrait of Green, a caricature from a 1917 book (both of which reveal a handsome young man), and a post-­injury silhouette that partially revealed a restored profile that was indisputably fine, unmarred by reminders of the original gunshot wound to Green’s nose (see figure 4.10).113 Most of the recollections discussed up to this point were recorded either during the war or immediately after. Memoirs and oral histories from later periods highlight the longer-­term aesthetic consequences of facial injury. Several personal recollections provide some insight into how these experiences were remembered. The typescript memoir of a Captain J. K. Wilson

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Figure 4.10.  Roundel with a silhouette of Captain B. B. Green (ca. 1919). Harold Gillies Patient Case Files MS 0513/1/1/15, ID 841. Courtesy of the Archives of the Royal College of Surgeons of England, by permission of the family of Bernard Blackwell Green.

who had been “badly wounded in the face” discussed his time at the hospital in Sidcup. While Wilson lauded Gillies as a genius and the hospital as a comfortable place where he received “wonderful, almost miraculous, treatment” and “encouragement,” he also noted that a “face hospital is perhaps the most depressing of all hospitals.” Especially telling was the way in which men found humor in their predicament. Wilson discussed the amusement patients found in “mouth cases” drinking whiskey and soda with a straw. He also noted that men used their awareness of their aesthetic deficiencies in establishing a form of camaraderie (that was also reinforced through group photos): “We used to refer to each other as ‘ugly’ and various other uncomplimentary names.”114 In an interview that was recorded by the Imperial War Museum in 1986, Private Joseph Pickard described the experience of losing his nose and being a Sidcup patient. With the nonchalance and pluck often characteristic of veterans reflecting back on combat experiences, Pickard indicated that losing his nose never made him depressed. Nonetheless, he noted that there were moments when his confidence was shaken by others’ reactions to his disfigured face, especially prior to undergoing reconstructive surgery.

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On one occasion in Wales, where he was recuperating before being admitted to Gillies’s hospital in Sidcup, Pickard noted how “all the kids in the blinking neighborhood had gathered,” to stare at him. He indicated to his interviewer that “I knew what they were looking at” and noted that this experience prompted him to return to the safety of the hospital. Following this episode, however, Pickard resolved that he would attempt to move forward and get over people staring at him. His response to the inquisitiveness of onlookers became a simple, if direct and confrontational, one: “I used to turn round and look at them.” The ultimate remedy to his problem was, for Pickard, to be found in Sidcup where he was treated most directly under a Thomas Pomfret Kilner, another surgeon at the Queen’s Hospital. In his interview, Pickard enumerated the various levels of treatment he underwent as doctors sought to reconstruct his nose, noting the preparatory stages of the surgical process, which involved having multiple photographs taken and being “smothered with plaster of Paris all over your face” to “take a mask” that “shows every little blemish.” In addition to the formation of a pedicle tube, Pickard also underwent the removal of bone and cartilage from his ribcage, which was grafted onto his face to build up the bridge of his nose. In preparing for the final surgical stages of the reconstruction he reflected on the aesthetic significance of these operations. While he indicated he was not unduly picky about the shape and size his new nose would take, he did remember telling the doctors that he “wanted a nose a woman knows,” indicating just how central the desire for attractiveness remained to men whose experiences of disfigurement compromised their ability to compete for affection and attention.115 Thinking about the aesthetics of injury and the ways in which dismemberment was thought to render a once sound body unappealing to women and a youthful face old, much as the poet Wilfred Owen did in his 1917 poem “Disabled,” adds an important dimension to interpretations of this conflict. The lens of male beauty is a crucial one to consider in reflecting on the dislocating and unsettling experiences of wartime disfigurement in the early twentieth century.116

Remembering Rupert Brooke Coping with the aesthetic crises of war took on a variety of forms. Rather than focusing on the memorials—­such as Francis Derwent Wood’s classically modern Machine Gun Corps Memorial in Hyde Park Corner in London117—­that produced a “picturesque” and “aestheticised” vision of the soldier,118 I would like to end this discussion of the relationship between male beauty and war by returning to Rupert Brooke and, more specifically, to the ways in which he was remembered and memorialized. Brooke,

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who died from an infection on board a ship traveling to the Dardanelles in 1915, became a potent symbol whose beauty and celebrity were mobilized to counteract the aesthetic ugliness of the war. By looking at how Brooke was remembered, we can reflect more on how Britons, to borrow from historian Joanna Bourke, “drew on their understanding of the past to reassemble their lives after the war.”119 Remembering Brooke was not merely a backward-­looking endeavor though. While he undoubtedly embodied prewar visions of racialized Englishness, he was also a fundamentally modernist figure: decidedly queer (even if some disputed this posthumously in private discussions of his personal life),120 an object of myriad sexual desires, and an unconventional intellectual. Precisely because he represented all of this and more, while also dying with his beauty intact, he became the perfect symbol for those who sought to make sense of the historical continuities and disruptions that characterized the conflict for so many.

˙∙˙ Rupert Brooke never saw battle. Despite traveling to Antwerp for a mission with the Anson Battalion of the Royal Naval Division shortly after the German invasion of Belgium, he spent the majority of his time in service in England. When he was finally mobilized for combat as a member of the Hood Battalion, it was as a participant in First Lord of the Admiralty Win­ ston Churchill’s ill-­fated plan to reopen the Dardanelles, known as the Gallipoli expedition. Brooke’s battalion left for this region in late February 1915. At a stop in Egypt, he suffered from heatstroke, fever, dysentery, and a troubling sore (possibly a mosquito bite) on his lip. By late April, the ship carrying Brooke arrived in the Greek archipelago.121 While anchored he became very ill and was diagnosed with a septic infection. He was transferred to a French hospital ship, located in the same bay, where he was treated by medical staff on board, an experience relayed in a memoir by Jeanne Perdriel-Vaissière. In this recollection, the author noted the sense of pervasive crisis that surrounded Brooke’s illness: “all England is interested in the condition of this young man.”122 Brooke survived for barely a day on board this vessel, dying on April 23. His body was placed in a coffin that was decorated with wildflowers by the officers of the hospital ship. It was transported to the island of Skyros with as much solemnity and pomp as possible, an event described by junior naval officer H. P. Baylis: “Very impressive service, pipers, bearers and padre and firing party from his platoon.”123 Once ashore the coffin was met by several officers and a “guard of honor” before being transported to a makeshift grave by “twelve Australian giants, splendid-­looking in service uniforms.”124 The attention to the appearance of those responsible for laying Brooke to

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rest seems entirely appropriate given the transnational aesthetic legacies of the English author. Indeed, Brooke’s import as martial hero, poet-­soldier, and uniformed object of desire was foreshadowed by a key event in the weeks just before his death: the recitation of his poem “The Soldier” in a sermon on patriotism and martyrdom delivered by William Ralph Inge in Saint Paul’s Cathedral on Easter Sunday.125 While Brooke’s words and image were harnessed to serve a variety of symbolic purposes, I want to resist the temptation to characterize memories of him following his death solely as paeans to national sacrifice. Rather, the posthumous private and public descriptions of Brooke’s physical appearance reveal that he functioned as a very modern antidote to the aesthetic crises of war.126 Death in wartime (if not death in war) and burial on an island in the Aegean Sea meant that likening his beauty and appeal to that of the ancient Greeks was easy and culturally resonant. Memories of Brooke, however, also drew on recently invented notions of celebrity and male beauty and served a variety of complex purposes.127 Because it was preserved in the cultural imagination by his early death, his physical allure functioned as an admired artifact (in the form of countless photographic reproductions), an enduring object of desire, and a mask that could hide, but never fully erase, the devastation of facial disfigurement. A focus on Brooke’s beauty provided those grieving his loss personally, and Britons more generally, with an opportunity to reflect on the profound disruptions of the war. It also revealed the extent to which considerations of facial and body aesthetics, desire, and the masculine form figured into British cultural mindsets by the second decade of the twentieth century. Those who lamented the poet’s passing were universal in their acknowledgment of his physical attributes, as his admirers in life had been. Winston Churchill, in his Times obituary, said he possessed “classic symmetry of mind and body.”128 Other obituaries married discussions of Brooke’s intellect and talents with those of his physical attractiveness in ways that mirrored celebrity profiles from the period. One account from the Nation described a meeting with Brooke as an encounter with “an astonishing apparition” who possessed beautiful hair and eyes as well as a body “so finely fashioned and healthy.”129 Brooke’s appearance could thus be described as otherworldly, but it was also frequently characterized in ways that mimicked physical descriptions of actors and athletes that appeared in theatrical journals, physical culture magazines, and sporting periodicals. Some of this material, either explicitly or implicitly, cast him as an object of desire with broad appeal. Arthur C. Benson, in a piece he wrote for the Church Family Newspaper a month after Brooke’s passing, established what was to become a common precedent in aestheticizing the poet’s impor-

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tance and achievements: “His appearance was very striking in its youthful freshness and manly beauty. His thick clustered gold-­brown hair, his handsome features, his fine expression would make him conspicuous in any company.”130 A remembrance from the Birmingham Daily Mail identified Brooke as an object of fascination (something that the author noted unsettled Brooke): “While . . . living at Rugby, his birthplace, he sometimes found it unpleasant to walk down the street, because strangers used to annoy him by turning to look after him, on account of his extraordinary personal beauty.”131 The fact that the strangers are not gendered in this description served to mark Brooke’s beauty as something that appealed to all. His was an attractiveness for both the opposite-­sex and the same-­sex admiring and desiring. One additional theme is worth mentioning in relation to the remembrances of Brooke that appeared in the weeks and months immediately following his death—­the idea of glamour. Glamour, as historian Carol Dyhouse has noted, was a word that came, in the early decades of the twen­ tieth century, to be associated with a certain type of female beauty that orig­ inated with modern fashion and cosmetics and the rise of film culture.132 Yet, as coverage of Brooke’s death reminds us, the concept was also used to describe men who achieved celebrity and notoriety for their good looks. A piece in the English Review from June 1915 used the terms “beauty,” “good looks,” and “glamour” in tandem to discuss the poet’s physical appearance.133 Brooke’s image in wartime might then be seen as linking nineteenth-­and early twentieth-­century images of celebrated athletes with those of screen idols in the 1920s and the 1930s. It also undoubtedly served to counter increasingly prevalent images of horror such as those appearing in Philip Gibbs’s The Soul of the War (1915), where the journalist described the “blind” and “smashed faces” of a French hospital ward.134 Brooke’s power as symbol and celebrity was also reflected in correspondence about the commercial value of his photographed image after his death. The American photographer Sherrill Schell, who took the most famous portraits of Brooke, wrote to Edward Marsh in June 1915 offering him the purchase of full rights to a packet of photographs. With reference to the negative of one portrait, he argued that it was “a very valuable one from a commercial point of view. Not a few have been sold to people who have never heard of Mr. Brooke, and now that his fame is increasing there should be a steady demand for copies.”135 The appeal of Brooke’s photo was also noted in a letter from Arthur Shipley (master of Christ’s College, Cambridge), who wrote to Marsh asking that the “very beautiful” image of Brooke be made available to friends.136 Again, with reference to commercial value, he noted that if photos of this sort were sold in Cambridge, there

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would be a ready market for them. For those who did not know Brooke, purchasing one of these copies or one of the posthumous editions of his written works that included photos of him by both Eugene Hutchinson and Schell was a way to participate in his elevation as a specimen of extraordinary beauty. For those who did know him, the memorial photograph could merge traditional mourning rituals with the celebrity worship that Brooke seemed to inspire. A North American friend of the Brooke family who wrote to Marsh in 1928 observed: “A photograph of Rupert on my writing table—­before it always a bowl of flowers—­wherever I go, wherever I am.”137 At the same time that some were thinking about the legacies of Brooke, others were contemplating the role that physical memorials might play in remembering the poet and ensuring that his beautiful visage would endure. Those responsible for formulating plans to honor Brooke were thus involved in a process that placed both the reconstruction and the representation of physical beauty at the core of postwar recovery.138 Despite Brooke’s importance as a wartime symbol and literary figure, relatively little has been said about the various memorials that were erected in his honor in the years following the conflict. While these attempts were undoubtedly part of a mythmaking process,139 they are also artifacts that help us to understand how representations of the particularly beautiful have been mobilized. To illustrate this point, I turn to two sculptural reminders of Brooke’s stunning face and admired physique that functioned simultaneously as attempts to commemorate loss and preserve, in perpetuity, the association of the young poet with the British traditions of masculine beauty: the memorial to Brooke at Rugby School (erected in 1919) and the Brooke Memorial that was unveiled on Skyros in 1931. As soon as Brooke died, those closest to him began to think about how to preserve his memory. While his mother was especially concerned with the gravesite on Skyros (where a permanent marble tomb with an iron railing was installed after the war), Brooke’s memory was never the exclusive preserve of his family. Rugby, as Brooke’s hometown and public school, was a natural site for a memorial. The headmaster of Rugby School, Albert Augustus David, for example, wrote a letter to Edward Marsh in November 1915, seven months after Brooke’s death, informing him that friends of the poet wanted a memorial erected in the school’s chapel and suggesting a particular form: “It seems to me that the obvious form would be a portrait medallion in marble (low relief ) modelled on the frontispiece.”140 The mention of the frontispiece refers to a portrait of Brooke (done in profile by Sherrill Schell) that was included in a collection of his poems published in 1915 under the title 1914 and Other Poems. The project had the consent of Brooke’s mother, and, by February 1916, the sculptor  James Havard Thomas was com-

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missioned for the project. Around the same time, a subscription campaign began in Britain and North America. The Little Review appealed for funds from the “many admirers of Rupert Brooke,” noting that the publication’s home—­Chicago—­was a “city that stimulated and interested him more than any other in America.”141 Despite the reservations of some friends like Francis (Darwin) Corn­ ford,142 the majority of interested parties agreed that a celebration of  youth­ ful beauty in profile made the most sense as a memorial not just to Brooke but to the many young men from Rugby who died or were injured in battle. Over the course of 1917 and 1918, as Thomas’s papers reveal, the sculpture and, later, an accompanying inscription tablet containing the text of Brooke’s famous poem “The Soldier” were designed, reviewed by multiple parties, and executed. While the initial plan had been to reveal the memorial before the conclusion of the war, the headmaster determined that it would be more appropriate to wait until peace had been restored. Doing so, Albert David advised, would be “wise” and have the “additional advantage of giving an opportunity to many of Brooke’s friends of coming to the ceremony.”143 By early 1918, the medallion was completed and installed (at least temporarily) in the Rugby Chapel (see figure 4.11). Its impact was immediate and seemed for many Old Rugbeians, current students, and visitors alike to function as a beacon of beauty in what was, for many, an ugly time. One member of the memorial committee, Rugby teacher Henry Herbert Symonds wrote: “I think that the effect of it . . . is beautiful. It is a real pleasure to have a poet represented in our chapel by a work of art.”144 Even Brooke’s mother recognized that the visual impact of the memorial was to be, perhaps, its greatest contribution. In a letter she wrote to the sculptor in January 1918, she saw fit to comment first and foremost on her visual impression: “I think the face is exceedingly good especially the mouth which is alive; the hair looked too thick over the ear & at the back but I hear that you are going to alter that. I very much like the youthful look. . . . I must thank you very much for what you have done.” She concluded her letter with a postscript that indicated that she had found personal pleasure, and perhaps relief from her own private grief (just as it was hoped others would), by visiting the portrait: “I have been to the Chapel several times to see it—­like it better each time.”145 The memorial was finally completed (after several changes) and unveiled in late March 1919. In attendance at the ceremony in the Rugby Chapel were many friends and Brooke’s mother, along with Sir Ian Hamilton, who had commanded the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force and visited with Brooke in early April 1915.146 It was Hamilton, in fact, who delivered a speech that was discussed by journalists reporting on the event. The Times, for

Figure 4.11.  Rupert Brooke Memorial in the Rugby School Chapel, designed by James Havard Thomas (completed 1918–­19). Courtesy of the Courtauld Institute of Art, London.

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instance, reproduced Hamilton’s words, which give some insight into how Brooke’s beauty figured into this particular remembrance. Hamilton cast Brooke in heroic terms and as a young prince whose beauty was his defining attribute. He had the ability, he observed, to enter a room and “cast a spell upon everyone around him . . . in the twinkling of an eye.” Hamilton relayed his encounter with Brooke in Port Said, Egypt, where he laid up ill in a tent in 1915. Foremost in his description was his characterization of Brooke as “extraordinarily handsome” and in possession of a “knightly presence” and a prescient realization that he was someone “whom the envious gods loved too well.” With these words, Hamilton made it clear to his audience that, while the death of such a promising and good-­looking man might function as an emblem of loss, the preservation of his handsomeness in a sculptural medallion helped to vanquish the sense of disillusionment that many were feeling at this time.147 The continued mobilization of Brooke’s beauty in memorials, posthumous conferences, and performances of an Elegy for Strings composed by Frederick Septimus Kelly reminds us of just how powerful the aesthetic was to the processes of interwar recovery in Europe.148 In 1929, a Belgian professor resident in Cairo, Egypt, Paul Vanderborght succeeded in establishing a “Rupert Brooke Committee” under the auspices of the literary organization La Lanterne Sourde.149 The intention of the committee was to raise funds and support for a new memorial to Rupert Brooke and “immortal poetry” on the island Skyros and to republish some of Brooke’s work as well as a memorial volume. In a letter to Herman Ould, the general secretary of PEN, an international association of writers, Vanderborght articulated the need for such a memorial as well as Greek support for the venture: “In the times in which we are living and times which seem to favour materialism rather than poetry, it is cheering to report the enthusiasm with which Athens has responded to our appeal.” This letter also noted that the Athenian sculptor Michael Tombros had been commissioned to execute a memorial, donated by the people of Skyros, that was to consist of a bronze statue on a pedestal of marble. Greece was joined in supporting the project by Egypt, France, and Belgium.150 Brooke’s mother who, by this point, was in the final years of her life also supported the initiative.151 There was thus considerable enthusiasm, a point made in a number of letters and memorandums housed at both King’s Col­ lege and the National Archives in Kew. Never far below the surface in the discussions that preceded the completion of the memorial was the importance of Brooke’s celebrity and aesthetic appeal. In letters written to Mrs. Brooke in November 1929 a request for photographs of  Rupert that might be used in a La Lanterne Sourde–­sponsored lecture on the poet’s work and legacy was made. The photographs were needed, according to Vanderborght,

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for a lantern slide show, to be displayed before the lecture, consisting (at the moment of his writing) of two images of Brooke, pictures of the memorial site, and views of Skyros. To supplement this material, Vanderborght noted: “I should like, if possible, to be able to show the beautiful face of the poet at different times in his life.” Such images, he asserted, would create a “direct and intimate emotional atmosphere” for those in attendance.152 Male beauty was, in fact, central to the memorial which, in its final form, consisted of a bronze nude (decidedly modernist in execution) and a portrait medallion of the poet placed on the base. Funds for the memorial were fully in hand by the spring of 1930 when it was reported to Brooke’s friend Walter de la Mare that plans for the arrival of the plaster model in Brussels were afoot and that the “people of Skyros [were] waiting impatiently” for the installation and unveiling.153 On August 31 of that year, Vanderborght reported to Brooke’s mother that the “beautiful statue (in plaster)” had finally been delivered and that it would soon be cast in bronze, installed in Skyros in November, and ready for a “ceremony of inauguration” in the spring of 1931.154 While the November installation date turned out to have been optimistic, the statue in bronze was completed that month and subjected to a review in Belgium by members of the Rupert Brooke Memorial Committee, as reported in the Sphinx on November 29, 1930, with a photo that invited readers to stare at the nude statue that represented “immortal poetry” and functioned as a monument to male beauty (see figures 4.12 and 4.13).155 During the winter of 1931, plans were made for an unveiling ceremony scheduled for April 5. Participants were invited to attend the event, scheduled to take place on Easter Sunday “under the luminous sky of the Aegean Sea.” Aside from outlining the itinerary of the cruise that would carry attendees from Marseilles, France, this material billed the event as an opportunity to pay homage to Brooke. The unveiling was also, however, intended to foster “a spirit of peace and international friendship,” reminding us once again how celebrations of male beauty might be mobilized to serve political and ideological functions.156 The event seems to have occurred as scheduled.157 A memorandum by British diplomat Sir Patrick Ramsay highlighted the “international character” of the ceremony, which included two hundred visitors from England, France, and Belgium, who arrived on “the Greek steamship ‘Patris II.’” Following disembarkation, the visitors trekked to Brooke’s gravesite where a brief ceremony occurred that included a recitation of his poetry and the laying of a wreath by his cousin Mr. Charles Noel Hoare. The group, identified by Ramsay as “pilgrims” (reminding his readers of the sacred na­ ture of this homage to Brooke and beauty), then traveled by ship to the village of Skyros where they were fed lunch before proceeding to the mon­

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Figure 4.12.  Sculptor Michael Tombros with a plaster cast of the male figure for the Brooke memorial on Skyros (1930), Rupert Brooke Memorial Fund Files. Courtesy of the National Archives, FO 141/500/13.

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Figure 4.13.  Associated Press photograph of the unveiling ceremony of the Rupert Brooke Memorial on Skyros (April 1931). © AP Images.

ument’s hilltop site. Ramsay described the completed memorial in the following way: “the statue . . . is that of a nude man in bronze holding a scroll and represents the spirit of Immortal Poetry. Inset in the gray marble is a large bronze medallion representing the head of Rupert Brooke.” Speeches by representatives of various governments were delivered, including one in which a Greek bishop assured those in attendance that Brooke had been “adopted by the Skyriots” and that they would look after his grave. Villagers entertained the visitors with folk dances, and the event, according to Ramsay, seemed to honor Brooke appropriately.158 Accounts in the British press, many of which assumed the nude statue was intended to represent Brooke (highlighting perhaps the extent to which many blurred the distinctions between idealized representations of the male body and the celebrity Brooke in this era),159 reported on the importance of the occasion. They also asserted that the elevation of beauty (both poetic and bodily) was something that the Greeks and the English shared.160

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Exploring the years around the First World War through the lens of male beauty opens up a broad array of possibilities. In Rupert Brooke we are given a rare opportunity to consider how people responded to extraordinary attractiveness. The enormous written and spoken record surrounding the poet provides us with a unique glimpse into the ways in which masculine beauty might be mobilized to extol national virtues and articulate sexual desires and sexual identities. It also provides us with an opportunity to understand an important episode in the development of the modern male celebrity. In this context, Brooke’s exquisite face became, simultaneously, an object of admiration, desire, and emulation and an emblem of racialized Englishness. Brooke himself was conscious of his celebrity. In an oral history conducted with the actress Cathleen Nesbitt in 1976, she noted that Brooke, in writing from North America during his 1913–­14 trip, was keenly aware that his popularity as a speaker was partly due to his beauty. Nesbitt recalled Brooke’s account of an appearance in Montreal: “I played the blushing young poet to perfection.” He was, she also observed in this interview, conscious that the photos by Sherrill Schell contributed to his status as an object of desire: “I’m sure they’re the kinds that ladies would like to see on the front of a book of poems.”161 Brooke’s celebrity status only increased after his death. While others have noted that war, for combatants and noncombatants alike, was a profoundly visual experience, my intent has been to illustrate how the aesthetic responses to the conflict function within the context of a much larger history of male beauty. Despite the proliferation of women’s war work and service, the years between 1914 and 1918 placed a high premium indeed on the strains and stresses faced by the male body. Given this, the broad cultural preoccupation with masculine attractiveness and its destruction throughout the war should not surprise. The preservation of male faces and bodies in photographic form, the elevation of certain soldier-­heroes (and soldier-­poets) as exemplars, and the need to deal with the aesthetic crises prompted by new killing technologies meant that Britons, try as they might, could not escape the faces of global conflict. In the aftermath of the fighting, memorials abounded throughout the British Isles and the empire. Those erected to Brooke served to preserve, in monumental form, a beauty that functioned as a tonic to aesthetic disruption and malaise by building on Brooke’s celebrity and valorizing youthfulness. Memorials did not necessarily encourage people to forget the ravages of the conflict. Rather, they sought to remind them of the redemptive power of beauty and the centrality of masculine attractiveness to national well-­being. When paired with the formal portraits and postcards of men in uniform, in training, or on leave, these material artifacts reminded Britons not only of what had been lost but of what Britain might, once again, be. In looking

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back, they relied heavily on the traditions of male beauty that unfolded over the course of the nineteenth century. In looking forward, they encouraged a renewed emphasis on the importance of the well-­groomed and handsome face and fit body, a development that produced new consumer opportunities, new ways of advertising and selling images of men, and increasingly psychologically infused understandings of personal appearance.

[  Ch a pter 5   ]

Brylcreem Men, Cinema Idols, and Uniforms In the Hairdressing and Beauty Culture Profession, developments have been rapid. . . . This is probably due to the fact that since the war, and as a re-­action to its awful sadness, we have been struggling to make the world a happier place, and happiness is largely dependent on beauty. Ugliness always jars, and to stop this jarring, we are all trying to make the best of ourselves. “We Make Our Bow,” Hairtinting and Beauty Culture (March 1926) I try to make the best of myself because I do really think that my appearance needs all the help it can get, then for my self-­respect’s sake and because I want to look civilised, and because I know that personal appearance does count with other people. Response to Mass-­Observation Directive on Personal Appearance (April 1939)

Britons in the 1920s and 1930s redoubled their efforts to counter the ugliness of war and cultivate personal beauty as a modern marker of individual success and symbol of healthfulness.1 This was an era when soldiers were provided with physical rehabilitation and prosthetic limbs to help them deal with the ravages of the conflict.2 It was also a time when physical fitness and the cultivation of muscles was seen as essential to well-­being.3 These years witnessed the further growth of male body beautification and care as well as new consumer practices. During these decades, men began to discuss more openly consumerism as a form of gender or, indeed, sexual expression. While evidence of these developments was, as we have seen, also present in the nineteenth century, their intensity and pervasiveness seemed to increase following the disruptions of the Great War. As in so many other

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areas, the conflict accentuated, gave new meanings, and sometimes transformed Victorian beauty practices and ideals. The rise of a new form of feminine beauty-­oriented consumption in the early twentieth century has long been identified as a defining cultural development of the period.4 Those who have explored these processes have revealed not only new preoccupations with the body but also the use of a panoply of products intended to improve the personal appearance of  White and Black women alike.5 While the adoption of the safety razor and the practice of self-­shaving has been noted as significant for men, we know far less about the expansion and uses of male grooming and beauty products or the role of print culture in promoting masculine aesthetics and rituals of self-­care.6 Supposedly transformative products such as hair gels, shaving creams, razors, and acne treatments developed a new language of male beauty and male consumer identities that focused, increasingly, on self-­ esteem, modernity, and the ability to attract female admirers.7 Notions of self-­improvement as a form of self-­help and the links between a pleasing appearance and financial success were evident among the Victorians. In the interwar period, though, the focus on the mental benefits of improving one’s appearance and on the personal pleasures of looking good, in keeping with what has been described as the development of psychological subjecthood, achieved paramount significance.8 These were not the only forces at work, though. Celebrity culture increased exponentially with the arrival of a thriving cinema industry and mass print culture in the interwar period. By the 1930s, there were 18–­ 19 million people attending a cinema show on a weekly basis, and by 1945 there were roughly 30 million people “going to the pictures” at least once a week.9 Fan culture accompanied and expanded the moviegoing experience, which at its core focused on the adoration of physical attractiveness.10 True of men and women alike, this emphasis was reflected, most notably, in the proliferation of film-­related magazines, general-­interest illustrated periodicals such as Picture Post and Tit-­Bits, fan letters, and advertisements employing images of film stars and athletes alike. The culture of male celebrity and its attendant cult of personality was based on the exposure and display of the handsome male face and fit body, often in motion.11 This trend was one that the fashion industry picked up on by using, with greater frequency, images of well-­dressed men in advertisements and male fashion mannequins or models in runway shows.12 Interwar consumer culture profoundly influenced how men talked about their physical appearance and beauty regimens. To reconstruct this aspect of twentieth-­century history, I draw on material collected by

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Mass-­Observation (M-­O), a body created in 1937 to learn about everyday life in Britain and construct what was referred to, at the time, as an “anthropology (or science) of ourselves.”13 Personal accounts of grooming and physical appearance, collected in 1939 and the 1940s,14 allows us to examine the masculine relationship to consumerism and the language of personal satisfaction. The discussion of this period necessarily ends with an examination of the Second World War. To reveal the complexities of the years between 1939 and 1945, popular representations of soldiers and sailors and the experiences of one same-­sex-­desiring man—­the artist Keith Vaughan—­are explored. War, once again, produced new types of intimacies and scenarios in which Britons could look with pleasure at attractive (and frequently uniformed) men.15 Ideas about the self during these decades were intimately linked to an engagement with a marketplace of transformative, body-­oriented goods. Safeguarding and cultivating one’s looks in these years was also essential to securing a place in a romantic or erotic landscape that was beginning to privilege increasingly rigid catego­ ries of what it meant to be either heterosexual or homosexual.16

Print Culture and Selling in the Marketplace of Body- ­O riented Goods The British were a “people of the press,”17 and their consumption of newspapers and magazines grew dramatically in the years following the Great War. By 1939, a large majority of Britons consulted a daily newspaper, and nearly all read (or at least looked at) one of the national Sunday newspapers.18 This engagement with print media and images was central to the production of modern ideas about sexuality and about the self.19 The same might also be said, of course, for both the aesthetics of masculinity and understandings of the appealing face and body. In the period between the 1920s and the Second World War, British men were literally bombarded with words and images that asked them to consider physical attractiveness and the rituals of personal grooming. Products related to the appearance of one’s hair and face, the shape of one’s body, and masculine dress were cast—­by sellers of clothes, hairdressers, and grooming and beauty entrepreneurs—­as having the potential to make men happy, successful, and aesthetically appealing. Ad­ vertisements, popular magazines, and trade periodicals became places, then, where British men engaged with a thriving culture of male beauty. They were also spaces in which they received instruction in consumer and grooming practices and learned about the personal and psychological pleasures that supposedly accrued to those in possession of attractive faces and bodies.

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˙∙˙ The history of advertising in the first decades of the twentieth century is a story of rapid change and development. By the turn of the century, British advertising agents and firms, including those founded by figures such as Henry Sell and Thomas Brookes Browne began to function as much more than brokers of advertising space on buildings and in popular periodicals.20 Industry leaders, in the years leading up to the First World War and after, were paying much closer attention to design and the power of copy language and, as reflected in pieces in professional publications like Advertising World, to their ability to “make the fashion.” Historian Paul Jobling has documented elements of this in his explorations of twentieth-­century menswear in Britain, showing how various tailors and department stores appealed to different segments of the market by using more natural poses in illustrations and, by the 1930s, photographs that peddled masculine attractiveness as an appealing spectacle.21 Menswear advertisers in this period also relied on careful market research that told them what was likely to sell and how certain goods affected the mindsets of those who purchased them.22 Guided with these findings in hand, they tried to draw consumers to their products by cultivating the connections between clothing and social status, virility, and the enjoyment of the male body.23 These techniques were also evident in advertisements for a broad range of new luxury products, including hair gels, shaving creams, razors, and fitness equipment, on which British men expended disposable income, despite the lingering effects of the Great Depression of the 1920s and early 1930s. Publications of all stripes marketed beauty products to Britain’s voracious readers, often in very large numbers, as seen when examining magazines like Picture Post (1938–­57), which had a circulation of well over a million per week on the eve of the Second World War.24 Peddling diverse body-­oriented goods to a cross section of  British men, advertisers employed ideas about the role of scientific knowledge, the power of transformation, efficiency, personal well-­ being, and masculine success in business and romance. While each is interesting in its own right, these ideas frequently overlapped and interconnected, serving to reinforce each other in countless print advertisements. The idea of “science” as evidence or method was frequently used in promotional literature and advertisements to sell products intended to foster attractiveness in men throughout the interwar period. In a 1920s pamphlet titled Health Beauty, Lever Brothers provided advice on cleanliness in what was essentially an advertisement for Lifebuoy soap. Directed at mothers who were charged specifically with ensuring the health, cleanliness, and racial purity of their families (in an era when eugenics gave this no-

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Figure 5.1.  Image titled “Daddy, I’m ’fraid,” depicting a handsome and healthy father. The Health Doctor, Health Beauty: A Practical Text-­Book on How to Guard Family Health and Preserve Beauty (London: Lever Brothers, Ltd., [ca. 1920–­29]), 58. Courtesy of the British Library.

tion currency), the pamphlet also had much to say about attractive men.25 Mothers, working according to scientific precepts that linked the maintenance of health with the use of soap, could ensure that their sons were “clean-­skinned handsome youths” who would grow up to be “vigorous, manly m[e]n,”26 an ideal highlighted in one illustration featuring an attractive young father and titled “Daddy, I’m ’fraid” (see figure 5.1). Scientific principles also predominated in advertisements for a host of other products intended to make men handsome, including the “entirely practical” Everyman’s British Safety Haircutter.27 Manufacturers of safety razors and blades often linked scientific innovation with national greatness; Sheffield-­ based Darwin promoted advanced “rustless wonder-­edges” by encouraging

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customers to “buy British,”28 a slogan that many firms used in the 1920s and 1930s to encourage economic growth and consumer patriotism.29 One curious example from 1930 drew broadly on the language of nuclear science to promote a “Radio-­Active” Hair Tonic and announce what was billed as a “Great National ‘Hair’ Week” in the magazine Tit-­Bits. The purveyor of the tonic, a beauty culture entrepreneur from Matlock Bath in Derbyshire named Frederick Godfrey,30 promised to provide all who wrote—­and enclosed three-­pence worth of stamps—­a supply of his tonic that would get them through his so-­called Hair Week. Cast as a public spirited act, Godfrey promised to share “the greatest hair growth discovery of modern times” to those dealing with baldness and graying “and for all who have any hair deficiency or imperfection.” To emphasize the modernity of his product and his business practices he included photographs of a file room full of testimonials, a “Hair-­Research Laboratory,” and an administrative center stocked with the “latest types of modern office and labour-­saving equipment.”31 Invocations of the scientific, the efficient, and the modern became important cornerstones in advertising in the 1930s, as producers peddled goods that were said to cure a whole host of ailments and personal deficiencies. The transformative potential of body-­oriented goods was a routine feature of advertisements that appeared throughout the 1920s and 1930s.32 Frederick Godfrey highlighted this tendency in 1926 when he touted the ability of his product Renuhair to eliminate the “social and business handicap of hair poverty,” capitalizing on anxieties about social mobility and fears of unemployment at a time when both were pressing issues in British culture.33 Kotalko’s True Hair Grower was promoted in a 1930 advertisement that appeared in Tit-­Bits as a simple tonic that would ensure hair revitalization along with happiness and hope. Testimonials, a common advertising technique since the nineteenth century, reinforced Kotalko’s healing powers.34 A wife from Bedlington wrote that her husband’s “teacup”-­size bald spot was a persistent problem. After using Kotalko his hair was restored, a fact confirmed by photographic evidence.35 Transformative and restorative products like Kotalko could also function as prophylactics against the harsh exigencies of a fast-­paced modern life. The virtues of Ku-­Bist hair fixative were promoted as an antidote against “wild, dishevelled locks” that no longer “denote efficiency in any field.” Ku-­Bist allowed users to “look your best” while guarding against the perils of modern technology by making hair “speed-­proof, wind-­proof and practically water-­proof,” a point established visually with an image of a young man wearing flying or driving goggles (see figure 5.2). Redemption and transformation were clearly powerful themes in interwar advertising, as they had been in earlier periods. In selling their goods,

Figure 5.2.  Ku-­bist hair fixative promises “That Calm Unruffled Feeling.” From Tit-­Bits, no. 2531 (May 3, 1930): 269. Courtesy of the British Library.

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though, manufacturers and retailers were only too willing to exploit fears of inadequacy and contemporary concerns about psychological well-­being and self-­esteem. One 1938 Picture Post advertisement promised to alleviate the “anxiety and distress” that “impair[ed] general health” and good hair through the intervention of the hair-­consulting services of Arthur J. Pye.36 The issue of improving mood and position in life also figured in some notices for products like Brylcreem, which guaranteed tidiness and comfort;37 Linea belts (a kind of gentleman’s corset),38 which bolstered confidence; and the use of  Vinolia shaving cream, which was said to allow cool and collected Englishmen to retain imperturbability.39 Other advertisements for products like Germolene Aseptic Ointment undoubtedly reminded readers of the psychological traumas of the First World War by promising men, in 1939, an end to the disability of “facial disfigurement” and the many nights of lost sleep that one man dealing with a facial skin infection suffered.40 Concerns about attracting the opposite sex were a regular feature, as well, in advertisements throughout the 1930s and 1940s. Building on the preoccupations associated with a physical culture movement that was revived after the war,41 a number of advertisers offered methods of bodily transformation that promised both weight gain and muscle growth rendering the user a “Superman . . . Admired by Women, Respected by Men.”42 Success in life and love was thus contingent on bodily fitness and a willingness to transform physically in an increasingly image-­conscious society. This was noted in advertisements for physical culture schemes and in those intended to peddle dietary supplements. In one from 1920, Sargol Company promised that its supplement would produce “strong, sturdy men” in possession of abundant muscles and “solid, healthy flesh,” a point emphasized with an illustration that contrasted unsightly thinness with the appeal of muscular good looks (see figure 5.3). A 1935 advertisement for Dr. Gallinger’s Valitone Bonbons noted that “A Skinny Man Hasn’t a Chance,” and suggested that ingesting this product would result in the addition of pounds of “attractive flesh” to the body and an increase in stamina and “nerve force.”43 Skinny men were a problem but so were fat men who were instructed to reduce in this period to recover their manhood.44 The motivations driving this type of advertising can be unearthed by digging a bit more deeply into marketing practices, as discussed in trade publications, and into some of the strategies that major retailers pursued in the interwar period. Driven by a desire to “make the world a happier place,”45 and banish ugliness in the wake of the First World War, the editors of Hairtinting and Beauty Culture urged those involved in the beauty trade to cultivate male markets. The services they were meant to ply consisted,

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Figure 5.3.  The sellers of Sargol (a supplement) ask readers “Are You Too Thin?” From Tit-­Bits, no. 2014 (May 20, 1920): ii. Courtesy of the British Library.

according to the Acting President of the Hairdressers’ Educational Council, Gilbert A. Foan, of not just hairdressing but “massages, light and violet ray treatment, electric treatments, vibros, etc., application, paint, potions, powders, waxes, etc. etc.” In his 1926 article on “Hairdressing’s Future,” he admonished his fellow practitioners to become “beauty-­culturists to gen­ tlemen as well as ladies” and to remember that “all toilet requisites are the forte of the hairdresser.”46 The importance of cultivating male markets was noted in many other publications such as Hairdresser and Beauty Trade, Hairdressers’ Weekly Journal, Style for Men, and Sartorial Gazette. In one 1932 Hairdresser and Beauty Trade piece, Foan once again discussed the gentleman’s trade, arguing that hairdressers should not neglect their male customers just because female beauty culture seemed to be flourishing at the moment. In introducing the topic, he suggested that the creation of modern and technologically updated saloons for men (in locales like hotels) was a good way to capture the male market and increase sales.47 While Foan wanted to encourage his colleagues to capitalize on male beauty consumption, purveyors of menswear seemed only too aware that the 1930s was an intensely image-­conscious decade for British men. One contributor to Style for Men, for instance, commented on what he labeled

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the “cult of style” in a piece from 1935. Noting that the young, the middle-­ aged, and the old all now cared about the style of their clothes, he also highlighted the ubiquity of these concerns across classes: “This cult of style is not followed by the well-­to-­do alone; dustmen, at least on Sunday, are as particular about their appearance as dukes.”48 Reminding us that a concern with fashion was democratized in this era, we also see in this discussion the links that were made by many between the cult of style and the cult of individuality.49 The encouragement of fashion consciousness by many in the beauty and appearance trade—­broadly conceived—­was thus understood as a reflection of a new reality as well as a sound business practice. Capitalizing on these developments meant employing a variety of innovative techniques in shops, large and small. In the hairdressing trades, this included utilizing superior materials in saloons for “profit, prestige, and perfect results”50 and stocking products such as Yardley Powder, Harlene, and Vaseline hair tonic, all regularly advertised in print and on the BBC during broadcasts of the Football Association Cup Final.51 Within the menswear trade it entailed eye-­catching, modern, and aesthetically pleasing window displays that employed not just up-­to-­date fashions but also appropriate props, the latest display mannequins and racks,52 and the ability to sell the concept of “male polish.”53 In the 1930s, menswear retailers were increasingly expected to use photography in their catalogs and campaigns, especially if they wanted to show that they were “modern,” “progressive,” and “in search of new vitality.”54 Retailers of various body-­oriented goods and clothing were also expected to showcase them at exhibitions in the interwar period, including the Men’s Clothing Exhibition at the Agricultural Hall in Islington, London in 1923 and a broad variety of hairdressing exhibitions and pageants held by the Hairdressers’ Wholesalers’ Association in the 1930s.55 Of course, purveyors of hairdressing services, toilet and beauty preparations, and menswear also sold the aesthetic standards of the day in their shopwindows. The Hairdressers’ Weekly Journal provided advice on how to achieve the highly groomed and frequently oiled styles of the 1930s in instructional illustrations and through portraits.56 The portraits were often cut out, framed, and placed in shopwindows to drum up business and mark the services provided as “both up to date and thoroughly efficient.”57 The most popular hairstyles of the day and the prevalent clean-­shaven aesthetic evident in images in shopwindows were also featured in visual materials that appeared in periodicals such as Style for Men, which emphasized a slender, fit, youthful, and frequently upper-­class body aesthetic, even when depicting men in middle age.58 The masculine aesthetic presented in these spaces often reinforced racial Whiteness, a point made especially evident in the hairdressing press,

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which frequently ran pieces on the history of hairstyles and the cultural distinctions that separated Europeans from various racial others. These quasi-­ anthropological pieces had the effect of replicating earlier racial hierarchies that, in some cases, they were purporting to reject. Sir Thomas Oliver—­a medical man and president of the Institute of Trichologists—­noted in one article, for instance, that there is no “intrinsically superior race.” And yet, after making this seemingly ingenuous assertion, Thomas sought to differentiate Britishers “proud of the colour of their skin” from other groups including the African negro who “has an odour of a rancid nature, which to white people is extremely repellant” and the “Chinaman” who “has a yellow, almost jaundiced, skin, coarse black hair and curiously slanting eyes.”59 The various approaches advocated by the hairdressing and menswear press were put into practice by several prominent businesses in the interwar period. “Sparling Cut” tailors of  London, for instance, produced a combined catalog and magazine that showcased the fashionable lifestyle for their male customers, establishing that “a carefully and smartly dressed man makes the more impression than his carelessly dressed brother.”60 Fashionability was also marketed to customers of the Manchester establishment Redferns, which sought to grab the attention of image-­conscious men who needed “little aids of comfort” in “those few hurried moments” as they prepared for their days.61 In the interwar period, Harrods (founded in 1849 on its current site in Knightsbridge) carefully cultivated their male clients through special circulars distributed by mail.62 Summarizing the perspective of the store in 1920, the editors of Harrods News (one version of their regular circular for customers) noted: “In the social and business world the man who thinks he can afford to look less than his best might usefully think again.”63 The most common device employed by Harrods was the specialized men’s weeks the store hosted, where the focus on both male appearance and masculine consumption was signposted as paramount.64 These events occurred throughout the 1920s and 1930s. In September 1921, men and the women who shopped for them were told that clothing could impart personality.65 Store publications highlighted facial and body aesthetics prevalent in other cultural forms from the period. This was notable in an “Underwear for Men” page that highlighted a muscular, fit body in 1923,66 and, even more revealingly, in a 1928 advertisement for a Jantzen swimming suit that showcased an increasingly exposed body and contained the suggestion of male genitalia as a new sign of attractiveness (see figure 5.4). The men’s wear issue for spring 1928 asserted that a trip to Harrods could rejuvenate while also establishing that men needed good clothes to compete in games and in life: “Good clothes, well cut, well-­tailored, unobtrusively smart, breed confidence; and confidence breeds a good game. In these days every game

Figure 5.4.  A sketch of an appealing man used to sell the Jantzen two-­piece swimming suit. Harrods News, May 14, 1928, 21. Courtesy of the Harrods, Ltd. Company Archive.

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has a critically observant ‘gallery.’”67 The male shopper was thus reminded that looking good would allow him to meet the world, and scrutinizing eyes dissecting his sartorial choices, with confidence. Harrods also provided other male beauty-­related services in the interwar period. Like many expansive department stores, Harrods had catered to the marketplace of body-­oriented goods and grooming utensils for women and men alike for decades. The 1911 Harrods catalog (a hardback book) provides ample evidence of this. It also contains an essay, written by a man, that discusses the appeal of the store to masculine sensibilities, noting, for instance, the existence of a well-­stocked smoking room.68 Harrods also had male and female hairdressing departments. The rather modest, early twentieth century accommodations for the men’s hairdressing and shaving department gave way in 1930 to a more elaborate facility that was part of a concerted effort to capitalize on a revivified postwar culture of male beauty (see figure 5.5). This Men’s Hairdressing Saloon—­created at the same time as a new men’s shop that was heralded as a “great opportunity for all the menfolk”69—­was celebrated in the employee magazine the Harrodian Ga­ zette for its “at-­home-­ness” as well as its “dignity minus aloofness, and charm without ostentation.”70 The physical space combined traditional Britishness with modern amenities and fixtures. Housed in the basement below the men’s shop, which had its own separate entrance, the saloon consisted of a lounge and a large room with a variety of washing and cutting stations. The lounge resembled both a fashionable sitting room in an urban or suburban home and a gentleman’s club, while the room where men were groomed gleamed with art-­deco inspired chrome, marble, and bright, overhead lights (see figures 5.6 and 5.7). In this space men could have their hair washed and cut, get shaved, and receive manicures and massages. While the space was intended to separate men from some of the more feminine spaces of the store, it also functioned as a site of masculine consumption, pleasure, and indulgence that celebrated the power of appearances, a point reinforced in a June 1930 piece in the Harrodian Gazette titled “Your Appearance Is Important!” Noting the significance of first impressions in a fast-­paced era, the author argued that “wise folk . . . always strive to look their best.”71 These words summarize nicely the emphasis that manufacturers, retailers, and advertisers placed on male beauty in these years. By noting the importance of appearance, they tapped into a range of ideas, circulating in interwar Britain, about the possibility of personal and physical transformation, the power of modern consumption, and the quest for personal well-­being.

Figure 5.5.  Photograph detailing Harrods’s male hairdressing clients receiving treatments (ca. 1907). HA-­05-­01-­01. Courtesy of the Harrods, Ltd. Company Archive.

Figure 5.6.  Photograph of  the new Gentlemen’s Lounge at Harrods (1930). Courtesy of  the Hulton Archive via Getty Images.

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Figure 5.7.  Photograph of new men’s hairdressing saloon at Harrods (1930). HA-­05-­04-­01. Courtesy of the Harrods, Ltd. Company Archive.

Celebrity Culture between the Wars If savvy advertisers and retailers were one important force encouraging men to contemplate their appearance and invest in body-­altering goods and services, another was the expansion and growing sophistication of celebrity culture. As one Mass-­Observation report from 1940 noted, “working-­class people consider the cinema as a major influence on ‘fashion,’”72 a statement that highlights how actors could function as iconic objects of admiration and emulation.73 A tendency evident, of course, in the photographic cartes de visite and theater magazines already examined in this book, opportunities to consider male beauty and compare the ordinary with the extraordinary expanded as a visually oriented film industry and film culture grew in Britain. Feature films and ubiquitous celebrations of actors in fan magazines became opportunities to extol aesthetic virtues, create desires, and stir up insecurities and envy.74 The clothing, hairstyles, and ways of posing evident in images of film stars also guided depictions of athletes, military men,

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politicians, aristocrats, and the new figure of the male mannequin or model. These developments had both British-­specific manifestations and transnational dimensions. This was reflected in one story about the American actor Robert Taylor, who came to Britain in 1937 to film A Yank at Oxford (1938) and found himself greeted by large mobs of adoring fans: “At Southampton detectives guarded the docks, but as his train steamed out of the station hundreds of girls ran along the platform waving, shouting, singing, pressing for autographs, struggling to shake his hand through the carriage window.”75

˙∙˙ From cinema’s inception in Britain, the celebration of male film stars as exemplars of a certain type of masculine beauty figured prominently in the industry’s vibrant print culture. A two-­pence booklet titled Cinema Stars: More than 200 Photographs of  the Most Filmed Players of  the World (1915), for instance, contained images of actors and actresses from a range of English-­ speaking countries.76 Appearing in these pages were the American Earle Williams, the Briton Henry Ainley, and the Canadian Richard Travers, who was described as “an appealing hero.”77 A similar sort of publication was Film Stars of the World (1933). While the book’s beautiful photographs encouraged the admiration of  handsome faces, each profile contained key vital statistics about appearance. The following words accompanied a stunning photograph of Laurence Olivier: “Brown hair, brown eyes, five feet ten inches in height” (see figure 5.8). These portraits contained hints of the glamour that came to dominate in the work of celebrity photographers such as Cecil Beaton.78 As evidence, they showcase another form of masculine presentation, drawn from the life of the big screen, that influenced photographic conventions and perceptions of the self. Such depictions, when combined with other images in popular culture, meant that men would have found it very difficult, try as they might, to escape discussions of male beauty in this period. Celebrations of film stars also appeared in magazines geared toward a cinema-­going audience. Among the most prominent of these, which contained both photographic and textual descriptions, were Picturegoer (1911–­ 60), Picture Show (1919–­60), and Film Pictorial (1911–­60). Other more specialized publications also appeared in the interwar period, including Film Star Weekly and Girls’ Cinema, which began life in 1932. In addition to advertisements for female grooming products or regular columns on female beauty by actresses such as the American Joan Crawford, periodicals of this sort also inculcated standards of male beauty by highlighting favored actors, advertising products like a portrait stand to hold pictures of “film

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Figure 5.8.  A celebrity profile of Laurence Olivier in Film Stars of the World (London: Amalgamated Press, 1938), 138. Courtesy of the Michigan State University Libraries.

favourites,”79 and reprinting letters from female fans gushing about male cinema idols. One of these, sent in by a Miss Elizabeth Young of Glasgow, expressed an aesthetic preference for Robert Montgomery, noting that he possessed “handsome features, natural poise, . . . [a] smart yet not dazzling way of dressing” and a “charming smile.”80 This telling expression of heterosexual desire relied on attributes of masculine beauty that some young women, at least, found appealing. Similarly, same-­sex desires were

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expressed in reflections on the qualities of cinema stars. Billy Halop, who played a youthful gang leader in American films in the 1930s, was described in the diaries of queer artist Keith Vaughan as “Fierce and tender and brutal and angelic like a young animal triumphant in the sureness of its strength.”81 Other printed matter generated by film fan culture in the interwar period contained aesthetic judgments and commentaries. An intriguing 1939 booklet, written by an anonymous author, contained small studio portraits of film stars accompanied by witty little poems, many of which outlined admired physical attributes. Robert Taylor was once again characterized as both beautiful and talented while the Danish boxer turned actor Carl Brisson was described as “fair-­haired and breezy / . . . bearing as emblems of his race, / Roving blue eyes and a vital face.”82 The racialized implications of such a description would not have been lost on readers, especially when compared with descriptions of Black actors whose presence in London was noted in the press during both the filming (in 1934) and subsequent stage production (in 1938)83 of Sanders of the River. The film, released in 1935, chronicled the British presence in west Africa, focusing on relations between District Commissioner Sanders and an African chief named Bosambo. The latter role was played by the American actor and singer Paul Robeson. Press accounts of the filming process focused on the “dark faces” of actors and extras of African descent (some from Africa, some from London, and some from Cardiff ) and on the movie’s star. In one instance, the way he looked in costume was contrasted with his appearance in the 1933 film The Emperor  Jones: “Mr. Robeson, in goat-­skins, with earrings and many necklaces, is a strikingly different figure from the red-­coated emperor of his last film.”84 The aesthetics of race, and a White British fascination with Black faces, bodies, and cultures, were also evident in other spaces in the interwar years. Black entertainers and patrons flooded into Soho’s jazz clubs, such as the famed Shim Sham, in this period. These clubs, and the musical performances that occurred within them, were important to establishing communities of color in a society still mired in imperial racist sentiments. For many elite Britons who sought to transgress the boundaries of class and race in Soho, they were also sites where the Black male body could be looked at and, in some cases, experienced up close through dancing.85 Like films and film sets, Soho provided an opportunity to mark the distinctions between Black and White populations. It also, however, provided a feast for the aesthetic senses, a point made in a 1938 article in Picture Post that noted: “if you are looking for people of a different kind, you will find them more easily in Soho than elsewhere.”86 Celebrity culture in the interwar period, like that of the fin de siècle, produced a penchant not only for classifying and categorizing but also for

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collecting and consuming. Aesthetically appealing images of prominent actors and actresses were acquired by men and women alike and requested by fans in letters to actors such as John Gielgud and Vivien Leigh. In one letter written to Gielgud after seeing him play Hamlet in New York City sometime in late 1936 or early 1937, Barbara Scott Jordan of Tenafly, New Jersey, graciously asked for a photograph in terms that were both over the top and laden with desire: “I wonder if I dare ask for your portrait, Mr. Gielgud (how I have the audacity to even guess you will read this?) Have you the time and patience to satisfy my longing for one? Is that asking too much? I hope with all my heart you will graciously comply, for then I will be happy forever after.” While she explained away her exuberance as the product of adolescence, her sentiments were clearly shared by many who became “star struck.”87 Another American fan wrote around the same time to indicate that while “it is thoroughly against my principles to collect photographs,” she was making a “brilliant exception” in Gielgud’s case, ostensibly because a donation of fifty cents for the photograph could be used to aid the Actors Fund of America.88 The desire to acquire images of the handsome and famous could be fulfilled more easily in the interwar period through mundane artifacts such as cigarette cards. First developed by tobacco companies in the United States and the United Kingdom in the late nineteenth century to firm up the paper packets that machine-­rolled cigarettes were sold in, these cards reproduced images of actresses, beauty queens, and, most significantly for our purposes, actors, athletes, and military men.89 Catering primarily to male audiences (though not exclusively), these cards (some of which were photographic and some of which were colored drawings) nonetheless showcased attractive faces and commented, in text on the back, on appearance and body shape. The commodified attractive man was not just for female audiences or same-­sex-­desiring men. He also appealed to boys and young men who conformed to gender and sexual norms but who, nonetheless, partook in the pleasures of male beauty. As cultural artifacts, cigarette cards catered to multiple audiences, functioning as literal objects of fascination that might satisfy the longing for heroes, fuel fantasies about fame, function as exemplars of manhood, and highlight, for individuals across the spectrum, the erotic possibilities of the male face and body. Among the British companies most involved in manufacturing these cards and specialized display albums into which they might be pasted were W. D. and H. O. Wills (founded in Bristol) and Player’s (founded in Nottingham). Other prominent producers included W. A. and A. C. Churchman and R. and J. Hill. All became national and international interests by the early twentieth century with broad imperial reach. One Hill

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series from 1923 showcased famous cricketers with photographic portraits that were fairly informal and descriptions that contained mostly information on skills and team affiliation.90 Later that decade a series on cinemas stars was produced by Wills that included biographical details and, more frequently, discussions of an actor’s popularity or, in the instance of Ralph Forbes, his physical attributes. “Fair haired and blue eyed, Ralph Forbes is a Britisher.”91 Similar series appeared throughout the 1930s featuring actors, footballers (all sporting fashionable haircuts and clean-­shaven faces) (see plate 6), and, in 1939, “Kings of Speed” (race car drivers, motorcyclists, bicyclists, and rowers). The world champion sculler Bobbie Pearce (an Australian), for example, was celebrated not just for his prowess in the boat but also for his appearance: “A fair-­haired bronzed giant of over 6 ft., he now races at 13 ½ stone” (see figure 5.9). Other opportunities to scrutinize and stare at men who were known for particular talents or skills as well as their looks were presented to Britons in this period. Picture Post ran a number of articles in the late 1930s that presented readers with ample opportunities to view the clothed and partially unclothed male body. In 1939, the magazine ran a feature on “Over-­Forty Fitness” that showed middle-­aged men exercising in an over-­forty fitness class at the Great Russell Street YMCA in London.92 While the piece commended the efforts of these men, it invariably also reinforced hierarchies of  beauty, especially when these bodies on display were compared with pieces on the young and the attractive. One of these, focusing on sea lifeguards in Britain, Australia, and the United States, presented swimsuit-­clad bodies of young men in a variety of lifesaving poses that would have, undoubtedly, appealed to transatlantic hetero-­and homoerotic sensibilities. Most notable was a photograph, titled “Life Guards on Parade,” featuring men in Jacksonville, Florida. In this instance, the fame of this particular group was said to derive not just from their ability to prevent drowning deaths but also from their “good looks.”93 These depictions, and scores of others like them in publications such as Men Only, helped to create the popular cultural context in which British men sought to make sense of their own grooming rituals and engage in a sort of dialogue with products and body regimens that they were told held the promise of fitness, attractiveness, and, ultimately, success.94 One final form of male celebrity and visual consumption emerged in this moment of rapid change and dramatic body consciousness—­the male mannequin or model. Unlike their female counterparts, who began to appear in fashion showrooms in the early years of the century, male mannequins were not used in any extensive way in Great Britain until the 1930s.95 According to press accounts, though, they were employed in other countries early in the interwar period. One Times article, reporting on fashion shows in Berlin

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Figure 5.9.  Close-­up of  rower H. R. Pearce, no. 38 in the W. A. and A. C. Churchman’s cigarette card series “Kings of Speed” (1939). Author’s personal collection.

in 1920, led with the headline “Men Mannequins in Profusion of Colour” before proceeding with a discussion of a fashion show that told the “story of the daily life of the young Berlin buck and his charming companion” and featured one model, “a dashing young man in a traveling suit of brown with pointed patent shoes . . . and an almost brimless emerald green hat.”96 Germany was not alone. Developments, such as these, were also occurring in the United States as the Sartorial Gazette noted.97 By the late 1930s, British menswear entrepreneurs took up the idea of a “fashion parade of men” as a new “form of publicity.” The impact of live

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models was seen by tailors to be significant. If they received “special training” in how to “deport themselves with ease and some grace in public,” male mannequins could set an “example of the well-­dressed man to his fellows.”98 Male models, according to one industry insider, displayed the latest fashions as they functioned as appealing objects that whetted consumer appetites for women and men alike.99 By 1939, the practice was common in London and was reported in the popular press, as revealed in photographs in the Daily Herald (chronicling, in one case, the men’s wear shows at the Waldorf Hotel in London). While many of these men remained relatively anonymous, their presence on stages and, increasingly, in advertisements for a range of products meant that they would help to shape aesthetic standards in the period immediately before and after the Second World War.100

The Personal Experience of Male Beauty in the 1930s How did individuals across divides of class, race, age, education, and occupation respond to all of these developments? Answers to this question can be found in the records of  Mass-­Observation (M-­O), which surveyed public opinion on the rituals of dress and social hygiene in the 1930s and 1940s. Care must necessarily be taken in thinking about responses to M-­O’s directives and reports, like all historical sources, as unfiltered and unproblematic descriptions of the everyday and the mundane. This material, nonetheless, provides a rare point of access for understanding how men engaged with body-­oriented consumerism, various advertising gimmicks, and celebrity culture. It also allows us to understand how men used grooming practices to perform particular visions of masculine attractiveness and, in the process, embrace distinctive (and occasionally divergent) male gender identities. Responses to questions and queries about fashion, the adornment of hands, shaving rituals, and hairdressing show how men conceptualized a pleasing physical appearance as a modern social asset that could make them appealing to others, further their careers, and generate profound personal satisfaction.

˙∙˙ Those who volunteered to observe people on the streets or provide written responses to the directives that M-­O sent out to volunteers on a regular basis provided information about prevailing trends, practices, costs, and social meaning. When the directive that forms the core of the evidence in this section first went out to volunteers in April of 1939, respondents were

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asked to reflect on their attitudes to personal appearance and the degree of trouble and expense they devoted to grooming rituals. Other questions focused on more specific parts of the body and the face. Gender difference permeated the directive as men were asked to comment on their shaving routines while women were directed to answer questions about their use of makeup. In assessing desire and sex appeal, the authors of the directive questions assumed that all respondents were heterosexual, asking men, for instance, to comment on the reactions of female friends to badly shaven faces, mustaches, and beards. The final area of concern for M-­O was hair, focusing on shampooing practices, untidiness, baldness, and well-­being: “Do you regard a well-­groomed head of hair as an asset socially, for work, for reasons of sex-­appeal, of comfort, self-­respect, or what?”101 The correlation between success and appearance was not, of course, new. As we have seen, nineteenth-­century advertisers and beauty experts regularly commented on the connection between one’s prospects in life and physical presentation. Perspectives of this sort were also clearly present in the 1930s but added to them now was a forceful language of pleasure, personal fulfillment, and psychological satisfaction.102 In discussing responses to M-­O questions and directives, the author of the report on the 1939 directive on physical appearance offered an assessment that took into account the psychology and sociology of personal adornment. Focused on “motives for our care and adornment of ourselves,” they discussed rationality and irrationality. It was noted, for instance, that the tendency toward fashion might be deemed rational even if following others like lemmings was not. Especially prominent were ideas about conformity and the consequences that some felt they suffered for failing to live up to social expectations.103 The “rough . . . and crude empiricism” and the middle-­class biases of M-­O observers and the volunteers who responded to their directives has been noted by other historians.104 Despite this recognition, it is clear that the compiler of the report on physical appearance, who distilled and interpreted directive responses, was not fabricating the language of personal satisfaction, pleasure, and fulfillment out of thin air. While a minority of respondents indicated that they were careless or paid little or no attention to their physical appearance, most thought about it quite a bit. A twenty-­five-­year-­old insurance inspector, for example, used language reminiscent of Victorian physiognomy: “I regard appearance as generally indicative of character.” He then proceeded, however, to link styles of clothing with the “type of mind” of a man, noting along the way his own particular predilections with regard to style: “I am faddy about my dress for ‘occasions’—­dinners, dances, theatres, etc. and always like to be ‘just right.’ Am conservative . . . and prefer to be ‘under-­dressed’ rather than ‘over-­dressed.’”105 For a medical student

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from Edinburgh, satisfaction with regard to appearance came through the joys of sexual, social, and academic success: “I suppose the chief reasons for dressing well are invariably for self-­advancement—­usually sexual, sometimes for business or social reasons or to impress examiners.”106 The importance of looking good for occupational reasons ran across a fairly broad social spectrum. In a preliminary report from 1939 on clothing among the working classes in the industrial town of Bolton, identified by M-­O as “Worktown,” the subjects quoted frequently discussed what M-­O labeled as “clothes confidence.” As an example, one subject highlighted the importance of spending money on clothes and maintaining a neat facade: “there is no possible excuse for economising on clothes; a man should spend all he can afford on his wardrobe. Appearances are everything.” This subject, a clerk, regularly patronized the services of the Fifty Shilling Tailors, taking advantage of their off-­the-­rack but personally fitted suits to achieve the “neatness, tidiness, and smartness” that his position necessitated. Most interesting perhaps were the ways in which he linked clothing and “psychological and moral effect.” For him, “dress” was seen as having an “uplifting effect on the mind,” an ability to “satisfy psychological demands,”107 while also offering a possible route to social mobility in an era when that was much more likely than in the past, a point also made in advertisements by the more upmarket tailor Burton’s.108 Some respondents to the April 1939 directive were equally conscious of the links between mental well-­being and appearance, employing an explicit language of psychological self-­realization.109 This point was made abundantly clear in the responses of a thirty-­seven-­year-­old single man from Streatham Common in London. While he began his response by invoking the vocabulary of duty that was also present in advertisements exhorting men to pay attention to their appearance, he quickly moved on to an emphatic language of psychological fulfillment that highlighted consciousness, self-­esteem, and confidence: “My conscious reasons for trying to look nice are firstly self-­esteem I suppose.” He continued by noting that people looked up to those who were “neat & smart” and that a good appearance produced not just confidence but the ability to “[attract] both sexes towards me,” hinting at the multiple pleasures that the attractive man could produce. Class anxieties also influenced this respondent’s perspective: “I hate to be thought common or rough; & thus I try to look smart & keep my dignity.”110 The ideas of self-­respect and self-­esteem were the most common themes in discussions of the psychological benefits of a smart appearance. Some went further, however, invoking Freud in their directive responses. In formulating his critique of the “colourless, drab, stiff and starched” attire of the London city clerk, an engineer’s draftsman from Surrey, and

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proponent of men’s dress reform,111 noted that this uniform was “quite out of place” in “these days of Freudian enlightenment.”112 As many M-­O subjects and respondents noted, fulfillment through a pleasant personal appearance was, however, only attainable by those who steadfastly committed to a daily grooming ritual and the use of the panoply of products that were advertised everywhere in the late 1930s. While some admitted to being a bit careless about their grooming rituals, nearly all recognized that certain social expectations for a clean-­shaven face and well-­ coiffed head of hair existed. A twenty-­five-­year-­old clerk from Newport in South Wales noted that he was torn between a desire to conform and a tendency “to feel Bohemian.” In the end, however, he highlighted the importance of social expectations when he observed: “I might record (not with pride!) that on occasion it has been indicated to me that I might shave oftener, that I might take more care of my hair, & c.”113 The importance ascribed to the shaving routine in starting one’s day out on the right foot was highlighted by a twenty-­nine-­year-­old Temperance Friendly Society secretary who indicated: “I don’t like to see badly shaven or unshaven faces and I always feel very unkempt if I haven’t shaved—­in fact it gives me a definite inferiority complex.”114 In the process, he linked slovenliness with the psychological concept of the inferiority complex, developed by the Austrian psychiatrist Alfred Adler and popularized in publications like H. L. Beales and R. S. Lambert’s Memoirs of the Unemployed (1934).115 In the 1930s, the shaving process for most men involved using either traditional straightedge razors and strops or the newer blades produced by Gillette or Wilkinson (with a small minority experimenting with electric shavers). Men had an array of choices with regard to the types of soaps used, with some opting for brushless creams and sticks and others maintaining the tradition of using hard blocks of soap that were applied to the face with a brush. After shaving, many used a range of powders and aftershaves to complete the process and ensure that the face recovered adequately from the punishing scraping it had just received. Rituals of masculine grooming and the male relationship to specific products was revealed in a variety of  responses to M-­O queries about personal appearance and toilet practices in 1937. In a report providing extracts from responses on this topic, men were careful to note the types of products they used and the ways in which these fit into their typical morning routines. One cameraman, for instance, stated that he used a Valet razor, that he “soaped” his face with Lifebuoy and that, as he prepared to shave, he “took a very large tube of  Williams Shaving Cream off the shelf and squeezed about 2/3 of an inch ito [sic] the centre of the shaving brush.”116 Responses on shaving also provided insight into one’s class position and living situation. A university undergraduate discussed in the 1937 report

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noted the specific products he used, the shared culture of shaving that linked friends and family alike, and, in this case, the privileges of international travel: “Collect razor (cheap Gilette [sic]) in case stolen from brother, mirror (3 ½ inch diameter Woolworth shaving mirror) sponge (bought in Athens), shaving soap.”117 The commitment to particular products, evident here and elsewhere, was, in fact, precisely what advertisers had been hoping to achieve by offering consumers the promise of transformation through the use of specific goods. Responses that reveal social origins or living arrangements, as well as a commitment to certain products, were also evident in the material produced by the April 1939 directive. A thirty-­year-­old upholsterer from Nottingham noted that he shaved five times a week, using a Gillette safety razor and a “shilling shaving stick of soap.”118 Since his house lacked a bathroom, he shaved in the scullery, where he enacted a ritual of laying out his gear before beginning the process of washing and shaving. Men with greater means might visit the barber or hairdresser on a regular basis for a close shave or retreat to private bathrooms for their daily ablutions.119 The appearance of the hair was of equal, or perhaps greater, concern to many M-­O respondents in 1939, who commented on issues ranging from the fixatives and tonics they used to the frequency of their haircuts and concerns about baldness. A twenty-­eight-­year-­old assistant buyer and salesman provided brief insights into his view of hair and hair care noting, in the first instance: “I should loathe going bald—­You see I am very small—­& small bald men are usually, well, shall we say unpleasant!” He then discussed his use of “solidified brillantine [sic]” and his perception that a well-­groomed head of hair was both a social asset and marker of self-­respect.120 A clerk from Newcastle was even more explicit about the products he used and the social meaning of hair. After delineating a routine that involved alternating between the use of an oily fixative, Vaseline hair tonic, and liquid paraffin to combat dryness and dandruff, he opined: “a well-­groomed head of hair looks smart, and above all other considerations, it denotes personal tidiness.” He concluded with the following comments: “Anyone who has his hair waved—­unnaturally I mean, desires to be called a ‘Cissie,’ ‘Pansy,’ ‘Collar and Cuff,’ or other suitable ‘handle.’”121 With this observation we are reminded that narratives of personal grooming allowed respondents to position themselves in the gender and sexual hierarchies of the day in an era when, according to one reporter in a 1937 issue of the Manchester Guardian, British men were increasingly likely to “take advantage of those beautifying methods which give his sister so great an advantage.”122 A number of respondents to the M-­O directive of 1939 walked a fine line between indicating care about their appearance and a form of vanity that at least some associated with nonconformity. Excess in the direction

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of dandyism or effeteness was seen as especially problematic, particularly in an era when undue attention to personal appearance in the form of permanently waved hair or the use of cosmetics was connected, in popular and legal cultures alike, with queerness.123 A sixty-­seven-­year-­old retired clerk from Letchworth discussed standards of physical appearance as a kind of balancing act, a tendency to avoid extremes that could be viewed as excessive in one direction or another: “I like to see a reasonable & moderate amount of attention paid to personal appearance, the happy mean between slovenliness & foppishness.”124 Others were even more explicit in separating what they considered to be an appropriately masculine attention to physical appearance from forms of adornment and personal grooming that marked one as something less than a normal man. Many respondents saw dressing the hands with rings (other than a simple signet ring or a wedding band), for example, as beyond the pale. One forty-­seven-­year-­old volunteer noted that he was “prejudiced against Englishmen wearing flashy rings,”125 while others viewed excessively manicured or “liberally decked” hands as a sign of  “abnormality,”126 or effeminacy.127 While hair, hands, and dress were viewed as markers of masculine conformity or deviance, facial hair could also be read as a crucial indicator of one’s place in the hierarchy of men both in terms of generational positioning and the early to mid-­twentieth-­century sexual order. Some viewed mustaches or beards, particularly on older and military men, as appropriate indicators of character,128 especially when they suited the wearer. Facial hair, then, was contingent on circumstances. A clerk from Muswell Hill, London, noted, with some humor, “Hitler’s moustache is comic, Eden’s is becoming.”129 Others were decidedly more critical about facial hair, especially when worn by young men or when the mustache was the excessively trendy “thin wisp,” seen, for instance, on the American actor Clark Gable.130 The Surrey-­based engineer’s draftsman mentioned earlier characterized mustaches in the following way: “I have no particular view about moustaches except that they are mostly worn by little men who are afraid of being mistaken for boys!!!”131 Younger men who wore mustaches could be accused not only of trying too hard to be manly,132 but also of sexual and gender nonconformity. The Temperance Friendly Society secretary from Peterborough noted, for instance: “I don’t like moustaches, in young men, very much. The usual small ones, to my mind, give a ‘nancy boy’ look.”133 Statements, such as these, highlight the diversity of meanings that could be assigned to different aspects of the groomed male head and face. They also remind us how, for twentieth-­ century Britons, gender and sexual subjectivities were less about character (as they had been in the Victorian era) and more about outward markers and an active engagement with modern consumer society.

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This was nowhere more apparent than in the case of one transgender respondent, a London insurance official who identified himself as “physically female; mentally etc. male” and as “‘married’ in a permanent homosexual relationship with another woman.” In so doing, this respondent highlighted the slippages that occurred, in some self-­fashionings, between the masculine and the feminine and the normative and the deviant. He was, he asserted, in “a half-­way position, being officially a woman, yet dressing and regarding personal appearance from a mainly masculine point of view.”134 With this observation, he also pointed to some of the ways in which adherence to typically male grooming practices was important (as it was in the case of the more famous transgender man—­Michael Dillon)135 to a transition in gender presentation. This was especially evident in his description of hairdressing rituals, the performance of which established a kind of psychic link with his biologically male peers: “I have my hair cut on the average about once a month. Everyone else has his done on pay-­day, so I leave mine a day or two just to show it wasn’t only the shilling!” This particular performance of masculinity also involved the regular use of brilliantine to keep his hair tidy. After providing a careful description of the products, he ended with an assertion of masculinity that highlighted, implicitly, a rejection of dandyism or effeminacy: “My use is purely utilitarian.”136 Men in the 1930s were clearly engaged with the consumerist ideas of transformation, bodily control, and physical management in an era when these traits were seen as essential for a country again on the verge of war. What is of, perhaps, greater significance are the ways in which M-­O subjects engaged in a multifaceted dialogic process with products, advertisements, and gendered and sexualized discourses in the 1930s and early 1940s to produce aestheticized notions of the self. In weaving these narratives, respondents drew on ideas of dissatisfaction and fulfillment, conformity and deviance, neatness and slovenliness, and beauty and ugliness not only to locate their position in the masculine beauty culture of the period but also, as one respondent noted, “to gratify [their] desire for fitness and harmony.”137 With this simple statement, this thirty-­one-­year-­old man from Colne, Lancashire, highlighted how ideas of personal pleasure, bodily health, and, ultimately, psychological subjecthood could be wrapped up in the daily (and mundane) rituals of facial grooming, hair care, and shaving, a subject covered in chapters 7 and 8, where M-­O material, once again, features prominently.

Masculine Beauty and the Second World War The British found themselves at war again with Germany following the in­ vasion of  Poland by Hitler’s troops in September 1939. Soldiers, sailors, and

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especially Royal Air Force pilots—­often referred to as “flyers”—­became, as they had during the Great War, objects of the female and male gaze.138 With mass mobilization, men in uniform flooded into British streets, eliciting fascination, desire, and, in some instances, concern.139 As American troops arrived in earnest in the spring and summer of 1942, they were characterized as both desirable and glamorous, likened to the Hollywood actors that women and men alike saw on cinema screens each weekend throughout Great Britain.140 British women whose admiration of foreign troops (especially men of color from the United States and the West Indies) spilled over into fraternization could find that their “sexual patriotism” was questioned.141 Although anxieties about the male face and body were generated, once again, by facial injuries and particularly the burns that some Royal Air Force pilots suffered while operating new killing technologies, the aesthetic shock of these injuries seems to have been less acutely felt, perhaps because Britons had been desensitized to the horrors of war by the experiences of 1914–­18. In this era, images of attractive soldiers or sailors entered the British imagination, particularly in advertising and the popular press, as symbolically charged exemplars of masculinity, objects of fantasy, and glamorous symbols of modernity. The aesthetic opportunities that war presented are tellingly foregrounded in the experiences, journals, and work of the artist Keith Vaughan. In Vaughan, we are presented with an occasion to further explore notions of psychological selfhood while also considering how one man viewed and celebrated the attractive face and body and participated, more broadly, in the culture of male beauty.

˙∙˙ A tremendous amount of  hope and national energy was invested in Britain’s military during the war. This cultural tendency led advertisers, even as they contended with paper shortages and rationing,142 to use military images to convey a variety of meanings about body-­oriented products and services. Advertisements in Picture Post and Men Only during these years communicated messages about aesthetic standards; about the relationship between cleanliness, military preparedness, and national fitness; about female roles in the maintenance of masculine appearances; and about the relationship between good looks and the ability to be noticed. By the Second World War, advertising also more routinely employed photographs. This furthered a tendency to scrutinize, assess, long for, and fetishize the faces and bodies of soldiers that has always been a component of war. More than a century earlier, Mrs. Bennett and the younger of the Bennett sisters (Catherine and Lydia) in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice dramatized the allure that army

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officers, however caddish, possessed in Britain during the Napoleonic Wars (1803–­15). As Mrs. Bennett put it: “I remember the time when I liked a red coat myself very well.”143 The military men showcased in advertisements for products as diverse as Brylcreem and Fry’s Cocoa were uniformly White, clean-­shaven, and in a possession of a full head of carefully groomed (usually brilliantined) hair. Their Whiteness belied the realities of the British war effort, which relied on the contributions of  war workers, soldiers, airmen, and sailors from various imperial locales, including the West Indies, various African colonies, and the Indian subcontinent.144 It was, nonetheless, consistent with the advertising tendencies in much of the national press at a point in time when the non-­W hite population of Britain was growing but still relatively small. When bodies were revealed in this material, they displayed not only the markers of  Whiteness but also of athletic fitness and moderate muscularity that predominated in this era, a point made abundantly clear in recruitment notices for the Royal Air Force (see figure 5.10). It is important to note, additionally, that the conventions of photographic portraiture used in advertisements drew, quite extensively, on the traditions of representation that had emerged in cinema-­related publications as well as in the studio portraits and snapshots of soldiers and sailors that were taken during these years.145 Advertisers for a range of male grooming products seemed to take as a patriotic duty the need to emphasize the handsomeness of British military men. One 1940 Brylcreem notice highlighted the product’s ability to promote a healthy scalp and a smart appearance by positioning the attractive face of a service-­aged man next to a simple quote that rendered the aesthetic meaning of the image indisputable: “a handsome time for a fine head of hair.”146 An even more emphatic attempt at connecting service to the nation and physical appeal was made in an advertisement for Eucryl Tooth Powder, which showcased an attractive, smiling man dressed in a Royal Air Force uniform with the following words superimposed over the insignia on his hat: “Handsome, courageous, smart, and bright, / His smile shows teeth made ‘Eucryl White.’”147 Indeed, the glamour of the Royal Air Force flyer that historian Martin Francis has established in his work on the topic is evident in other advertisements that used his impressive physical attributes and romantic appeal to sell products like Parker Vacumatic Pens. 148 Men in uniform pictured in advertisements also functioned as objects of desire. One from 1940 for Fortune chocolates (by A. J. Caley in Norwich) showed a young woman touching the collar of a sailor (a superstitious gesture that was thought to bring the toucher good luck).149 While building on an old tradition, the act in this advertisement also possessed a sexual frisson in the

Figure 5.10.  Using attractive men to encourage volunteers for the Royal Air Force. Picture Post, Jan­uary 18, 1941, 4. Courtesy of Chronicle/Alamy Stock Photo.

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knowing and playful glances exchanged between the man and woman and the appealing face and body of the soldier. The attractive and well-­groomed military body was also invested with meaning about efficiency, cleanliness, and control—­topics of vital importance during a “People’s War” in which every facet of daily life was seen as an emblem of British steel and resolve.150 Maclean’s toothpaste, in the early stages of the war, for instance, established a connection between military preparedness, bright-­faced good looks, and sparkling teeth in one advertisement that consisted of two images: the top one showing a sergeant checking on the readiness of his troops, asking “Did you maclean your teeth to-­day?” and the bottom one highlighting an impossibly chipper young man displaying brilliant, white teeth and peering out from the tent, responding with an emphatic “Yes, Sergeant.”151 Brylcreem similarly exploited prevailing concerns about both masculinity and wartime readiness in peddling their hairdressing products. Advertisements from 1940 employed images of handsome army and navy men to highlight Brylcreem’s power to allow them to “work efficiently,”152 to become “men of action,”153 and to assist them in being “smart in appearance,” a trait that would make them successful at work.154 Soap advertisers also employed the faces and bodies of military figures in their notices to highlight the importance of cleanliness, protection, and prevention during times of conflict. With reference to the sacrifices of war, Lifebuoy (a popular soap introduced by Lever Brothers in the late nineteenth century) capitalized on the desire for fitness and freshness.155 In one August 1940 advertisement, the company touted its ability to banish body odor and reinvigorate at a time when “hard work and longer hours” were required. Punctuating this point was an image showcasing a smiling, handsome man on his way to a bath casually outfitted in a dressing gown. A 1942 advertisement also celebrated Lifebuoy’s ability to get “you fresh again in a jiffy” by appealing directly to male consumers with a picture of a handsome soldier who addressed readers as “chums” and undoubtedly conjured images of homosocial military spaces (including communal baths and showers) while also appealing to female viewers who may have been buying the soap to send directly to men at the front.156 Supporting the troops then often entailed protecting their appearance and the sanctity of their bodies through the purchase of particular goods, a point made abundantly clear in an advertisement for Wright’s Coal Tar Soap. The product was billed as a “safe soap” that combated disease and provided “skin protection for the Services.” A drawn image of a Royal Air Force member and its caption reinforced this point: “You can’t fight infection for him—­but Wright’s can!”157 Frequently, the “you” in these advertisements was the female consumer, purchasing items for her loved ones in the service. While the domestic roles

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of  women in wartime have been explored by many,158 it is important to remember the ways in which investments in masculine beauty became yet another mechanism through which women provided invaluable wartime service. Time and again throughout the war, women were admonished to send products that maintained male personal appearance and health and, by extension, the aesthetic pleasures associated with the male face and body. This theme was evident in advertisements that emerged almost as soon as the war began. Valet Autostrop Safety Razor, for instance, ran a notice in November 1939 that employed the device of the letter home from a young man to his mother. Within it, the author requested a Valet razor, noting that “most of the chaps out here have one.” As a response to this demand, his mother (and all female customers) were instructed: “Send him a Valet and he will thank you, not only now, but for many years to come.”159 The hair tonic company Silvikrin explicitly promoted women as aesthetic saviors in comic strip advertisements that highlighted the role they could play in helping men combat hair loss from “war worry” (see figure 5.11).160 With these campaigns, advertisers valorized heterosocial relations in an era when the heterosexual ideal was celebrated as essential to the nation’s future and, as historian Matt Houlbrook has demonstrated in his study of London, seen as increasingly distinct from queer spaces and practices.161 Creating a spectacle of the uniformed or military body also occurred through other means. As it had during the Great War, the British government specifically enlisted the support of artists, under the auspices of the War Artists Advisory Committee, in documenting the conflict and those who fought in it.162 In a book published by the art critic Eric Newton during the final phases of the war, this work was characterized as conveying artistic perspectives on the conflict as well as individual “subject’s characteristic qualities.”163 Military men appeared in a variety of different poses in this book, frequently in ways that highlighted their well-­developed, partially clad bodies (when at rest) or their handsome faces, including a 1941 portrait by painter Henry Lamb of Trooper Owen of the Fortieth Battalion of the Royal Tank Regiment (see plate 7).164 Most famous, perhaps, were the portraits of Royal Air Force pilots completed by Sir William Rothenstein, an act described in one article with these words: “Britain’s famous artists devout [sic] themselves to painting Britain’s heroes.”165 Of course, this tendency was also replicated in other cultural forms including a small illustrated book by Samuel Gorley Putt titled Men Dressed as Seamen,166 and throughout Picture Post, where portraits of military figures abounded.167 The life of one man offers a window into the place of the attractive military body in British visual culture: the self-­identified homosexual artist Keith Vaughan. Vaughan, who lived from 1912 until 1977, inhabited a

Figure 5.11.  Silvikrin promises to help afflicted men achieve a better head of hair and avoid shocking their loved ones. “John’s head gave Joan a shock,” Picture Post, June 8, 1940, 36. Courtesy of the University of  Vermont Library.

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world in which homosexual acts remained illegal (until 1967), ideas about sexual development were increasingly informed by Freudian perspectives, and homosexuality came to be seen as a “social problem.”168 Firmly middle class, Vaughan was educated at Christ’s Hospital (an independent boarding school), where his interest in art developed. As the war began, he provided service first as a volunteer in the Saint John’s Ambulance Brigade and then, after registering as a conscientious objector in 1940,169 as a worker in the Pioneer Corps (from 1941–­43) and (from 1943) as a clerk and interpreter in a prisoner-­of-­war (POW) camp in Yorkshire. Following the conflict, his artistic career flourished, with a number of public exhibitions and teaching posts at both the Central School of Arts and Crafts and the Slade, several prominent commissions, and many accolades and awards, including a CBE (Commander of the British Empire) in 1965. Celebrated for his depictions of landscape and the male nude in photographs and paintings, Vaughan is equally well known (among some at least) for the voluminous diaries he kept from 1939 until his death in 1977 (750,000 words spread out over sixty-­ two notebooks).170 Decidedly contemporary in perspective, Vaughan’s work can be firmly situated in the modernist canon, influenced simultaneously by neo-­Romantic traditions of  landscape painting, Continental cubism, and abstractionism.171 His work was also rich in historical precedent and classical allusions. By focusing on beautiful adolescents and athletic young men frolicking at the seaside or swimming in London parks on various occasions throughout the 1930s, Vaughan clearly referenced earlier homoerotic traditions presented, most notably, in the nude photographs of the German Wilhelm von Gloeden but also in the seaside paintings of Henry Scott Tuke and the bathing scenes created by Paul Cézanne.172 In a stunningly beautiful photograph titled Two Men at Highgate Ponds, Vaughan merged these traditions with those of the physical culture, naturist, and bathing crazes of the early twentieth century (see figures 5.12 and 5.13). The focus on exposed or covered buttocks and penises in many of these photographs reminds us that swimming ponds and beaches were not just places where one might view men in a nude or nearly nude state as exemplars of masculine beauty. They were also sites of sexual desire and opportunity, a point made clear in a number of entries in Vaughan’s diary where he observed the beauty of both swimmers and fishermen.173 Vaughan’s paintings are equally complex in terms of historical prece­ dents and forms of representation that both camouflaged and revealed.174 Drawing, once again, on the familiar theme of bathing, many of these paintings reference the seaside as a site of homosocial bonding and erotic potential. Yet, the eroticism is both direct and oblique. While faces and penises

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Figure 5.12.  Keith Vaughan’s photograph of  two men at Highgate Ponds (ca. 1935). Contained in an assembled album called Dick’s Book of  Photographs (in honor of  Vaughan’s brother Dick, who died during WWII). Aberystwyth University, School of  Art Museums and Galleries, PH 285. © 2020 Artists Rights Society (ARS) NY/DACS, London.

may be abstracted beyond recognition, buttocks feature prominently in marking musculature and erotic potential, as was the case in 1940’s Two Figures by the Shore.175 This mixed-­media piece176 captured the male body in various poses during the war, as did other eroticized works (some of which were purchased by the War Artists Advisory Committee in 1943)177 depicting men dressing and showering or in relaxed poses in barracks (see fig­ ure 5.14).178 Vaughan’s use of groups in much of this work and the suggested sexual opportunity associated with washing, toweling, and touching hinted at both the possibilities of looking at beautiful men during the war and important same-­sex urban pleasures embodied in the form of Turkish bathhouses on Harrow Road, Jermyn Street, Russell Square, and Bermondsey in London.179

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Vaughan’s photographs and paintings clearly reveal much about how he saw beautiful men. His diaries, which function as detailed accounts of daily life and, in his own words, a “sexual autobiography,”180 also allow us to understand how one same-­sex-­desiring man interpreted the aesthetic opportunities presented by public life and military service in wartime. Commenting on the newly uniformed in his entry for August 30, 1939, he

Figure 5.13.  Keith Vaughan’s photograph of a young man bathing (ca. 1934–­36). Contained in Dick’s Book of Photographs. Aberystwyth University, School of Art Museums and Galleries, PH 297. © 2020 Artists Rights Society (ARS) NY/DACS, London.

Figure 5.14.  Keith Vaughan’s rendering of a barrack room during the Second World War (1942). Imperial War Museum, Art.IWM ART LD 2412. Courtesy of the Imperial War Museum.

Plate 1.  “P for Publican,” from William Nicholson, An Alphabet (London: William Heinemann, 1898). Courtesy of the University of Vermont.

Plate 2.  Advertising card featuring attractive man in clothes by Doré and Sons, Ltd., London (1906). John Johnson Collection, Men’s Clothes, 3(24).

Plate 3.  Henry Scott Tuke, Boys Bathing, 1912. Falmouth Art Gallery, Cornwall, UK. Courtesy of Bridgeman Images.

Plate 4.  Charles Burgess Fry’s athletic body and handsome face on display in a study by Sir Leslie Ward. “Men of the Day—­no. 584. Mr. Charles Burgess Fry,” Vanity Fair, April 19, 1894. Author’s personal collection.

Plate 5.  Parliamentary Recruiting Committee poster urging young men to volunteer. Printed by David Allen and Sons, Ltd. (1915). Imperial War Museum, Art.IWM PST 5162. © Imperial War Museum.

Plate 6.  W. D. and H. O. Wills Association Footballers cigarette card series (1935). Author’s personal collection.

Plate 7.  Portrait of Trooper Owen, Fortieth Battalion, Royal Tank Regiment by Henry Lamb (1941). Government Art Collection, Located at Ministry of Defence, Main Building, Whitehall, London. © Image; Crown Copyright: UK Government Art Collection.

Plate 8.  A young man assesses his appearance. February 1978 entry, Johnny Black Diaries, Notebook 3 (November 1977–­March 1979), 37. Mass Observation Archive, SxMOA99/5/1/4. Reproduced with the permission of Johnny Black.

Plate 9.  Challenging the binary. David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust during a concert at Earl’s Court Exhibition Hall, London (May 12, 1973). Ilpo/Musto/Alamy Stock Photo.

Plate 10.  Using the attractive man to promote safer sex. Terrence Higgins Trust, Sex: Free Leaflet (ca. late 1980s). Image courtesy of the Wellcome Library.

Plate 11.  The swimmer aesthetic and the promotion of safer sex. Poster for the Choose Safer Sex campaign (ca. 1985–­92). Image courtesy of the Wellcome Library.

Plate 12.  Examining the male body. Cover image for Zed Nelson, “Make Me Perfect: How Far Would You Go to Get the Body You Dream Of?,” Guardian Weekend, May 16, 2009, 16–­27. Author’s personal collection.

Plate 13.  Attractive cricketers peddling body care products. Advertisement for Hugo Boss, Observer Sport Monthly, no. 112 ( June 2009): 2–­3. The Advertising Archives/Alamy Stock Photo.

Plate 14.  The male model as modern celebrity. Photograph of David Gandy taken by Mario Testino for Dolce and Gabbana’s “Light Blue Intense” campaign (2016). © Mario Testino. Courtesy of Art Partner Licensing.

Plate 15.  Sam Kneen (Mr. Gay UK, 2011) from a shoot with British photographer Paul Reiffer. © Paul Reiffer.

Plate 16.  The swimsuit aesthetic in advertising. Advertisement for the Soho bar Circa during Pride celebrations ( June 28, 2014), QX Magazine, no. 1007 ( June 2014): 56–­57. Author’s personal collection.

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observed: “The boys look very proud and confident in their sleek new blue uniforms . . . smiling—­remembering perhaps the scenes they have seen in the films of the young troop[s] cheered and splendid looking in 1914.”181 These observations were not, however, merely detached reflections on aesthetics or the influence of celebrity culture. Vaughan was, in fact, quite explicit in noting how viewing men in public might satisfy him sexually. During his time as a Saint John’s Ambulance Brigade volunteer in Guilford, he recorded several scenes that highlight the pleasure derived from observations of male homosociality on display. In one visit to a café, Vaughan spotted a group of (seemingly queer) young men and fixated on their appearance, commenting: “The one with fair hair was nice looking—­savage and catlike, and taught [sic] as wire. The hairs on his neck gleamed like silver thorns in the light.” He later commented on seeing them in the road, observing them engage in sexual horseplay, which had a profound impact on him: “I wanted to loose [sic] myself in their careless animality to soak and drown my too dry sense with their heavy lust. I was stiff and hot when I turned in at the door and they went on shouting into the clean night.”182 Throughout the diaries, Vaughan regularly records his observations of the men he encounters, assessing looks to articulate desire and highlighting potential moments of sexual opportunity. In a hotel in Chamonix, France (where Vaughan traveled in the winter of 1940), for instance, he fixated on a “boy” who he described as “coarse, small, rough skinned, dark, and sexy looking, tight about the trousers and rather soft hot eyes.” Commenting on how others often found opportunities in hotels, he opined “this was a situation when one did such things.”183 Vaughan also found opportunities to enjoy the attractions of other men on London trains, commenting in an entry on May 9, 1940, on the “arresting, dark, and brown” eyes of a fellow passenger.184 Similarly, London streets provided chances to get distracted by a “silky faced French boy”185 and RAF men in Piccadilly Station.186 Vaughan’s movements during the war meant that he had ample opportunities to observe the beauty of men in other locales. These included pubs in Malton, Yorkshire (where he was stationed beginning in 1943),187 and on the streets of York where he noted being “haunted wherever I went with beautiful & desirable & unknown people.”188 The homosocial nature of military life as a member of the Pioneer Corps and as an interpreter at the POW camp in Malton provided additional opportunities to reflect on and indulge in male beauty and his desires for other men. As Vaughan began his Pioneer Corps service in 1941, he noted the aesthetic possibilities of this experience and his psychological predisposition to engage in this activity: “There are beautiful people here. Beautiful to look at and to know that my eyes search for them and follow them only from the

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mechanics of habit, and not from any inner compulsion.”189 That summer he noted the effects of the sun on those with whom he was working: “arms and faces bronze, hair bleached.” Like in most other instances in his diary, his attention turned to one young man in particular who was identified, in ways that remind us of how Rupert Brooke was remembered, as a “gilded Apollonian youth.”190 Occasions such as these presented themselves throughout the war. In March of 1944, Vaughan described meeting a lorry driver named Anthony Field who possessed the “vitality of  youth” and looked like the American actor Bobby Burns, reflecting once again the impact of celebrity culture on Vaughan’s aesthetic categorization. In summarizing Field’s appeal, Vaughan employed not only the traditional language of beauty but also an assessment of the mechanics of looking: “His face is a landscape which the eye travels over and takes in bit by bit, not a view which can be absorbed at a glance.”191 The presence of such beauty in wartime also presented a regular longing for companionship, distraction, and sex: “But wartime offers all sorts of escapes. Uniforms.”192 For Vaughan, his finely honed aesthetic observations were part and parcel of how he understood his sexuality and key to helping him comprehend why it was that certain men and certain scenarios were especially appealing. In one entry from October 1941, for instance, he gave some insight into what was enticing about sharing a tent with other soldiers. In reference to what one “guardsman” told him about sleeping six to a tent in the summer when men “made their beds up in pairs,” he noted: “Already I can anticipate a debauch.” He went further in this entry to link looks—­ “blond and friendly, nice looking”—­and the guardsmen’s possession of a “tiny golden tin of  Vaseline” (frequently used as a lubricant by men) with specific sexual fantasies and a desire for a successful “pairing.”193 Such opportunities to revel in beauty and indulge in sexual fantasy were not without complications for Vaughan who worried about compromising his friendships by not “controlling my instincts.”194 Aside from revealing how one man experienced the war from an aesthetic perspective, Vaughan’s entries provide wonderful insights into the sorts of personal experiences he drew on in his art, as he sought to depict both the beauty and the allure of the male world of army camps.

˙∙˙ During the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s, a varied culture of masculine display and male beauty thrived, despite the disruptions of economic depression and war. In visually stimulating campaigns, savvy advertisers peddled new visions of personal success and modern selfhood as they attempted to sell

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grooming products and clothing styles intended to produce a pleasing appearance. Increasingly, the faces and bodies that appeared in these advertisements served as objects of emulation and aesthetic tokens, a function shared with other material forms such as cinema magazines and cigarette cards. Together, notices for various consumer goods and the artifacts of celebrity culture—­in both its British and transnational dimensions—­had a profound impact on how Britons understood who and what was attractive. During the war, soldiers, sailors, and airmen entered British visual culture as celebrities in their own right. Part fashion mannequin, part object of desire, and part national symbol, the uniformed military man functioned as an icon of both masculine beauty and British fortitude. The opportunities that M-­O presented to interwar Britons to delineate their grooming practices and discuss their personal engagement with the complex culture of male beauty were unique. Unfortunately for us, comparable material is not really available for the nineteenth century. It is through this material that we are able to grasp how relatively ordinary Britons groomed their faces, adorned their bodies, and engaged with advertising gimmicks and celebrities. Within their responses, M-­O volunteers also reflected on notions of self-­esteem, understandings of ugliness and attractiveness, and what it meant to be appealing to others. These themes also permeate the personal diaries of Keith Vaughan who used this form of self-­expression to reflect on psychological development and his own personality quirks. Unusually frank as expressions of aesthetic preferences and sexual desires, his entries provide insight into how one man made sense of his sexual identity at a moment when the modern categories of both the homosexual and heterosexual were coming into sharper relief. The next chapter continues this narrative, illustrating how changes in the mid-­twentieth century set the stage, in telling ways, for what would come in subsequent decades.

[  Ch a pter 6   ]

Teenagers, Bodybuilders, and Models Charles Laughton gets my vote as the ugliest man in the world, which won’t upset him in the least. Mr. Laughton, a flabby 58 who could play an octogenarian without much make-­up, once described himself as looking like an elephant’s behind. Ev e Per r i c k , Daily Mail (1958) Gregory Peck, I’m convinced is the most beautiful man in the world. I say this irrespective of my previous remarks about intelligence, etc. The Peck phiz and physique are gorgeous enough to offset any defects in other departments. Ev e Per r i c k , Daily Mail (1958)

When rationing and other austerity measures in the 1940s and early 1950s gave way to greater affluence, prosperity, and consumer opportunities in the late 1950s and 1960s, the marketplace for a whole range of goods revived and expanded.1 As they had prior to the war, grooming products for men proliferated with advertising campaigns focusing on the connections between a pleasing appearance, personal satisfaction, and psychological wellness.2 The use of hair tonics, shaving products, and various electrical devices was often linked in these advertisements to a British engagement with technological modernity and a desire to put one’s best foot forward in a society and economy recovering from war.3 Advertisements were not, however, the only cultural space where these reflections occurred. Articles and stories that highlighted personal appearance, bodybuilding, or physical fitness appeared in magazines, popular newspapers, and cinema news clips. Preoccupation with physical appearance and the products that might improve it was reflected in one 2001 reminiscence of the 1940s and 1950s by a former social development officer who offered a narrative of the male self that focused on good hygiene and the use of “‘brilliantines’ or pomades, perfumed usually with lavender,” and Brylcreem.4 206

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Aesthetically, the fifties were characterized by the continued predominance of a clean-­shaven aesthetic, by an emphasis on relative conformity, and by conservative and short (if increasingly varied) hairstyles.5 In selling the products that helped men achieve these looks, advertisers appealed to notions of masculinity that focused on sober suiting and traditional grooming. Simultaneously, they offered the hope of social mobility in welfare state Britain and appealed to a tendency, also clearly evident in the prewar period, to link patterns of consumption with the articulation of social identities.6 In the pages that follow, I seek to move away from the notion that, in the late 1950s and 1960s, a “peacock revolution”7—­whereby men paid much more attention to dress, grooming, and the adornment of the self—­ occurred as a distinctive and time-­specific development. As this book illustrates, even when contemporaries declared that theirs was a particularly innovative era, a longer-­term perspective is sometimes needed in considering the masculine engagement with fashion and the marketplace of body-­ oriented goods. Discussions of male beauty and bodies in the 1950s and 1960s should then be seen as a continuation of the developments that have been chronicled in earlier chapters. This is not to deny that significant changes did, in fact, occur at this time. During the war, the tendency of women to send “their” soldiers, sailors, and airmen gifts of specially packaged toiletries fueled a demand that continued into the postwar years.8 In the 1950s, the role of marketing professionals and researchers in Britain’s consumer economy grew, and efforts expanded to mobilize psychology in appealing to buyers’ conscious, subconscious, and unconscious needs and wants.9 Increasingly, advertisers appealed to a growing youth market—­what one expert called “a distinctive teenage world”10—­that had social security as a result of new state supports, more disposable income, and more free time to spend it in coffee and milk bars, in record shops, on grooming products, and on clothes. In engaging with this new market, estimated in 1964 to be worth £900 million, they both capitalized on and created a spirit of youthful defiance that was characterized by specific acts of consumption and new personal styles.11 Contained in discussions from this period about hair length and hairstyle, appropriate dress, and new forms of bodily display were attempts to negotiate Britain’s place in the world (especially vis-­à-­vis the United States), the gendered meanings of consumption, and new intergenerational tensions.12 The new styles of dress that appealed to these youthful consumers further necessitated a well-­toned physique. Tighter fitting and more revealing clothing for men meant that the broader British public was encouraged to scrutinize the male form and that men were encouraged to show off their bodies as a new kind of prerogative of manhood.13 Indeed, the emphasis on

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new types of display that pervaded this culture of the male body became an important hallmark of the period and further contributed to the elevation of youthfulness as an admired aesthetic trait.14 These changes were accompanied by an increased (and increasingly overt) focus in British visual culture on the appeal of men, as the two quotes from journalist and film critic Eve Perrick that open this chapter reveal.15 This new emphasis was also evident in several additional developments: the physique magazine craze of the 1950s and 1960s,16 the rise of a celebrity-­obsessed female teenage culture,17 and the growth of the modeling industry.18 Each produced distinctive cultural artifacts that contributed to the articulation of modern sexual identities, a process that was influenced by new psychological theories about sexual object choice and shifts in sexual attitudes that occurred throughout the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s.19 Heterosexuality and homosexuality came to be understood by those who saw themselves in these terms as, simultaneously, an expression of desire, a gender performance, and, perhaps most importantly, a pronounced form of consumption that combined elements of possession, control, and romantic or sexual fantasy.20 The midcentury decades also involved the spread of more explicitly eroticized images of men. These highlighted their potential as sexual partners, their appeal as objects of desire, and their place in British culture as pleasurable commodities, laying further groundwork for modern forms of masculine bodily display that remain with us.21

Consumer Culture and the Well-­G roomed Man in Postwar Britain As Britain rebuilt after the war, the government undertook a large-­scale project to both commemorate the one hundredth anniversary of the Great Exhibition and showcase modernist aesthetics and scientific advances, new schemes for town and city planning, and consumer opportunities. This Festival of Britain, which opened in 1951, was meant to be purposeful and edifying. It was also meant to be fun, a point made emphatically at the Festival Pleasure Gardens that were built in the Battersea region of London.22 The ability to consume souvenirs and goods manufactured by British corporations, who provided sponsorship, figured prominently along the gardens’ main thoroughfare. Grooming products were featured in the ladies’ powder room, and the guide for visitors noted that “the mere male can comfort himself with the contemplation (and purchase) of pipes . . . watches or electric razors.”23 Services provided to Festival Gardens visitors were a reminder of both aesthetic standards for men and the desire of the festival planners to ensure that the image of Britain that was being showcased was

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indeed modern and up-­to-­date. In an agreement between Festival Gardens Limited and London-­based Automatic Hair Cream Vending Machines Limited, the hair cream producer was licensed to place vending machines that dispensed their specially prepared styling aid throughout the Festival Gardens, reminding us of the importance of good grooming, attention to body aesthetics, and a focus on the rejuvenating capacities of consumerism in Britain at this time.24

˙∙˙ The availability of products, increases in disposable income (average weekly wages for men over twenty-­one doubled between 1950 and 1963),25 and new opportunities like those presented at the Festival Pleasure Gardens were not enough to stimulate a need for body-­oriented goods and services. Consumer desires were fueled by increasingly sophisticated advertisers and public relations professionals who conducted extensive market research and strove to create what we might think of as lifestyle consciousness or, as historian Frank Mort has noted, “the cultivation of the secular self.”26 The London Press Exchange put it fairly simply in 1950 in discussing the need for advertising: “It [the advertisement] creates wants; it implants new desires. It adds to the length, the depth, the width, and every dimension of the market. It gives to luxuries the imperative aspect of necessities.”27 Similarly, in a 1957 report drafted for the Hairdressing Manufacturers’ and Wholesalers’ Association, public relations executive Frederick H. Radford noted the role that press coverage of hairdressing festivals played in stimulating trade and a desire for new styles.28 The strategy of saturating newspapers and magazines with accounts of the industry and recent trends was one pursued fervently in pieces that showcased new male “blow-­wave” styles, hair coloring, and dandruff treatments as well as hairdressing competitions for those catering to the male trade.29 In creating these desires, British advertising agencies frequently sold products by encouraging men to view other men in assessing their need for particular goods. In the immediate aftermath of the war, the ever-­popular Brylcreem peddled not only its famous hair tonic but also shaving cream.30 One 1946 notice focused on two important themes in postwar male beauty culture: the impact on consumers of rationing and the ability of men to gaze at other men (see figure 6.1). In this instance the drawn face looks directly at a handsome and well-­groomed military man, pronouncing him lucky not only for securing a bottle of Brylcreem but also, presumably, for his good looks. By extension, the viewer is reminded that purchasing Brylcreem might result in similarly successful aesthetic results. While the

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Figure 6.1.  Brylcreem tells customers “By Jove! . . . some chaps are lucky!” with reference to those able to secure both good looks and a prized commodity during rationing. Picture Post, May 18, 1946, 5. Courtesy of the Advertising Archives/ Alamy Stock Photo.

homoerotics of such an image might be overstated, the ability of men to find pleasure in looking at other men clearly features prominently here and was central to the stimulation of consumer (and perhaps other) desires. It was also an indication of the direct appeals made to men in encouraging them to purchase body-­oriented products such as shaving cream, hair tonics, and, underwear.31 Advertisements for Brylcreem and other companies like Chesebrough Manufacturing (which produced Vaseline) and Silvikrin in the 1950s picked up on the dynamics of looking and the importance of cultivating a pleasing appearance in promoting a range of hair care and shaving products. The now familiar connections made between good grooming and professional or occupational success were, of course, common in much of their advertising copy. Drawing conclusions about one’s professional potential, in a world where men clearly remained dominant economically, involved the ability to discern good looks in determining the desirability of potential employees.32 An advertisement for Silvikrin lotions, hair tonics, and shampoos that ran for several years in the 1950s juxtaposed two thirty-­five-­year-­old men, one

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balding and the other with a full head of hair, and asked why the man with the luxuriant and well-­groomed locks was “so favoured.” While the advertisement’s copy noted that such aesthetic hierarchies might be unfair, it also asserted the importance of first impressions and judgments: “thinning hair puts 10 years on a man’s age—­and is taken to be a sign of failing powers” (figure 6.2).

Figure 6.2.  Silvikrin makes sure that potential customers understand which was the more admired head. “Both of these men are 35!,” Picture Post, Novem­ ber 22, 1952, 14. Courtesy of the Advertising Archives/Alamy Stock Photo.

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Hair tonics and lotions were not, of course, the only goods sold to looks-­ conscious men in the 1950s and 1960s. Shaving products, in particular, were of vital importance in this period, when the norms of masculine conformity largely dictated that men should remain clean-­shaven or, if they must have facial hair, in possession of no more than an unobtrusive and well-­groomed mustache.33 Beards were so out of fashion in the period that their presence, in fact, warranted commentary. In Picture Post, two articles from the 1950s display this point. One piece from 1953 by sports editor Denzil Batchelor commented on the facial hair of Plymouth Argyle footballer Jack Chisolm, pronouncing his “The Only Beard in Big Football.”34 Similarly, when Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, grew a beard along with his entire crew on the royal yacht Britannia during a 1957 world tour that included a stop in Antarctica, the magazine ran a piece, titled “Beards Galore,” that showcased handsome bearded faces.35 In so doing, the publication reinforced the norm of the clean-­shaven face, a common feature in a whole host of advertisements (see figure 6.3), by highlighting beardedness as a novelty, a sign of bohemianism, and an act of nonconformity that even into the 1960s might lead a man to be denied a promotion or, worse yet, fired.36 Other meanings were assigned to the clean-­shaven face by advertisers and journalists in the 1950s and 1960s. The connection between a smooth cheek, being modern, and technological innovation was emphasized in advertisements for electric shavers by Sunbeam and Remington, among other companies. One advertisement instructed female consumers to invest in modernity and give the men in their lives a Remington shaver: “Give him a Remington and you make the gift as modern as Christmas Day, 1956.” This proclamation reinforced the notion that women could make themselves popular by giving such products as presents and that the well-­groomed man was successful in the pursuit of heterosexual romance.37 Links between an engagement with shaving culture and performing at peak level were also important in British popular culture in the late 1950s and early 1960s. In 1960, Yardley appealed to male readers of the Observer by casting their grooming products as a profitable “investment” for “men of enterprise” that gave the user confidence and put him at the “top of his form throughout the day.” It was not just the adult man of enterprise who was instructed to shave in achieving peak performance.38 Youthful readers of Tit-­Bits were told in a 1964 article that the Beatles prepared for a show, and for their female admirers, by diligently ridding their faces of whiskers to enable them to put their best foot, and face, forward.39 Given the promotion of the clean-­shaven face, it should come as no surprise that clear skin was also given pride of place, especially in advertisements that were intended to cultivate spot-­or acne-­prone youth markets. Advertisers for products like Valderma used images of clear-­skinned,

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Figure 6.3.  The army uses the successful model (and future James Bond) Roger Moore to tell readers: “You’re somebody today in the Regular Army.” Picture Post, February 2, 1952, 3. Courtesy of the Advertising Archives/Alamy Stock Photo.

clean-­shaven, and handsome young men to sell products that claimed to eradicate “rashes and pimples.”40 Tackle Medicated Clear Gel and Clearasil capitalized explicitly in the late 1950s and 1960s on adolescent anxieties about sexual attractiveness and the ability to be lucky in heterosexual love, a prerogative of the well-­adjusted and socially successful Briton at midcentury.41 In 1965, Tackle peddled its gel by producing a brief comic strip that

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focused on the travails of  “Dateless Dave” a handsome and gifted footballer unable to realize his full potential with the opposite sex as a result of embarrassing “spots and blackheads.” Through the intervention of a friend who introduces him to Tackle, Dave is able to use a product, cast as a manly antidote, that ultimately results in heterosexual coupling.42 The importance of good grooming, vigilance, and informed consumption thus figured prominently in promoting good looks among British teenage boys in an era when their desirability to the opposite sex became a dominant theme in a broad variety of popular cultural forms, as we shall see later in this chapter.

Hairstyles, Social Change, and the British Man As advertisements from the period established, a groomed head was of vital importance to masculine self-­fashioning in the postwar years. British men, many of whom served in the military during the war or undertook National Service after it was mandated by the government for young men beginning in 1948 (a situation that lasted until 1960), were used to regular visits to barbers and hairdressers for haircuts that emphasized what was usually described as “short back and sides,” a simple and utilitarian cut that was a hallmark of masculine conformity.43 In 2001, one fifty-­eight-­year-­old retired newspaper executive recalled his youth in ways that emphasized the ubiquity of this form of styling: “In those days, virtually all the boys I knew had the same style—­short back and sides with a parting usually on the left.”44 While this traditional style remained prominent in the postwar years, Britain’s emergence from austerity was also accompanied by some departures from this tendency. Indeed, as young British men became increasingly important in dictating styles and as certain social strictures loosened, hair became one of those areas in which debates about masculinity, the future of Britain in the face of growing American hegemony, and the relationship between older and younger Britons played out.

˙∙˙ One journalist writing in the Guardian in 1954 commented on the “extraordinary growth of men’s hair styles since the war,” a change reflected in the photographs and posters that hairdressers placed in their shopwindows. This was a shift that was also evident in large, spectacular displays embarked upon by industry leaders and trade associations during what was billed as a National Hair and Beauty Week. The city of Manchester, for instance, was host to a historical pageant that showcased some ninety-­four different styles, spanning the time period from “Mark Antony to the City Cut.” In outlining

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preferred cuts of the day, the article noted the appeal, for young men, of a style popularized by the American film actor Tony Curtis, which featured fairly short sides topped by a single curl or multiple curls. Other transatlantic styles, including the DA, or duck’s arse, and the crew cut, were also popular. Fashionable concerns were not, however, confined to young men reacting against “the standardisation they had to submit to in the forces.” The middle-­ aged were said to also be resorting to new styles that included permanent waves for some and hair coloring for others, developments that were common topics of discussion at the National Festival of Hairdressing Exhibition in 1957 and the Hairdressing Exhibition of Great Britain in 1959.45 This increased emphasis on both a diversity of styles and the desire of men to look appealing was clearly discussed in the hairdressing trade press. The Hairdressers’ Journal documented new styles, provided advice to hairdressers, and published features that referenced the different influences on men’s choices. In one 1957 article on men’s hairdressing in Scotland, an author identified as “Scotia” commented that young Scotsmen were “casting off their native cautiousness about modern styles,” producing a boom for Edinburgh stylists such as Philip Canale. His shop was described as light and modern, “decorated in American style,” a reference to the aesthetic preferences that appealed to his young clientele. Canale, in responding to his interviewer’s questions, noted the popularity among his customers of American-­inspired crew cuts and flattops. He also attributed fashion choices to one specific cause: “Teenagers see the styles of film stars and theatre artists and then ask me to copy them.” The entertainment industry, as it had in the 1930s and 1940s, served a vitally important role in determining aesthetic standards.46 Over the course of the 1950s, the magazine showcased new styles for a range of masculine types and documented the shift toward longer and more modish cuts by the mid-­1960s. The trend toward more length and curl in the 1950s was chronicled in one image from 1957, which showcased the effect of a permanent wave. The text accompanying the image argued that permanents might impart an impression of “lightness and movement” without resulting in a loss of virility.47 The connections between professional success and appropriate hairstyling were also highlighted in the Hairdressers’ Journal. Employing strategies similar to those used by photographers and purveyors of perfumes, facial creams, and devices for altering facial appearance, hairdressers focused on the transformative potential of their craft. Eric Dunn celebrated his ability to change the looks and career prospects of one London businessman, asserting that his ministrations preserved his subject’s “powerful character” while giving a “better impression” of “control and maturity.”48

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Some in the 1950s routinely sought, in their hairstyles, the opportunity for business success and financial well-­being. Others saw embedded in their locks the potential for articulating distinctive, and sometimes defiant, social identities. “Teddy Boys”—­young, mostly working-­class, men who dressed in Edwardian-­style black jackets with velvet trim; white, high-­collared shirts; drainpipe pants; and skinny ties—­were one such group. One hip youngster, featured in an Associated British Pathé newsreel, was shown getting an “elephant trunk” hairstyle that the narrator asserted was an emblem of both a prideful appearance and a desire to adorn his body in a distinctive manner.49 While some of these Teds (as they came to be known) participated in anti-­immigrant and racist violence in the famous Notting Hill and Nottingham riots in 1958, many were simply engaging in the kind of stylistic youthful rebellion that was emblematic of the period.50 Regardless, reactions to this brand of youthful masculinity in the 1950s focused on the ways in which it was potentially transgressive and sexually charged. One clergyman who worked with youth said the following about what journalist Hugh Latimer labeled as their narcissism in a 1955 article in the Observer: “Some pay so much attention to their looks that they become half-­consciously afraid that they are not men.” Another article in the Guardian discussed the Ted’s tendency to put on “fine plumage” as an important act in the pursuit of heterosexual love, reflecting the growing prominence of this social identity at midcentury.51 Hair’s centrality to discussions of social change only increased as the 1950s gave way to the 1960s. As men rejected regular cuts in favor of longer mops, hairdressers found themselves facing a conundrum: push back against the longer styles or attempt to reach their customers in new ways.52 Their discussions of this issue highlight how male grooming and standards of beauty served as a bellwether of cultural transformation. In one 1965 article, the Hairdressers’ Journal “diarist” called on those who catered to men to embrace the new styles and capitalize on the pop star tendency to acquire fashionable looks.53 The need to cultivate “mods” (young men and women who listened to modern jazz music and consumed fashionable clothing) and other members of the “long hair cult” figured prominently in another 1965 piece by Robert James that provided advice on how to appeal to youthful Britons. In this instance, the author insisted that men (including the model pictured in the piece, said to be a member of a pop group) could achieve a youthful, trendy look that might still be attractive to young women while also satisfying the demands of “prospective employers” who “do not take kindly to this cult.”54 Generational tensions over hairstyles and facial hair are part of the public memory of the sixties and have been noted by historians who have explored

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the social and political changes of that decade.55 Shifting hairstyles and the anxieties they occasionally produced could become politicized, particularly in moments of tumult. Beginning in the late 1950s and early 1960s, parents and children, employers and workers, and teachers and students began to argue vociferously about male hair length and styles. The press highlighted these struggles, noting the ways in which discussions of aesthetic standards and expectations about masculine conformity figured in British economic and social life. This point was made abundantly clear in one 1961 article where concerns about the “loss of personality” entailed in submitting to a military haircut were publicly aired.56 Similarly, in 1964 the Times focused on an unemployed man in his twenties from Southampton who was denied benefits on the basis on his hair length, which a Ministry of Labour official described as off-­putting and unacceptable to employers.57 Stories about struggles between teachers and headmasters and students over hair length abounded in the British press in the 1960s. One fourteen-­year-­old boy from a school in Nantwich, Chesire, was told that he must wear a hat while in school in March 1960 after he had his hair cut in a “Mohican” style in response to a dare from his mates.58 In another case from 1962, an Oxfordshire boy had his hair forcibly cut by a woodworking teacher, allegedly for safety reasons.59 Frequently described, especially in the years around mid-­decade as “Rolling Stones” hair, longer styles were deemed by older authority figures and officials as, simultaneously, a sign of youthful rebellion and an unsightly mess.60 Maurice Walton, a Northwich swimming baths manager, emphatically pronounced in 1964: “Long, wet hair on youths is ugly and unhygienic. We don’t like it.”61 In that same year, the principal of a technical college in Peterborough, observed: “long hair is dangerous, unhygienic, and unsightly.”62 In so doing, these Britons’ aesthetic judgments became spaces in which often unfounded fears about health, subversion, and ugliness were exercised.63 Grooming practices took on additional meanings when the hair in question belonged to men of color who, as historians of postwar migration and decolonization have noted, increased in numbers in the years following 1948.64 One fascinating account by a Black, West Indian correspondent to the Times began with a race-­inflected discussion of the tendency on the part of White English men and women to question whether the hair of men of African descent indeed needed to be combed or cut, an act of aggression that was played out, in even more explicit ways, by barbers and hairdressers who chose to enact color bars in their shops.65 The account continued by noting the tendency of Black men to patronize Black-­owned barbershops and the tendency of White barbers to treat men of color with a “touch of the superior.” The author asserted that the tendency of  West Indians or Africans

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to seek the services of those who knew them best was understandable but that racial integration could only be achieved when men could use any service they chose. Rather than assuming that they were incapable of learning, he asserted that White English barbers needed to be educated to cut the hair of Black men so that the latter could more fully participate in Britain’s thriving, body-­oriented consumer culture: “I look forward to being able to enter with confidence any barber’s shop whose prices I can pay.”66 The ability to purchase a haircut and other services was seen by new Britons as a prerogative of Britishness in this period.67 Debates about hair and hair care were never just about personal hygiene or appearance. More often than not, they were, at their core, also about the nature of British identities.

Fashioning the Beautiful Man Aside from hairdressing establishments, some of which became increasingly sophisticated in the late 1950s and 1960s by serving coffee or beer, or in high-­end Upper Grosvenor Street shops and Clifford’s Hairdressing Saloon in the City, by providing spa-­like services (see figure 6.4),68 the most common fashion-­or beauty-­oriented establishments that men visited were clothing shops. The wealthy continued to frequent Savile Row tailors for traditional, bespoke suits and Jermyn Street for shirts, hats, and grooming products. Similarly, institutions like Burton’s provided quality, traditionally cut suits for the aspirant lower-­middle classes while the more bargain-­ conscious purchased cheaper suits at places such as the Fifty Shilling Tailors.69 The late 1950s and 1960s, though, witnessed the emergence of establishments that sold clothes to the young and the fashion-­conscious who were increasingly attracted to American and Continental styles that emphasized the contours of the body. These new forms of dress, sold by top retailers such as Vince Man’s Shop and the Carnaby Street boutiques of John Stephen, placed a premium on the ability of men to attract attention and to foster admiration. They also contributed to a climate in which the sexy male body itself became a more openly peddled commodity that was seized upon by men and women alike as they articulated a whole range of sexual identities in postwar Britain.

˙∙˙ As others have noted, Vince Man’s Shop and Stephen’s boutiques strategically mobilized queer markets.70 They also had a significant impact on the wider development and promotion of male beauty and body ideals. Vince Man’s Shop was opened in 1954 by a physique photographer named Bill

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Figure 6.4.  A male customer having a shave and a manicure at Clifford’s Hairdressing Saloon in the City of London (ca. 1950s). Courtesy of  Trinity Mirror/Mirrorpix/Alamy Stock Photo.

Green. The clientele was decidedly cutting-­edge, including models, actors, and men who were part of the queer scene in London that was reported on to the Wolfenden Committee in the mid-­1950s.71 Located on Newburgh Street, adjacent to Carnaby Street, the shop became a mecca, of sorts, for certain men.72 Notices for Vince’s appeared in different venues, including in the personal advertisements section of the Observer. One from 1955 read: “for men only: Italian style sweaters and shirts. black jeans. camel hair Casual jackets. nylon underbriefs, etc. are available at vince man’s shop.”73 The focus on the male consumer with avant-­garde tastes was, in this case, meant to signpost both Vince’s fashionable merchandise and its role as a gathering place for both the trendy and the same-­sex desiring. Green’s shop, and others like it, also employed visual advertisements that promoted contemporary styles and highlighted the sexualized male body in ways that departed from the wholesome images punctuating many Brylcreem advertisements in the 1940s and 1950s. Many of these appeared

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Figure 6.5.  Advertisement featuring Sean Connery modeling for Vince Man’s Shop (1956). Courtesy of RGR Collection/Alamy Stock Photo.

in physique magazines that emphasized the aesthetic appeal of the beautiful (and muscular) male body and its ability to entice. They also appeared in other specialized magazines like Films and Filming,74 the Royal College of Art’s ARK Magazine,75 and a variety of specialized catalogs that promoted Vince fashions and served as collectible items for admirers of the male body.76 One notice featured the physique competitor and future actor Sean Connery in Continental clothing from Vince’s, highlighting the continued importance of the attractive celebrity body in selling a whole range of products (see figure 6.5). Another London store, Menswear by Mars, regularly placed advertisements and articles promoting tight-­fitting trousers, fashionable casual tops, and swimwear in the physique magazine Man Alive in the late 1950s and early 1960s. One 1960 notice, for example, highlighted the aesthetic ideals of the fit, muscled body and an alluring male bulge, a feature that also became increasingly common in advertisements for men’s underwear in the period.77 Green’s success was significant but that of John Stephen, who peddled modern styles and dressed the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and countless other stars, was phenomenal.78 Stephen was from Glasgow and got his start

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in fashion at Moss Bros., a London tailoring and formal wear retailer, before working at Vince Man’s Shop. An entrepreneurial spirit and an eye for fashion led him to open his first shops in the late 1950s; by the mid-­1960s, he had some twenty-­two London boutiques, where he sold Continental style to youthful consumers.79 Style for Men, and other trade journals, noted his adeptness as a marketer. The success of Stephen’s boutique His Clothes was attributed in one 1961 piece to his ability to “appeal directly to the most vital of present-­day markets: young men with decided and distinctive tastes and the income to indulge them.” To this business savvy was added a willingness to use pop singers and other celebrities to appeal to consumers, a tendency seen to possess “greater commercial value” among forward-­looking and modern Britons “than the patronage of half a dozen Beau Brummells from the inner sanctum of the Establishment.”80 Stephen also made sure that his clothes appeared in teenage magazines on the bodies of popular musicians like the Merseybeats.81 Stephen, who helped to establish west Soho’s Carnaby Street as London’s fashion and shopping center in the 1960s, relied on clients whose obsession with their physical appearance made them part of what is sometimes referred to as the “Peacock Revolution.”82 A more significant characteristic of this moment was Stephen’s awareness of the ways in the which the fit, muscled body and the beautiful male face could sell hip clothing and function as commodities in their own right at his shops. As he recognized this, Stephen carefully cultivated male and female gazes that generated, simultaneously, a desire for fashionability and sexual longing.83 Throughout the 1960s, he brilliantly exploited the spectacle of the attractive man as a marketing device in fashion shows and in photographic displays. One show, held in conjunction with the opening of the John Stephen of Carnaby Street boutique in Stern Brothers (a New York City department store), relied on the exposed and displayed male body to promote the start of a new business venture.84 Similarly, when Stephen opened his Scottish Highland Shop in 1968 (selling tartans and a range of other products), a well-­placed publicity image and press release featuring Stephen and a female model wearing the shop’s tartans became a hot topic of discussion in the press. Prompted, in part, by the short tartan kilt worn by Stephen (exploiting his good looks and exposing his upper thigh, implying a lack of underclothes), he also fueled the fires himself by highlighting the objectification of the male body in his comments, quoted in a number of articles, about the sexy Scottish-­inspired trend: “Many girls don’t object to studying male legs one little bit.”85 Stephen’s brilliant exploitation of the attractive male face and body was nowhere more apparent than in the decor he developed for his boutiques. When he opened the women’s boutique Trecamp in 1965, for instance, the

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Figure 6.6.  Women in a John Stephen changing room, where they are surrounded by sexually suggestive images of hunky men. “We’re being watched!,” Rave, March 1967, 17. Image from https://1960smusicmagazines.com/1967-­rave/.

fitting rooms were decorated with large, cardboard images of muscular models, shirtless, and in swimsuits. One piece in the New York Tribune (reflecting Stephen’s transatlantic appeal) described the models as “handsome boys . . . in various states of undress.”86 Other accounts characterized these images as pleasurable opportunities for women, a point made in an article that appeared in the magazine Rave in 1967 (see figure 6.6). In this case, women were shown appreciating the male body. The caption (“We’re being watched!”), however, also reminded women that, while this form of display was an invitation to

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gaze, it was not meant to subvert the gender order.87 Similar types of bodily display were also employed in the Scottish Highland Shop where images of nearly naked men featured not only in the dressing rooms but also as decorative devices on the store’s public walls.88 The male body, for Stephen, was not something that was simply meant to be clothed. It could sell products, entice consumers, fuel fantasies, and discomfit (see figure 6.7).

Figure 6.7.  Model Jenny Boyd in a John Stephen boutique amid full-­length pictures of nearly naked men (November 1966). Courtesy of Trinity Mirror/ Mirrorpix/Alamy Stock Photo.

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Muscles Galore! Muscularity and Physique Culture at Midcentury John Stephen’s techniques were not just clever marketing ploys developed in isolation. In exposing the male body in his stores, he was capitalizing on a tendency in British culture that, in fact, increased dramatically from midcentury on. While the celebration of athletic and muscular physiques was a central feature of the culture of male beauty in Britain throughout the twentieth century, the degree to which those bodies were exposed and explicitly sexualized became more pronounced visually in the 1950s and 1960s. Manifestations of this were everywhere. Physical culture enthusiasts and consultants like T. W. Standwell of High Holborn, London, and Maxalding of Dover in Kent promised “skilled personal instruction” and “amazing results” through correspondence and the sharing of heavily illustrated publications that showcased muscular bodies as objects of emulation and adoration.89 Similarly, the London offices of the American physical culture entrepreneur Charles Atlas peddled images of handsome, muscled men (including Atlas himself ) while promising every potential customer that his prescriptions could turn even the puniest into “a fine specimen of handsome manhood that commands the respect of men and the awed ad­ miration of women.”90 Finally, purveyors of various undergarments, including Vita-­form elastic belts (a form of male girdle geared to older men)91 and Lyle and Scott Y-­front underwear, accentuated the ability of their products to create a fine form.92 The latter product, in fact, highlighted the growing centrality of a genital emphasis in highlighting male potency and sex appeal, a tendency also clearly apparent in the focal points of this section: bodybuilding competitions and physique magazines.

˙∙˙ Building on precedents from the interwar period,93 Britons in the 1950s and 1960s were introduced to the idea of the muscleman as a kind of aesthetic spectacle in public exhibitions and competitions such as the Health and Strength League’s Mr. Britain contest (founded 1930) and the Mr. Universe competition (first organized in the United States in 1947 but moved to Brit­ ain in 1948, to coincide with the London Olympics). There were many proponents of the bodybuilding craze in Britain, including Oscar Heidenstam, whose ideals of gentlemanly amateurism guided the sport and informed the numerous contests that occurred throughout the British Isles in the postwar years.94 Announced in advertisements in publications like Health and Strength, events like the Mr. South Britain contest (March 1950) indicate

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the reach of this sport and the ways in which men competed in regional venues before vying for a national title like Mr. Britain.95 Even as some, like the journalist Arthur Shuttlewood of Warminster, worried that those who “over-­exercised” in pursuit of the “Body Beautiful” ran the risk of “dete­ riorate[ing] into human derelicts,”96 many, including women, viewed these contests as opportunities to view and size up the “Ideal Man.”97 In pieces that appeared in popular publications throughout the 1950s and 1960s, the pleasures of looking were routinely noted, mirroring the cultural obsession with viewing, assessing, and capturing male beauty that permeated discussions of male grooming and youthful fashion trends. In one 1953 Picture Post article, Roy “Reg” Park of Leeds was celebrated, for instance, for his successes in Mr. Britain and Mr. Universe contests and as a physical fitness entrepreneur. Two features of this piece are especially important. First was the description of Park’s appeal and magnetism: “Even with clothes on it is obvious that he is something unique, apart from other men. The way he holds himself. The way he walks into a room—­and owns it.”98 Second, was a prominent photo that showcased both the allure of muscles and the ability of women to derive overt sexual pleasure from viewing them. In so doing, this visual marker reinforced the notion that muscles were literally commodities to be consumed and enjoyed by both sexes (see figure 6.8). The enjoyment of Reg’s body was part of a transatlantic phenomenon that placed a premium on consuming “beefcake,” a term used by one Hollywood gossip columnist and then by other cultural commentators in the 1940s and 1950s to describe an increasing tendency among male actors to pose for photographs in swimsuits or with their chests otherwise exposed.99 Attention to the male body was, in fact, vitally important to the culture of celebrity that was so essential to the film industry in this era. For cinema-­ goers, at a time when many people still visited a movie theater at least once a week,100 newsreel clips produced by Associated British Pathé featured stories on physical culture displays and physique contests from the 1930s through the 1960s. In 1941, for instance, one clip showcased a San Francisco competition during which “the crème de la crème of masculine beauty” were assessed and judged, particularly by the “feminine fans” in the audience.101 The language of discernment and judgment also figured in stories from the 1950s on Mr. Apollo and Mr. Britain contests. The former contest was celebrated in 1950 as an opportunity to view “fifty of Britain’s most gorgeous men.”102 A 1954 clip celebrated the musculature of Mr. Britain contestants, highlighting the ability of male and female Britons alike to consume visually and rank men on “parade.”103 The spectacle of the male body, as an object of both fascination and desire, was highlighted in these short films by images of young women

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Figure 6.8.  A woman assesses bodybuilder Reg Park’s muscles. Gerry Saunders, “Body Business,” Picture Post, May 23, 1953, 33. Courtesy of the University of Vermont Library.

swooning over well-­developed physiques and clean-­shaven, handsome faces. While White bodies were most prominently on display in British contests, bodies of color from British colonies and former colonies alike were also showcased. In 1963, for instance, the winner of the Mr. Universe contest held in London was A. El-­Gindi of the United Arab Republic. While celebrated in a newsreel as a good specimen of muscularity, his difference

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and his inaccessibility to British women was also highlighted when the narrator announced: “Those Arab girls can hardly wait for El-­Gindi to get back home.”104 The emphasis on female spectatorship evident in these bodybuilding newsreels was also very much present in the opening scene of the 1959 film Room at the Top. The lead character, Joe Lampton (played by actor Laurence Harvey), is the object of womanly desire and fascination when he shows up for his first day of work in Warnley Town’s Council Headquarters and is shamelessly ogled by the female office staff. Lampton’s appeal as a specimen of youthful British manhood is marked not only by his Whiteness but by his fashionable attire, clean-­shaven face, and appropriately stylish haircut.105 This celebration and commodification of male muscular beauty in the 1950s and 1960s was especially apparent in the growing popularity of British, American, and Continental physique magazines throughout the British Isles. Geared primarily to same-­sex-­admiring and -­desiring markets, these magazines were also consulted by bodybuilding practitioners and some women. Their primarily queer audiences and the fact that they emerged as other celebrations of the beautiful male body appeared point to the ways in which the boundaries between queer and straight or heterosexual and homosexual aesthetics could merge and intertwine, often functioning in a symbiotic fashion. Just as queer celebrations of the male body in the 1950s and 1960s informed broader British ideals, increasingly public celebrations of the male body and male grooming in British culture more generally rendered the aesthetic pleasures that were so central to emerging homosexual or gay cultures and identities more possible by providing a kind of cloak of normalcy and, even, respectability. Queer and straight photographers, publishers, and consumers thus produced an amalgamated vision of the beautiful man that drew on a long history and diverse discourses of attractiveness.106 These publications appealed to the “physique conscious”107 and admirers of the “body beautiful”108 but also to those who saw opportunities to articulate a queer cultural position and to become part of a particular social group.109 Editorial introductions provide insight into these magazines’ many cultural functions. John Barrington, one of the more prominent figures in the physique photography movement, who began taking (and selling) pictures of male nudes in 1948, described his new venture, Male Model Monthly, in 1954,110 as bringing “to the discerning public each month the pick of the world’s finest male physiques, photographed by the world’s finest camera-­artists.” Barrington went on to characterize those he thought would derive pleasure and benefit from his magazine: “Art-­students and artists,. . . . connoisseurs, and perspicacious physical-­culturists will all find

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pleasure, instruction, and inspiration in our illustrations.”111 This admission functioned simultaneously as a wink and a specialized form of coded language to those men who found, in Barrington’s magazine, great erotic potential.112 This kind of coyness was necessary in an era when homosex113 continued to be criminalized and the content of magazines, books, and films was still governed by the 1857 Obscene Publications Act. Barrington’s was an era in which the police and the tabloid press scrutinized sexual relations between men through, what historian Chris Waters has called, a lens of “moral decline, demographic anxiety, and homosexual panic.”114 In satisfying the sexual and aesthetic needs of this community,115 British, transatlantic, and cross-­Channel producers of this material employed diverse aesthetic strategies and sought to appeal to an array of tastes includ­ ing those who wanted “beefcake” and those was wanted to see “slim youthful model[s]” (see figure 6.9).116 Naturally, one of the ways in which editors sought to justify their aesthetic perspective was by looking to the past, a tendency that linked these ventures with earlier same-­sex-­desiring cultures while also reminding readers that they were part of a rich tradition. The most direct historical reference in these magazines was to the physical culture movement of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. These creators also drew on a variety of other traditions, including references to the classical world (an important feature of same-­sex-­desiring culture since the nineteenth century in Britain)117 and, in some instances, to the great works of Renaissance artists.118 In highlighting body types in the first issue of  Male Model Monthly, John Barrington used images of American and Brit­ ish models posed in ways that were reminiscent of Michelangelo’s David. He also quoted the famed sculptor’s aphorism that “the highest object for art is man” in casting his pursuits as noble and good.119 This appeal to the past was not always entirely high-­minded. Kitschy references to martial masculinity and what some called the “beauties of the modern male” and the “joyous manhood that thrilled the masters of Greece and Italy in the past”120 appeared in a 1957 calendar produced by Weider Publications, a prominent American player in the 1950s physique magazine market with London offices in Soho’s Greek Street.121 A more direct link between past and present was made in an international magazine (produced in Denmark but distributed in Britain) titled Male Models. In 1961, the editors, H. S. Hansson and A. Axgil, published an image by the British physique artist Ronald Wright (see figure 6.10). This relatively simple line drawing is rich in meaning. A classical godlike figure (marked somewhat humorously and contradictorily by both a laurel wreath on his head and anachronistic sideburns) holds, in the palm of his hand, a figure of modern physical perfection (signposted by a decidedly trendy haircut). Clearly

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Figure 6.9.  A typical sort of cover image for a physique magazine. Man Alive: The Magazine of Britain’s Top Physique Photographers, no. 1 (1958). Courtesy of the Hall-­Carpenter Archives, London School of Economics.

intended to invoke the classical tradition of male beauty so common in physique magazines, the knowing glances between the two figures also marks this as a pointedly queer (and cruisy) indicator of desire. While the aesthetics embraced by physique photographers and magazine publishers could be decidedly historical in perspective, they also sought to position their publications as modern by experimenting with new forms of bodily display. In some such as Male Model Monthly, the juxtaposition between the classical and the modern was made explicit. In one instance, for example, a pose from a modern ballet (an art form that photographer and painter Keith Vaughan also found inspiration in) was contrasted with that

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Figure 6.10.  Drawing of a physique model in the hand of a Greek god. Male Models, no. 5 (1961): n.p. Courtesy of the Hall-­Carpenter Archives, London School of Economics.

most favorite of homoerotic subjects, the martyrdom of the third-­century Christian Saint Sebastian.122 In other instances, modernity was marked by models casually posed with a piece of midcentury modern furniture,123 or, in the case of a 1960 cover shot for Man Alive, the American physique star Don Farr standing with his back to a modern New York skyline.124 Other versions of American bodily display including Californian beachgoers,125 cowboys, and motorcyclists (all of which emerged as dominant components of transatlantic gay culture and pornographic aesthetics in the 1970s) also served to highlight the erotic potential of these forms, firmly establishing the ways in which, for many, being modern meant consuming American.126 This recourse to American aesthetics reflected the cosmopolitan nature of queer culture, and more particularly the artifact of the physique magazine, in this period.127 Drawing on traditions and styles from Scandinavia and Continental Europe, as well as the United States, these magazines point to the ways in which other cultures influenced British understandings of male beauty.128 The relationship to cosmopolitanism was, however, fraught,

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particularly as the country contended with growing American hegemony and British imperial decline in the 1950s and 1960s. This led, in British physique magazines, to a desire to embrace worldliness while also elevating the appeal of specifically British bodies.129 In the early 1960s, for instance, Man Alive noted that English models like Jerry Stevens could hold their own against Americans and appeal to prominent Californian physique studios such as the Athletic Model Guild.130 Similarly, a feature in a 1963 issue of Body Beautiful (a transatlantic venture that published American and UK editions of the magazine) lauded the work of the “new British artist, Michael,” urging readers to buy British and add this “masculine artwork” to their “collection[s].”131 Efforts of this sort were self-­conscious attempts to cater to different aesthetic tastes. They also serve to remind us that the relationship between the male body and visual representations of the nation continued to resonate at midcentury, just as they had during Britain’s imperial heyday.132 Questions of national identity intermingled with articulations of desire and celebrations of masculine physiques and faces. In 1961, for example, Man Alive focused on the bodybuilding achievements of Welshman Brian Lamprill while noting his desire to open a gym, an ambition cast as a sign of a peculiarly British entrepreneurial spirit.133 In that same year, Body Beautiful celebrated the work of London physique photographer Pete Dobing, showcasing the nationally specific qualities of his models and his use of the English countryside as a backdrop. Exploring a set of photographs, the author identified two English body types: “husky 19-­year-­old Joe MacCaffrey and tall, refined 18-­year-­old Hugh Bracken, both of whom have earned their share of fame in England.” In other instances, a fireman and a paratrooper named Dennis White, who was a loyal employee at the London airport, were celebrated for their ruggedness and their contributions to metropolitan life.134 These exemplars of working-­class masculinity undoubtedly referenced the hierarchical nature of British society. They also highlighted a persistent, and especially middle-­class, penchant for laboring bodies and “rough trade.”135 The muscled bodies, in these cases, belonged to working men. This aesthetic was, however, growing in relevance in the early 1960s as athletes of all types, and British men more generally, increasingly turned to gyms to improve their physiques.136 While the aesthetic of many physique magazines was predominantly White, even as the racial composition of the nation was shifting,137 some Black and Brown physiques did appear. Often, though, these images contained curious forms of imperial nostalgia and racial fetishization. One feature in the British edition of Body Beautiful in 1959, for instance, referred to the model John Manning as “Honest Injun” and described his attributes in

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Figure 6.11.  Depicting the man of color in the physique magazine. “Winston Manyan by Scott,” Man Alive: The Magazine of Britain’s Top Physique Photographers 2 (1958): 11. Author’s personal collection.

the following way: “From his Indian ancestry he inherits the lithe, supple, and resilient muscularity for which the Sioux is noted.”138 Frequently, photographs of men of color (particularly Black men) were taken in natural settings (which also occurred with White models) and included certain telling props. In one instance, a man of African descent (likely Caribbean) posed with his hand on a bongo drum while in another the model posed with both a bamboo pole and a sailor’s cap, in ways that conjured West Indian idylls, continuing in a long tradition of considering colonial settings as sites of sexual opportunity and exploration (see figure 6.11).139

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Despite occasional forays into discussions of non-­body-­oriented issues and advice, the act of enjoying and consuming beautiful men was at the core of most physique magazines and was reflected in their editorial introductions, their photographic features, and their advertisements. In addition to serving the burgeoning market in homoerotic images, these publications provided a space in which physique photographers and artists could sell their wares to readers more efficiently and effectively. Advertisements for “physique studies” said to be “ideal for gyms, scrapbooks, [and] playrooms” invited readers to purchase and consume images of the very men they admired in multiple muscle mags.140 In 1961, the London studio Hussar advertised the sale of images that included hypermasculine “he-­men,” “Boys Wrestling,” and drawings by the homoerotic artist Tom of Finland.141 Notices of this sort abounded at the back of many of these publications and included studios on both sides of the Atlantic.142 This international trade was also noted on several occasions in warnings to British readers who were instructed to be cautious, particularly when writing to studios in the US. Especially forbidden were requests for nude photographs, which were illegal to trade through the mail on both sides of the Atlantic.143 This courting of what has sometimes been called the “pink shilling” or the “pink pound” produced innumerable opportunities for queer British men, in an era prior to decriminalization, to purchase erotically charged images, participate in a desire-­based economy, and, ultimately, articulate emerging sexual identities.144

Beautiful Men and the Teenage Market The celebration of attractive men and the desire to possess their image also featured prominently in the fan-­obsessed, adolescent girl culture that developed at midcentury. Publishing entrepreneurs and magazine editors capitalized on a tendency, among this group, to develop crushes on cinema idols and pop stars. In magazines like Valentine, Roxy, Marilyn, and Mirabelle, teenage girls were sold a vision of heterosexual femininity as their desire for goods was cultivated by those keen to capture these youthful and unique consumers. These potential customers were studied by prominent social scientist and market researcher Mark Abrams in his 1959 book, The Teenage Consumer. Increasing wages and disposable income, particularly among working-­class teenagers who left school earlier than their middle-­ class counterparts, provided retailers with a readily exploitable market. Abrams noted that, among young people aged thirteen to twenty-­five, about a quarter of their “uncommitted money” was spent on “clothing and footwear,” 26 percent on food, drink, and tobacco, and the rest on “‘pop’

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records, gramophones, romantic magazines and fiction paperbacks, [and] visits to the cinema and dance hall.”145 This age group focused on an “intense pre-­occupation with discovering one’s identity, with establishing new relations with one’s peers and one’s elders, and with the other sex.”146 In such a context, the act of consuming possessed great meaning as an assertion of independence,147 a point reiterated time and again in studies of teenagers published throughout the 1960s. Peter Laurie, in discussing teenage culture writ large, commented not only on the place of consumption but also the importance of what he identified as “romantic weeklies,” particularly for adolescent girls. These magazines, he observed, frequently presented similar content including comic strips, photographs of pop stars and cinema idols, romantic stories, and advice columns.148 There were approximately ten magazines of this sort with a circulation of around 3 million at the end of the 1960s, according to teacher and sociologist Connie Alderson, who viewed these publications as frivolous and anti-­intellectual.149 Newspapers like the Daily Herald also catered, in this period, to celebrity-­ obsessed, teenage markets by publishing studio portraits and candid pictures of British heartthrobs like Dirk Bogarde and Laurence Harvey on set.150

˙∙˙ Although readership was predominantly female, 3–­5 percent of boys and young men admitted to reading these publications in a survey conducted in the late 1960s.151 In 1959, a new venture, titled Boyfriend, joined the other female-­oriented weeklies. Like its peers, Boyfriend was varied in terms of content. Most important here were the ways in which it defined standards of masculine attractiveness and provided a voice, through letters to the editor and interview features, to teenage girls who were only too happy to express their preferences, gush profusely about who they found dreamy and why, and explore notions of teenage heterosexual sociability that held considerable sway in the years following the Second World War.152 In so doing, Boyfriend enabled bolder expressions of female desire and acknowledged female sexuality in a manner present as well in popular newspapers like the News of the World, the Sunday Pictorial, and the Sunday Mirror. While the degree to which this reflected true “permissiveness” has been rightly questioned by some, these discussions nonetheless signaled a growing sexualization of women’s attitudes toward beautiful men in this period.153 An emphasis on sizing up good looks and applying the rules of attractiveness more generally to the boys and men with whom readers might come into contact featured prominently in Boyfriend and in several glossy annuals, such as Boyfriend’s Startime Extra and Trend Boyfriend 67 Book, that the magazine produced throughout the 1960s.154 In a 1960 piece titled “Hi,

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Figure 6.12.  Teaching teenagers to assess the attractive man. “Hi, Goodlooking! Or Is He?,” Boyfriend, no. 61 (August 20, 1960): 12–­13. Courtesy of the British Library.

Goodlooking! Or Is He?” readers were offered expert advice by Mr. Cyril Henry, a Mayfair hairdresser with “forty years’ experience of hairstyling with stage and screen artists” (see figure 6.12). By using popular American stars (including Troy Donahue, Tony Perkins, and James Garner) as his benchmarks, Henry attempted to provide readers with an assessment of hairlines, noses, eyes, and neck length, all to help the “girl who likes to find out the reason why some men attract her and others don’t.” This article did not just simply outline the rules of attraction, though. Readers were instructed that this “good looks know-­how” could be applied to their own boyfriends, thus ensuring that the magazine’s audience understood both the practical significance of Henry’s advice and the social expectations of heterosociability that permeated publications of this type.155 A regular column—­produced under the name of Cliff Richard, the popular singer, actor, and heartthrob of the early 1960s—­provided similar types of advice. Commenting on the appearance and grooming habits of celebrities in Britain and the United States, Richard provided “insider” aesthetic lessons while also making it clear, as he did in a 1962 piece on the American band the Lettermen, that readers were meant not just to admire but to desire.156

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Focusing on the personal qualities, lifestyles, and, above all else, looks of pop stars, cinema idols, and sports figures, Boyfriend equated physical attractiveness with celebrity and cast men as objects of desire and consumable commodities. One June 1962 spread featured heavyweight boxer Billy Walker as the “top pop boxer.” Billy’s blond good looks and six-­foot frame were offered as justifications for his inclusion in Boyfriend’s pages. Readers of the piece were encouraged to “cast [their] eye[s] over these two pages—­ they’re a knock-­out!!!” Characterized as “very handsome,” Walker was also celebrated for his size: “‘This must be what a giant looks like,’ we thought as we gazed into his bright blue penetrating eyes. And we could understand why he’s the pin-­up of the ring and has nearly a hundred fan letters every week.” While Billy’s athletic prowess was certainly noted, his home life, diet, and quiet ways (boxing was said to preclude smoking and drinking) featured more prominently in this piece, effectively prescribing once again a way of life that could, by extension, help others “[keep] in form.” Accompanying this piece were a series of images that invited the reader to stare into those penetrating blue eyes, just as the author had, and partake of the culture of looking that was so central to teenage fantasy and heterosociability in the 1960s.157 Much of this material reveals the encroaching American presence in British teen culture, with one article in Boyfriend’s Startime Extra calling foreign pop stars “Gentle Invaders.”158 Yet, contributors and readers of Boyfriend and other magazines like it were given plenty of opportunities to express their aesthetic preferences, commenting on specifically European masculine types and, in some instances, highlighting why British men might in fact make the best boyfriends. In one 1962 article titled “Tall, Dark, Handsome—­Bunk!” a debate between two (quite possibly fictitious) readers named Rachel and Jane allowed both to express their own particular tastes. Rachel, who stated that she preferred a “blond Adonis,” criticized “Latin types” as excessively vain and unnecessarily preoccupied with their hair while extolling blond men as more athletic, more intelligent, and taller. Jane, on the other hand, asked readers, “how can anyone go for a fair boy with all those romantic, exciting Latin-­type lover boys hanging around?” In answering her own question, she pointed to their passionate and artistic natures as well as their manliness: “They look more masculine. Especially on the beach with a he-­man chest.”159 While they were clearly mired in a whole range of racialized cultural stereotypes, exchanges such as these (or another feature article from 1962 titled “The Way You Live: British Boys Are Best”)160 reminded readers that expressing aesthetic and sexual preferences, and partaking of the culture of male beauty, was a prerogative of the modern teenage girl. Boyfriend highlighted ordinary British men as a kind of service to their readers who, after all, were most likely to become romantically involved

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with local lads. In a regular “Undiscovered British Boyfriend” column, average Britons were briefly elevated to celebrity status. The June 6, 1964, undiscovered boyfriend was, for example, a window cleaner named Terry Hancox. Identified as an ambitious young man who already had four employees working under him and who hoped to expand his business “until there are branches all over the country,” Terry was also lauded as a world traveler. Physically, he was described as five feet ten and a half and “very good looking” with dark hair and hazel eyes. Readers were also told that he preferred redheads, “not too small,” with “natural personalities.” By indicating his preferences, the magazine established Terry as both available and attainable, a reasonable object of fantasy for readers who were invited to enjoy the romantic and sexual spectacles of the attractive man with a simple final line: “Another boy . . . a different boy . . . a fabulous boy for you!”161 Teenage magazines, like the muscle mags, tended to showcase White male faces and bodies, even as the racial composition of Britain was shifting over the course of the 1950s and 1960s. One exception to this were the early 1960s celebrations of the Saint Lucia–­born Emile Ford. Ford (whose full name was Michael Emile Telford Miller) achieved success in 1959 when he released “What Do You Want to Make Those Eyes at Me For?” The first record by a Black singer in Britain to sell more than a million copies, the success propelled Ford to stardom.162 Cast more as a musical star to be admired than as a potential mate (as a celebrity like Cliff Richard might be),163 his foreignness, colonial origins, and Blackness were frequently noted. While one 1962 photograph identified him as a boyfriend, it was followed by the words “from the West Indies” and rendered harmless by identifying him, not as an object of desire that White girls might want to date, but as a member of a specific, and decidedly nonsexualized, group—­“tape-­recorder fans.”164 This strategy of noting foreignness while reinforcing Whiteness was also present in other pieces that appeared either in Boyfriend or its annual glossies. One piece on assessing eyes, identified those belonging to the Egyptian-­born actor Omar Sharif as the “sad, exotic eyes of the East” even while allowing that such a man might appeal to British girls.165 The celebrity profile and the sexual potential of female looking became ubiquitous in the 1950s and 1960s, entering British popular culture through different vehicles. As a particular genre of writing that emphasized vital statistics and good-­looking male faces, celebrity profiles such as that of the wildly popular and sexually appealing singer Billy Fury were used to sell a wide range of products, including milk.166 Features in the enormously popular weekly Tit-­Bits focused on the male bodies of actors as objects to be scrutinized. Articles from 1965 featured the partially clad muscular male body in ways that would have been familiar to readers of physique magazines,

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Figure 6.13.  The humor of sexual excitement in the 1960s. “Wake up, Lil—­your lollie’s melting,” Tit-­Bits, no. 4151 (September 25, 1965): 15. Courtesy of the British Library.

hinting at the ways in which aesthetic traditions cross-­pollinated. One feature examined actor Noel Trevarthen, who played a police inspector on the ITV television show Riviera Police. In it, Trevarthen was described as the “dishiest detective on screen,”167 a point reinforced by a photograph of him in a skimpy swimsuit. Cartoons in Tit-­Bits depicted the sexual impact that dishy men might have on women. In one example, also from 1965, two women eye a handsome and beefy bather. One reminds the other, who is distracted and sexually stimulated, to mind her melting ice lolly (see figure 6.13). Humorous and simple, visual materials of this sort point, in myriad ways, to the primacy of  both men on display and female heterosexual desire in the varied cultural landscape of the 1950s and 1960s.

Beautiful Men and the Modeling Profession During the postwar economic recovery, fashion designers and retailers in London made great strides in challenging Paris’s supremacy in haute

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couture and other areas of the industry. As one early booking agent noted in 1955 while appealing to the Ministry of Labour to employ foreign models: “Fashion is one of our important exports now.”168 London’s rise as a cosmopolitan fashion capital and “global creative center”169 in the 1950s and 60s was accompanied by the use of photographs in “practically all advertising” and “live mannequin parades” that showcased the work of designers.170 It was within this context that the idea of the celebrity model first emerged. The label of “top” model was, however, largely reserved for women in the 1950s, with one Guardian journalist noting in 1958, “there is no cult of personality of the male model.”171 In fact, many male models, including future actor (and James Bond) Roger Moore,172 generally appeared as a form of masculine “eye candy” in photo shoots and were paid less than their female counterparts (generally two guineas an hour versus three).173 By the mid-­ 1950s though, as fashion journalist Iris Ashley noted, changes in the fashion industry were giving rise to a “sudden demand for Male Models,” resulting in what she identified as a “brand-­new profession.”174 The male model became an increasingly important figure in the fashion industry and British popular culture at the close of the 1950s, a point reinforced in books like Cherry Marshall’s Fashion Modelling as a Career (1957) and John and Pamela Dixon’s Fashion Modelling (1963). Richard Wiggan and H. J. Summers, authors of another popular 1958 guide titled So You Want to Be a Model, observed that changes were afoot in this period: “Modelling is usually considered to be a job for girls only. This is not true, for modelling is a profession which offers opportunities for men as well as for women.” In chronicling the rise of this new occupation, the authors tried to alleviate anxieties that such a professional choice might compromise a man’s place in the gender and sexual order by noting that it was as “exacting and demanding as many other occupations” and that it might even be far more interesting than “if he caught the 8:15 to the office every day.”175 By the early 1960s, the growth of a fashion industry geared toward men was clearly present in Britain, with male-­specific fashion shows and “a purely masculine modelling technique” emerging.176 Indeed, by the time the sixties were in full swing, male models went from being marginal at best to occupying a status as “minor celebrities.”177

˙∙˙ The transitions that occurred for male models are partly reflected in the work of the fashion photographer John French. Born in 1907 and trained as an artist and illustrator, French turned to photography in the 1930s. Following the war, he established his own studio and by the early 1950s

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began producing fashion spreads for the Daily Express, Vanity Fair, and Harper’s Bazaar, among others.178 Photographs he produced during this period often posed men in the background, looking at a female model donning the latest fashions. In several shoots that Roger Moore did with Pat Goddard for Vanity Fair, for example, Moore’s handsomeness was eclipsed by the female star’s central role as a mannequin for the clothing. One from June 1952 featured Moore sitting on a dock, with his face partly in the shadow, looking admiringly at his partner.179 Similarly, in a January 1957 spread produced by French, a woman posed in different theater suits was accompanied by formally attired men who looked at her directly or through opera glasses.180 The men in these photographs were not meant to function as direct objects of the female or male gaze. They were intended, though, to serve a didactic function, instructing viewers to follow their lead (and eyes) by examining the woman and the fashions at the center of the picture. While this tendency predominated, even by the early 1950s French was capturing men in isolation. One photograph of Tommy Kyle from the late 1940s showcased his handsome face as he modeled a Kangol beret. The image also revealed some of the French process by illustrating (through ink lines and dots) what the photographer intended to retouch.181 The gaze that was encouraged, with regard to men, in French’s work from the later 1950s and 1960s revealed not just a growing emphasis on the men’s fashion market but also an intensified interest in the attractive features and potential allure of those modeling the latest styles. Images from this period highlight the attention that was paid to models like Michael Bentley—­described in the French collection as “the most successful male model of the 1950s, later manager of the men’s side of Hardy Amies”182—­as well as a growing mainstream emphasis on masculine sex appeal.183 The cultural shift afoot in this period was reflected in some French photographs from the 1960s where he reversed the typical gaze by foregrounding men and using women to direct the viewer’s attention toward the male face and body.184 This was a point also established in popular newspapers such as the Daily Herald, which paid more and more attention to the pleasures of looking at male models as objects of fascination, or in publicity stills for designers like Amies (see figure 6.14).185 This expansion of the modeling industry, fueled in part by economic change but also by a growing emphasis on the visual in advertising and a more explicit recognition that sex appeal sells, led to the creation of new types of artifacts that promoted British models at home and abroad. Various directories emerged to introduce potential subjects to photographers. Those who catered to the pinup and glamour markets, relying primarily on their ability to capture “sex appeal,”186 could turn to the Models Directory, which was first published in 1958. While it primarily featured

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Figure 6.14.  Publicity still of designer Hardy Amies with models (September 1965). Courtesy of Trinity Mirror/Mirrorpix/Alamy Stock Photo.

female models, the 1959 version included an image, personal statistics, and description of Stanley Rymer: “Part Time. Very good model. Fashion, Rainwear, Commercial, Industrial, Advertising.” The model who displayed his muscles remained an important player in the culture of male beauty in this period and also figured prominently in Models Directory.187 The 1960 edition, for instance, included an entry for Trevor Barnett, described as a physique model represented by Mayfair Gymnasium in London.188 Other types of publications catered more specifically to the market for male fashion models, whose faces and bodies were used increasingly to peddle “consumer goods from wallpaper and paints to cars, cigarettes and

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beer.”189 One, edited by the modeling agent (a new professional type in the postwar years) Biddy V. Martin, was the catalog International Model. This publication included images and relevant statistics and was intended to facilitate easier communications between the “model agent, photographer, advertising agent and client.” Even though Martin expressed a commitment to discovering new talent, she made it clear that International Model only showcased professionals (meaning those represented by an agent). Gestures of this sort helped to further establish modeling as an occupation that required both expertise and credentials.190 Martin was replaced as editor in 1964 by the editorial director of International Model’s publisher, World’s Press News and Advertisers’ Review Group, but the directory seems to have remained a potent force in the industry throughout much of the decade. The prominent display of men in these annual yearbooks reflected their newfound place in the industry as well as the aesthetic types and bodies that advertising and marketing professionals, photographers, and consumers ultimately craved. Indeed, the growth of the men’s side of the industry was reflected both in the photographs in International Model and the emergence of agencies that employed men. Agent Peter Hope Lumley, located on the Brompton Road in the tony London neighborhood of Knightsbridge, employed seven men among his staff of models in 1962; while the leader in the field, Scotty’s Model Agency of Bond Street London, employed seventy men in that same year.191 Almost always clean-­shaven, trim, athletic, well-­groomed, and in possession of a killer smile, the men in International Model showcased their ability to strike multiple poses, assume different characters, and wear a variety of garments. Peter Anthony was typical of the early 1960s aesthetic, standing at six feet with a forty-­inch chest and a thirty-­three-­inch waist and inseam and described, in one 1962 article in the Observer, as the “most famous male model of the moment.”192 His dark brown hair and eyes were highlighted in images that emphasized, in the case of the bottom left photo on his page in International Model, exuberant confidence, and in the case of the top left, debonair sophistication and inviting eyes (see figure 6.15). International Model displayed an array of, mostly White, aesthetic types and brands of British masculinity in profiling the men included in their pages. While the posing and clothing styles of Peter Anthony were fairly typical, a range of approaches to showing off the male face and body were employed. In the 1960 edition, for instance, John Lorrell posed as a City gentleman in a black suit and a bowler hat while Bruce Wyllie showed his versatility by appearing as a coal miner as well as a university student in a school tie, striped blazer, and straw boater.193 Also showcased in this issue

Figure 6.15.  Seeking out the male model. “Peter Anthony,” International Model, 1959, edited by Biddy V. Martin. (London: World’s Press News Publishing, Ltd., 1958), 196. Courtesy of the British Library.

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were a cocktail-­wielding playboy and a tweedy older gentleman, along with a variety of other aesthetic types. By the mid-­1960s more casual poses, exposed chests, swimwear, and a greater amount of leisure wear predominated.194 Modish styles of dress, implying an engagement with “rock and roll” culture, were also increasingly common by this time in the photographs that models were sharing with prospective employers.195 As male models became ubiquitous in 1960s Britain, they were not only discussed as particular types, they were also elevated as a new form of celebrity, an exemplar of British manhood to be lauded, drooled over, and possessed. In one feature on fashion trends for 1962 that appeared in Boyfriend Book 61, two young men, described as “handsome models” and aspiring actors and identified as the fair-­haired “Jonathen [sic]” King and the dark-­haired Edward Michaels, were given a direct voice, offering their advice on style and clothing and making them that much more appealing as objects of heterosexual fantasy and desire. Jonathen, for instance, was reported to have said of swimwear, “I like my swimwear cool and racy . . . When it comes to actually taking the plunge I’ll settle for a jazzy bikini that’s right in keeping with my favourite music . . . mainstream and modern.” With regard to suits, the men were said to prefer “slim Continental styling” and “modern yet classic” hats, expressing preferences similar to those appearing in the star profiles that were standard fare in the magazine.196 Never far below the surface in descriptions of these sorts were worries that men who cared about fashion or men who enjoyed the act of display too much were potentially suspect. The rise of the male model, accompanying, as it did, the growth of a more vibrant and visible gay culture, became one place where the cultural negotiation of a whole range of sexual desires and identities unfolded, and would continue to unfold, during the final decades of the twentieth century.

˙∙˙ The participation of young Britons, in particular, in a flourishing postwar consumer culture revolved around an engagement with the emerging concepts and traditions of male beauty in the 1950s and 1960s. For many young men, purchasing products and clothing, visiting hairdressers, and caring for both face and body was a way to participate not only in a modern, recovering economy but also a means through which one might achieve personal satisfaction and success. In the case of same-­sex-­desiring men in the period, physique magazines provided them with an aesthetic (and, yes, in some cases masturbatory) outlet for expressing their desires while also identifying with a broader community of queer men.197 Similarly, teenage

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girls found, in the pages of Boyfriend, an opportunity to praise and consume images of their favorite stars as they imbibed the culture of postwar heterosexuality and articulated their aesthetic preferences. Male models, as they rose to prominence in the fashion industry only added fuel to the fires of this charged atmosphere as they became both a new kind of masculine presence in visual culture and yet another object of admiration, desire, and envy. The notion, present in the decades outlined in this chapter, that one might stake a contrary political position, earn a living, or, indeed, articulate a sexual identity by fashioning, selling, or possessing the good-­looking male face and body only became more pronounced as Britons encountered the crises and opportunities of the 1970s and 1980s.

[  Ch a pter 7   ]

Youthful Rebels, Gender-­Benders, and Gay Men This is the age of the Beautiful People—­men and women. Prettiness in a male was once a handicap, even taboo. A pretty boy was tagged effem­ inate. Now the boys are prettier than the girls—­and the girls like it that way. Not everybody can be beautiful and handsome, but nobody need be downright ugly. . . . The formula may be self-­discipline, a controlled diet and a few physical jerks each day; it might come gift-­wrapped in a jar, tube or bottle. The end result is the same: keeping young in looks. Ro d n ey Ben n ett -­E n gl a n d, As Young as You Look: Male Grooming and Rejuvenation (1970) I had no encounter with pornography until the late 1960s and early 1970s. . . . I was simply not aware of the existence of real porno magazines directed at gay men. I had of course seen the magazines of the 1950s. . . . These though were very modest, and “no sex.” “Physique Pictorial,” “Vim,” and many others. Anyway I became friendly with a man who had been buying sexually explicit (American) magazines for some time and he showed me his very large collection . . . one magazine “Manpower” a Colt production . . . did appeal. And I found a shop eventually which stocked it in Liverpool, together with other magazines of a similar type . . . I began a collection of my own. Response to a National Lesbian and Gay Survey Directive on Pornography (1993)

The discussions of sexual and gender identities that figured so prominently in the last chapter continue in this one, as we examine the years between the late 1960s and the early 1990s, an era marked by intense cultural shifts. During these decades, the male body and masculine aesthetic standards were subjected, in Britain and elsewhere, to intense public scrutiny as the 246

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country struggled to negotiate several key changes to the ways sexual relations were regulated, women’s bodies were controlled, and literature and images deemed pornographic were censored.1 As historian Stephen Brooke has recently noted, all of these changes placed a heavy premium on individual rights and personal self-­determination.2 The ability of the individual to adhere to or reject gender and sexual norms, to experiment with different forms of aesthetic presentation as a form of self-­actualization, and to partake in the pleasures of the male body were also front and center in these decades of dramatic economic dislocation, political reaction, and cultural experimentation.3 The 1970s, when many of the developments or changes described in this chapter first took hold, were marked by recession, massive inflation, and large-­scale unemployment. Attempts at a political fix, and the tensions that accompanied them, varied significantly. The Labour Party continued to support social democracy while the Conservatives, especially following Margaret Thatcher’s rise to leadership in 1975, embraced free-­market principles and adopted monetarist economic policies. Labor unrest—­ emanating from coal miners as well as public service workers—­dominated in the 1970s, culminating in a massively disruptive series of strikes in the winter of 1978–­79 that many believe led to Thatcher’s election that spring. Despite initial difficulties, the British economy experienced some significant growth in the 1980s, especially in the financial services sector. With this came a renewed focus on consumerism, but this was a consumerism that did not affect all Britons evenly, as evidenced by the coal miners’ strikes of 1984 and 1985 that were forcefully busted by the Thatcher government.4 The latter decades of the twentieth century were marked by pronounced challenges to convention but also, of course, by spirited defenses of a more “traditional” Britain. Years of postwar immigration, despite attempts to curtail it with restrictions that began in the 1960s and continued into the 1980s under Thatcher,5 nonetheless led to increased racial diversity and the growing presence of faces and bodies of color on British streets and in British popular culture. The partial decriminalization of male homosexuality that had been recommended by the Wolfenden Committee in 1957 and was finally implemented in 1967 led to the growth of an increasingly visible gay subculture and political movement.6 And gender roles, abortion (also decriminalized in 1967), divorce, domestic violence, and a host of other issues were all examined and debated by second-­wave feminists.7 These changes were accompanied by a growing sexualization of British culture that led to the naked or partially clad male body becoming even more pervasive. Of course, not all were happy with these changes and the challenges to British society that they represented. Anti-­immigration forces, embodied in the

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person of Enoch Powell and the rise of British White nationalist and neo-­ fascist politics, sought to protect British Whiteness.8 Similarly, crusades against immorality—­which included social “problems” ranging from pornography and sex on television to gay rights—­were spearheaded by individuals like Mary Whitehouse and organizations like the Nationwide Festival of Light.9 The legacies of “permissiveness,” however uneven they may have been,10 generated more open examinations of sexual and gender identities in the British press, in private reflections, and in cultural forms like popular music, film, and television. Through discussions of and reflections on the male use of “scents” and cosmetics, beards, and bodybuilding, as well as a host of other subjects, Britons navigated shifting aesthetic standards and styles. They used these moments to negotiate the meanings of masculinity and femininity, heterosexuality and homosexuality, and unconventionality and orthodoxy, at a time when they were anything but stable. Some Britons in this period grappled directly with race, with people of color challenging White aesthetics and some producers of visual culture trying to represent diversity, albeit often ineffectively and in terms that revealed racist assumptions. This was also a period in which a flourishing gay male culture, predicated partly on acts of consumption and the ability to purchase and enjoy images of nude men openly, emerged.11 Expressing aesthetic preferences and desires that actively celebrated the genitals and the male body as unambiguously sexual objects meant to be enjoyed by other men became, in this context, an important cornerstone to gay worldviews in the 1970s and 1980s. The meaning of the body in gay male culture shifted, though, as it was ravaged by AIDS in the 1980s and early 1990s. This tragic pandemic produced compelling narratives of bodily transformation that focused simultaneously on the virus’s impact on personal beauty and valiant attempts to combat it. Considerations of male beauty were thus deeply intertwined with some of the most important developments of the late twentieth century.

Experiencing Male Beauty in an Era of Social Change Transformative changes in terms of men’s fashion occurred in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Hair grew in length, facial hair again experienced some popularity, and distinctions between masculine and feminine styles became more muted.12 This was also an era in which many challenged convention by pursuing varied approaches to personal aesthetics, pointing to some of the ways in which these decades ushered in a wider array of options for men seeking to be deemed attractive. Some challenged gender conventions

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by embracing sparkly clothes, makeup, and high-­heeled shoes, frequently, as was the case for Elton John, to make a name for themselves musically.13 Others, particularly those embracing punk or skinhead styles, appropriated uber-­masculine articles of clothing like work shoes or boots to express challenges to the status quo.14 The trend toward experimentation continued into the 1980s as new wave musicians embraced personal styles that prompted reconsiderations of binary gender roles and sometimes blurred the line between gay and straight.15 Accompanying these changes were new consumer opportunities for a grooming industry that sold, with increasing regularity, aftershave, scented deodorants, and accoutrements like hairdryers designed for and marketed directly to men.16 While ideal body shapes continued to reflect a degree of physical fitness, a slim and slender aesthetic (accentuated frequently by tight-­fitting clothing) dominated on many British streets in the 1970s. By the 1980s, however, a return to muscularity, seen in both gay and straight men, predominated. These shifts often prompted comparisons between masculine styles that relied on a language of assessment and relative worth that had, embedded within them, assumptions about what forms of self-­presentation were most valued. Embracing particular styles and ways of grooming during these decades frequently carried, as they did in earlier periods, either overt or covert political meanings. For West Indian and other men of color, rejecting the prevailing White aesthetics of the day was a subversive act and an articulation of cultural distinctiveness. Dreadlocks and Afros did not just represent the embrace of a particular Black aesthetic or challenge to White-­dominated conceptions of physical beauty.17 They were gestures that reflected a commitment to racial equality or a quest for “Black power,” a forceful transatlantic call for social influence and political clout.18 Discussions of the gendered meanings surrounding various male grooming practices and styles of dress enabled reflections on the status of British manhood throughout the 1970s and 1980s. They also produced occasional tensions as challenges to convention confronted tradition and as the nonnormative blurred (and sometimes overcame) the normative.19

˙∙˙ The twentieth-­century tendency toward looking at men and reflecting on their status as objects of admiration continued unabated into the 1970s in a range of cultural venues, including magazines geared to young, hip women. Often inflected with feminist and sexually liberated messages, publications like Cosmopolitan and Honey (geared to young women in their late teens and early twenties) contained features that regularly assessed both

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masculine attractiveness and sex appeal. The UK version of Cosmopolitan, for instance, ran features that discussed those attributes that made male celebrities erotically appealing while promoting the idea of the independent, employed, and sexually empowered woman.20 The March 1972 cover of the inaugural British edition announced a feature by journalist Jilly Cooper that purported to reveal what made the actor David Niven, the playwright John Osborne, the politician Roy Jenkins, and others “fantastic lovers.”21 More interesting was a feature that appeared in Honey in 1971 titled “100 Men—­ The Best in Britain.” For this piece, photographer Carin Simon was sent out on a tour “in search of the best men in Britain” and asked to assemble a series of photographic portraits (see figure 7.1). Simon described her scouting process in the piece. She indicated that she usually began by “visiting a local art college or student union,” before heading to town centers to observe men walking around during their lunch hour. Nighttime frequently brought her to discos and pubs, where she could strike up conversations with potential subjects. In assessing her experience, Simon offered some reflections on the looks-­oriented perspective of young metropolitan men and their regional counterparts: “I found more good-­looking men in the Kings Road [London] than anywhere else, though the people up north were generally less image-­conscious and nice—­in Carlisle especially.” In documenting the most salient attributes of her subjects, Simon recorded location, occupation, height, and hair and eye color, a trend in keeping with other sorts of celebrations of male beauty. Additionally, she recorded their likes and dislikes, their views on marriage (reminding readers of Honey that, at least in the abstract, they might be potential partners), and whether or not they considered themselves good-­ looking (most did). Many of her subjects had longer hair, and some had beards. Reminding us that subtle shifts were indeed occurring in terms of recognizing racial diversity, Simon incorporated some men of color including several of African and Asian descent.22 The impact of the culture of looking that was an important feature of female-­oriented and, increasingly in this period, gay male–­oriented publications naturally had an impact on the way men saw themselves. We can get a brief glimpse into this through an examination of an interesting public diary from the 1970s. Produced by Johnny Black—­a press officer who would go on to a prominent career in the music industry before becoming a journalist and archivist—­from 1974 until 1984, the journal included entries by Johnny, his first wife Annie, and a number of friends. It also functioned as a kind of running commentary on personal matters, contemporary culture, and gender and sexual roles. Through the reflections, photographs, and images that Black provided in the journal, we are given a rare point of

Figure 7.1.  One woman takes on the task of assessing British men. Carin Simon, “100 Men—­The Best in Britain,” Honey, February 1971, 20. Courtesy of the British Library.

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access for discussing one man’s engagement with popular culture, politics, and ideas about male beauty in the 1970s. Black revealed in his entries a perceptiveness about gender roles that reflected his education and an awareness of feminist ideas at a moment when the women’s liberation movement was gaining steam.23 On May 17, 1974, for example, he reflected on what he called “sex determination” by asking: “Why is this race subject to jokes revolving around whether or not a certain individual is/was male or female?” This opening question was followed by reflections on people’s defensiveness when, in times of increasing androgyny and less distinction between men and women in terms of dress,24 they are “accused of looking like the other sex.” Determining the gender of another person, Black asserted, was only necessary when one was about to “[climb] into bed” with someone. Challenging cultural expectations about, for instance, the use of foul language in mixed company, he concluded with the following gender-­radical proposition: “For all purposes, other than sex, there is no need to be certain of the gender of the people you meet. So forget it.”25 While not directly about male beauty, these sorts of reflections highlighted an awareness of both the body and personal aesthetics that became only more pronounced in comments on his own appearance.26 Black’s entries on his face and body provide glimpses into his everyday life. Punctuated by photo-­booth portraits or, in some instances, snapshots, they often recorded rather mundane observations: “This is how I look. . . . Note today’s black hair. This is the fault of the photo-­booth, my hair is brown not black.”27 But many of Black’s observations also provided insight into how appearance figured into his daily existence and mindset. In another entry from 1974, also illustrated with a photo-­booth portrait, he commented on his workday look: “this is the civil servant me, in suit, shirt and tie.”28 In so doing, he noted the relationship between appearance and professional success, reflecting certain points of continuity with, for instance, M-­O respondents in the late 1930s. These entries also noted shifts in hairstyles or facial hair and what Black identified as an obsession with “leaving behind a trace of my existence.”29 Sometimes Black used his appearance to explain his physical or mental state. In June 1976, he included two images taken at King’s Cross Station that captured his exhaustion following a week’s stay in London.30 Occasionally, Black’s entries revealed a desire to present to the public an idealized physical self and give vent to insecurities, undoubtedly produced by the intense attention to physical appearance in the popular culture of the 1960s and 1970s. An entry from March 1977, once again included a photo-­ booth picture of Black. Commenting on both the photograph and his own sense that it was unflattering, he observed: “Well, the evil leer to the left

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proves that I finally found my way, spots and all, back in front of the old auto-­flash. Would you buy a used car from somebody who looks like that?”31 In an entry from 1978, Black commented on what he called his “very favour­ ite photograph of me.” Picking up on the theme of uncertainty regarding one’s aesthetic appeal, he continued, “I like it because it shows me as I like to think I look. Not necessarily the real me, but the one I would like to present to the world” (see plate 8).32 In both instances, Black displayed an awareness that success and the perceptions of others were contingent on effective strategies of self-­presentation.33 Black also engaged in his notebooks with popular print culture as he reflected on his personal appearance. In a 1976 entry, he referenced an article on male body shape that appeared in an unidentified popular newspaper or magazine (see figure 7.2). With a focus on several different types and the sorts of women who were drawn to each, Black’s commentary on the arti­ cle (which included a cutout section of the piece pasted into the notebook), focused on what he saw as the accuracy of the description. The section was on the “thin man,” which Black identified as “most similar to me.” The article characterized the slender subject as small-­boned and in possession of narrow shoulders, a “concave chest,” and a discernible rib cage and the woman who loved him as sensitive, intelligent, gracious, temperamental, and fickle. Black concluded that while he was “hairier than this specimen,” he found the description to be spot on, especially when he considered his relationship with his wife, Annie. An increasingly common feature in the British press, features of this sort reinforced, simultaneously, aesthetic categories and the importance of heterosexual pairing.34 A preoccupation with aesthetic types, fashion trends, and transformation was also evident in books on male grooming and beauty from the period, in ways that had some continuities with late nineteenth-­and early twentieth-­century examples of the genre. In 1970, the journalist and fashion writer Rodney Bennett-­England published a book titled As Young as You Look: Male Grooming and Rejuvenation. Part manual, part travelogue, and part history, this work contained chapters on fitness, diet, dental care, hair, and dress (among other things) and referenced male beauty in ways that paid close attention to transatlantic developments. Several issues raised in the opening chapter, humorously titled “The Sexterior Decorating Business,” provided perspective on Bennett-­England’s times. Foremost among these was the idea that looks mattered in business, especially in what Bennett-­England termed the “executive rat-­race,” a reflection on the class background of his intended audience as well the shift to a service-­oriented economy. For Bennett-­England, it was important that men in this group looked distinguished, but it was more important that they looked young:

Figure 7.2.  Johnny Black discusses attention to the male body in the 1970s. Entry for February 20, 1976, Johnny Black Diaries, Notebook 1 (March 1974– ­May 1976), 224. With the permission of Johnny Black.

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“Company images matter, and a boardroom stuffed with greying, balding, corpulent tycoons doesn’t impress prospective clients any more.”35 There are clear continuities with the past here, but, for Bennett-­England, the 1970s ushered in a new “age of Beautiful People” where “prettiness in a male” was no longer a marker of effeminacy or a “handicap” but, rather, an appealing attribute.36 He also saw it as an “artificial” age in which “public favour swings toward a good-­looking man” and where magazines, cosmetics, and grooming products geared toward the male population were on the rise.37 Bennett-­England argued that male grooming and masculine attractiveness were issues at the fore of the public consciousness, as reflected in London-­based hairdressing establishments. These included full-­service establishments that catered to the young and the hip such as the one run by Gary Craze in Chelsea; upper-­class establishments such as Leonard’s in Upper Grosvenor Street, Mayfair; and old standbys such as Truefitt and Hill.38 Health clubs, gyms, and saunas were also common in London, but the focus was on achieving fitness and slimness not, according to Bennett-­ England, bulging muscles: “A generation ago many men dreamed of being a Mr. Universe Type, who seemed to epitomize manhood and was the chief psychology behind advertising for keep-­fit aids. Today, young men dream of being Mick Jagger, Cliff Richard or Paul McCartney. Good looks have replaced muscles as the new sex symbolism.”39 The media commented on this new “sex symbolism” and its attendant features throughout the 1970s and 1980s, when fashions and trends evolved rapidly. For many, reflections on hair, cosmetic procedures, and makeup created opportunities to scrutinize prevailing aesthetics as well as gender roles and the sexual landscape. One 1969 piece from Tit-­Bits, for instance, focused on what we would now call transgender issues by discussing the preparations that some went through for gender-­confirmation surgery. While partly about the “bore” that some men found shaving to be and the electrolysis services of West End beautician Rita Roberts that could help them remove their beards permanently, this piece really addressed the trials and tribulations of transgender women. In particular, Rita was portrayed, along with physicians and psychiatrists, as someone who was preparing her trans clients “for their new lives as women.” In the piece, which drew readers’ attention to what the German American doctor Harry Benjamin called The Transsexual Phenomenon in his 1966 book of that title, Rita was cast as a sympathetic friend who was providing a valuable service.40 Fashion columnists, designers, models, and, in some cases, ordinary men wrote about gender, consumer cultures, and sexual identities in this era, weighing in on a variety of issues. In 1971, for instance, one contributor to the Daily Mail discussed the gendered implications of men wearing

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cologne, reminding readers that many people viewed such practices as “cissy.” “Ordinary” men, the piece asserted, might have “lost their inhibitions about wearing trendy suits and bright shirts and ties, but they still, apparently, consider it unmanly to smell of anything but sweat, tobacco, or horses.”41 The press’s attempt to police gender boundaries in discussing grooming practices did not necessarily dissuade. Many men embraced scented aftershaves, colognes, and other toiletries,42 according to market research conducted by Euromonitor in 1978 that showed a 17 percent increase in the sale of aftershaves and a 133 percent increase in the sale of colognes between the years 1973 and 1978. In 1978, some £28 million were expended on aftershaves and £6 million on cologne in the UK.43 Celebrities and male models promoted cultural acceptance of these practices by discussing, in different venues, their grooming rituals and the use of fragrances such as Dakar and Paco Rabanne,44 countering traditional assumptions that the use of these products was either “feminine” or “unmanly.”45 The trend in the 1970s toward beardedness, sideburns, and mustaches was another development that prompted fashion journalists and others to reflect on the nature of the masculine and the feminine.46 The meanings attached to facial hair, in particular, fluctuated over time as John Taylor noted in the Sunday Mirror in 1977 when he observed that in the 1930s “it was cissy to wear a beard.”47 By the 1970s, though, this was clearly not the case. In this decade facial hair was associated first with countercultural radicalism (à la John Lennon and others)48 and then, increasingly, with masculinity and sex appeal. The president of the National Hairdressers’ Federation, David Colclough, announced that 1974 was the “year of the beard” in an annual address he delivered to the organization’s members, declaring as well that women considered men with beards sexier and more dependable. Facial hair, for Colclough, provided gender certainty in uncertain times: “in a unisex world where other differences were becoming less apparent, a beard could be useful for identification.”49 The gendered and sexual implications of men’s fashion and grooming practices were not confined to discussions of products or styles. They also figured prominently in considerations of men in the public eye. Especially notable were discussions of musical performers in the 1970s such as David Bowie, Gary Glitter, and Elton John who challenged traditional bound­ aries in their performances and, sometimes, in their public lives. Bowie, for example, did so by embracing the eccentric and androgynous alter ego of Ziggy Stardust and openly declaring his bisexuality. In reviewing a performance at Festival Hall in 1972, Michael Wale drew attention both to Bowie’s musical talent and his style: “He has always retained a unique position in the pop world as the purveyor of high camp.” For Bowie, camp involved the

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embrace of “feminine” style that included, on the 1971 cover of the album Hunky Dory, a glamorous pose of Bowie wearing long blond hair. It also involved gender play, as Wale noted when he contrasted Ziggy’s “red” hair, “cut like a woman’s,” with his “hard and strong” voice (see plate 9).50 Bowie himself, writing in 2001, noted the importance of the “glam rock” moment when various performers reinvented culture, made ambiguity fashionable, and encouraged men to wear Lurex tights.51 Bowie eventually moved on from his more extreme forms of gender experimentation. Other male artists in the 1970s and the 1980s continued to challenge convention by embracing distinctive style and grooming choices or undermining respectable masculinity. Punks in the midseventies, for instance, wore short or spiked (and frequently dyed) hair, donned clothes that were “torn or odd,” and possessed, according to one commentator in 1976, teeth that “seemed a little green.”52 These challenges to aesthetic convention and, indeed, to propriety were evident to television viewers who witnessed Bill Grundy’s 1976 interview with the Sex Pistols, in which the stylistic contrasts between the host and his guests could not have been more stark or apparent.53 While the poses of groups like the Sex Pistols were defiantly and aggressively masculine, some performers in the late 1970s and 1980s returned to Bowie’s embrace of femininity in cultivating what came to be referred to as the “New Romantic” aesthetic. Discussed throughout the early 1980s, the movement was associated with musical groups such as Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet, and Culture Club (most especially its lead singer, Boy George). These “New Romantic” groups and their unique style of voluminous, quaffed hair and makeup (inspired by the likes of Bowie as well as Adam Ant) had broad national impact.54 One article in the Manchester edition of the Daily Star, titled “Parade of the Peacocks,” identified followers of this fashion as the “Beau Brummells of the rock age.” The piece also noted the homosexuality of many of these “Peacocks,” highlighting their queerness at a point in time when that term had yet to acquire its current theoretical meaning and association with nonbinary gender and sexual identities.55 The embrace of this sort of nonconformity was not reserved exclusively for the same-­sex desiring. Peter Carroll, for instance, was featured in a 1985 Liverpool Echo article as a straight-­identified young man who first began wearing makeup as a teenage follower of David Bowie in the 1970s (see figure 7.3). His “pale face,” “dark eyes,” and “burgundy-­tinted hair” were said to produce a “posh punk vampire effect” that was popular with Carroll’s beautiful model girlfriend, Julie Sothern, who was quoted as saying, “I love fellows wearing make-­up, I don’t think it’s effeminate.”56 Carroll’s challenges to convention were mitigated, in this piece, by his heterosexual success and his embrace of the goth aesthetic

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Figure 7.3.  Men and makeup in the 1980s. Dianne Robinson, “Make-­Up Maketh Man?,” Liverpool Echo, January 21, 1985, 8. Courtesy of the Lesbian and Gay Newsmedia Archive, File AK/Makeup.

associated with the band the Cure rather than with what the article labeled as the “gender bender Boy George look,” an aesthetic described in the Boy George Fashion & Make-­Up Book (1984) as “sexually ambiguous.”57 As some accepted gender transgression and encouraged toleration for new brands of masculine self-­fashioning, others in the 1980s were careful

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to note attempts to reassert traditional masculinity through fashion. Jean Dobson, fashion and style editor for the Daily Mail, declared in 1981 the “Return of the handsome rugged man!” noting an increase in the number of good-­looking and fit young men in the streets and on the pages of fashion magazines. Marked by a “stronger” look, these men sported different hairstyles: “shorter, swept back, with almost no sideburns” and occasional “blond highlights to accentuate a . . . tan.” Athletic, outdoorsy, and masculine, these men were seen as an alternative to punks and “New Romantics.” While modern in their fashion choices, they were also rooted in history, a point reflected in the article’s characterization of their hairstyles as a modified version of the postwar “short back and sides.”58 Muscularity was also a component of this new (but really quite old) aesthetic with one 1985 review of Bruce Weber’s photographs of athletes announcing “Real men are back in fashion.”59 Rejecting the White male aesthetic that predominated in the 1970s and 1980s, members of Britain’s growing Caribbean population created community-­oriented publications in which the good looks of West Indian celebrities such as the musician and actor Cy Grant were highlighted.60 As gestures, discussions of Black aesthetics countered predominantly White visions of attractiveness and figured in broader struggles for civil rights and a sense of belonging. Considerations of male grooming, particularly related to hair, and displays of the Black body acquired greater significance as communities of color became even more vocal politically in the 1970s. West Indian World (founded 1971), a publication geared to Afro-­Caribbeans, showcased the importance of beauty culture in these communities in advertisements for hairdressing and other beauty-­oriented services. On the one-­year anniversary of the newspaper’s first issue, founder Aubrey Baynes discussed the role of his publication (which reached twenty-­two thousand in 1972) among West Indians in London, Birmingham, and elsewhere. In addition to reflecting the “multi-­racial country that Britain ha[s] become” and issues of concern, such as Afro-­British relations with the police, Baynes asserted the radical potential embedded in viewing attractive men and women in a publication produced by and for people of color: “for the first time for 500 years the black man has come to see himself as beautiful.”61 Young men of color from immigrant families saw the political potential in body aesthetics and fashion. For some, rejecting the styles that had characterized their parents’ desires to conform to the expectations of White Britons could be a youthful act of self-­assertion or rebellion. One eighteen-­ year-­old West Indian, identified as Barney from South London, was described in the Guardian in 1973 as rejecting an engineering apprenticeship in favor of work in a coffee shop and a future that he hoped would involve world travel: “I guess I rebelled against what my parents wanted. . . . They

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Figure 7.4.  A group of young men in a Brixton, London, café (ca. early 1970s). Courtesy of Tim Ring/Alamy Stock Photo.

thought I might be a teacher. . . . They thought the engineering apprentice job was good, but I didn’t like it and I didn’t like the people.”62 This rejection of parental wishes and gesture of independence was reflected in the way he presented himself through the wearing of beads and the donning of an “Afro hairstyle,” a mode of display evident in photographs of men on London streets, in cafés, and at the Notting Hill Carnival in the 1970s and early 1980s (see figure 7.4).63 Afros were important for male immigrants of color (and, more frequently, their children) as they sought to articulate standards of good grooming and attractiveness that differed from White aesthetics. For Black followers of Rastafari, the wearing of dreadlocks as well as the ritualistic use of ganga or marijuana were central features of a movement that sometimes clashed and challenged prevailing British norms and ideals.64 Tensions around these issues came to a head in 1981—­a year of significant racial turmoil that included an important episode of rioting in Brixton, South London—­over the issue of how Rastas (followers of Rastafari) were treated in prison, particularly with regard to their hair. In that year, Rastas and their supporters in Parliament questioned a 1976 Home Office ruling that claimed Rastafari

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was not a religion and that imprisoned practitioners could be subjected to mandatory haircuts. The Home Office, the Guardian noted, viewed Rastas as they did “hippies or Teddy Boys,” diminishing the spiritual qualities of the movement by denigrating its youthfulness and antiestablishmentarian elements.65 This, in fact, seemed to be the perspective shared by some government officials who, in the 1981 debate, argued that dreadlocks were not essential to the Rastas.66 Others argued that assertions of this sort were a “grave breach of religious liberty” and “racialist.”67 This conflict occurred at the very moment that Lord Leslie George Scarman was preparing to release his report on the riots that occurred in Brixton in the spring of 1981. While the report, published in November of 1981, stopped short of identifying systemic racism as the reason for the riots, it did note the distinct economic and social disadvantages faced by people of color.68 It was within this context that the government decided in December, 1981 to alter the treatment of Rastas in prison, even if some were unprepared to call Rastafari a religion.69 Considering the relationship between diverse Black communities and their distinctive cultures of male beauty should remind us that personal adornment or grooming are anything but trivial. For people of color, as art historian and critic Kobena Mercer has noted, “hairstyles are political,” acts and gestures that “[articulate] responses to a panoply of historical forces” that impart to this particular “signifier . . . both social and symbolic meaning and significance.”70 The political salience of adorning, celebrating, clothing, and, ultimately, undressing the male body was also evident to one other group in British society in the 1970s and 1980s—­gay men.

The Culture of Gay Pornography in the 1970s and 1980s As contemporary gay culture and politics took hold in the wake of the 1967 Sexual Offences Act (which decriminalized private acts between men over the age of twenty-­one), a growing sense that the same-­sex desiring needed to produce and actively acquire images of male beauty that were not just potentially transgressive or culturally queer but definitively gay became a more pressing part of the political agenda. In London, this was most clear in the emergence of new bookstores in the 1970s (such as Stud, Incognito, and the highly successful Zipper) that catered to the interests of an explicitly gay clientele by providing access to a broad range of fiction and nonfiction, erotica, clothing, and, most importantly for our purposes, magazines.71 Some involved in this gay consumer boom, like John Barrington, had been active in the earlier physique magazine craze. In the

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Figure 7.5.  Images of men and gay magazines in the windows of the Man-­to-­Man Shop, Man-­to-­Man, no. 2 (1974): 3. Courtesy of the Bishopsgate Institute Library and Archives, London.

1970s he joined forces with another prominent pornographer, by the name of John Risley Prichard,72 to create a magazine called Man-­to-­Man, which was sold, along with Barrington photographs and sculptures, in the Man-­ to-­Man store on London’s Pembridge Road (see figure 7.5). Signage and window displays left little to the imagination with regard to what was on offer. Just as interior displays had in Carnaby Street boutiques in the 1960s, storefronts in the 1970s reflected a growing public culture of masculine nakedness and male “sex appeal,”73 a shift that fashion journalist Suzy Menkes characterized, in 1986, as a cultural elevation of the “male sexual object.”74 These developments marked the creation of a new kind of self-­ confidently gay and assertive entrepreneur who sought to make money while providing an invaluable service to a burgeoning community.75 I focus in this section on the efforts of two other prominent figures: the publishers,

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editors, photographers, and filmmakers Alan Purnell and Alex McKenna. Their motivations, especially in creating magazines, were described by Purnell when he and several others started publishing, in 1974, the new monthly Him Exclusive, a pornographic magazine intended to provide pleasure and information to a self-­identified gay audience. In a pointed introductory editorial, he noted: “we are hoping that we have produced the first gay magazine in Britain to have all the elements it needs for success.” Aside from noting that Him Exclusive was “completely run by gay people,” Purnell was careful to emphasize the importance of looking at the fully naked male body, sizing up its aesthetic value, and, most importantly, displaying it as an object of desire and titillation: “Naturally, a gay magazine stands or falls by the photographs it prints, and this is why we are offering more than any previous gay publication.”76 While not the focus here, the production and sale of nude photographs and explicit discussions of gay sex in magazine form were subject to both the Obscene Publications Acts of 1959 and 1964 as well as various post office regulations that made it illegal to send or procure obscene images through the mail. This meant that, as they attempted to peddle appealing men to their gay clientele, these entrepreneurs were subjected to periodic searches by Scotland Yard’s Obscene Publications squad and criminal charges by the Director of Public Prosecutions.77

˙∙˙ The magazines that Alan Purnell was most involved with included Him Exclusive (1974–­76) and its successors Him International (1976–­78) and Him Monthly (1978–­83). Alex McKenna’s most successful venture in the 1970s and 1980s was Zipper, which he founded while working alongside Purnell at the publishing company Incognito in 1976 and 1977, reflecting the links that existed among this community of gay entrepreneurs.78 Each of these publications were part of a new breed of gay magazine that appeared in the wake of decriminalization and a more radicalized gay and lesbian movement that argued, as the Gay Liberation Front did, that both being gay and gay sexual expression were “good.”79 They were not the first, being preceded by Spartacus (founded 1970), Jeremy (founded 1969), Jeffrey (founded 1972), and Quorum (founded 1971). Each of these publications had strong followings and were identified as important components of gay culture through advertisements in Gay News (which began in 1972) and in various articles on “Gay Mags.”80 Spartacus and Jeffrey—­which were the most direct predecessors to the more explicitly pornographic magazines produced by Purnell and McKenna a bit later in the decade—­each displayed some full-­frontal nudity

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in their pages with the intent of providing pleasure to their readers. Yet, these publications seemed to be primarily focused on news about the community, police actions, personal advertisements, and advice on fashion and entertainment. As Michael Anderson, who joined the editorial team of  Jeffrey in 1973, noted, theirs was a venture intent on being a “general magazine for the average gay orientated guy.” Their gambit was meant to be broad, appealing to a range of types and encompassing different forms of gender presentation: “We shall be wanting to satisfy the keen football fan . . . as well as the domesticated gay guy who may want to try a new recipe or knitting.”81 Of course, what linked Jeffrey and other magazines like it to both the Him ventures and Zipper was a focus on celebrating masculine aesthetics and male beauty, even if the tendency in Jeffrey was more toward the style and approach that had figured in physique magazines of the 1950s and 1960s. Anderson, for instance, identified the “Male Poster Boy” as an important feature of the publication,82 and fashion pieces that emphasized the value of maintaining a slim build clearly revealed that physical appearance was a central preoccupation. This was also reflected in a “Groovy Guy Contest” that the magazine hosted in 1973.83 Entrants were expected to submit a picture of themselves or a mate in trunks or nude (contestants did not need to be gay) that would be printed in the magazine and judged. Like other publications examined in this book, Jeffrey expected male readers to look at and assess other men. It was also a magazine that encouraged the collection and storage of images (in, as one man noted in the 1980s, a “small suitcase” or other secure spaces) for future use.84 The possession of images of nude men was promoted through various gimmicks. One of these appeared in Jeffrey in 1973. In this instance, readers were told how to “collect” Paul, a model whose picture was divided into quadrants that appeared in four consecutive issues of the publication.85 The Him franchise and Zipper clearly drew on these very recent prece­ dents, but their boldness, assertiveness, and glossiness represented a politicized departure from anything that came before.86 These new types of magazines emphasized erotic pleasure, the articulation of a specifically gay identity that was highly sexualized, and a public kind of “coming out” entirely in keeping with the prevailing political ethos of the day.87 They also rejected the idea that pornography was a “lonely indulgence,”88 embracing a form of genre mixing that linked the pleasures of viewing nude men and the provision of no-­nonsense sexual education with a new kind of sex-­positive and informed gay identity.89 The men who constituted Him’s and Zipper’s audience were thus encouraged to see, to borrow from an American political manifesto that appeared in 1981, “gay pornography” as “a positive

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fulfilment that counteracts the nightmarish fears of our adolescent years” and as “politically progressive.”90 For the publishers and editors of these magazines, the aesthetic that was most often revered in their photographic features, erotic fiction, and discussions of a fledgling gay cinema was that of the beefy, hairy, and, muscular man (see figure 7.6). In Him Exclusive’s first editorial, this look was frequently identified as catering “to the tastes of the majority” for “the American ‘hunky’ type masculine model, which has been neglected so much in recent times over here.”91 This American aesthetic undoubtedly derived from the physique magazines that traveled back and forth across the Atlantic in the 1950s and 1960s.92 It also, however, highlighted the extent to which the thriving (and arguably freer) gay culture of cities like New York and San Francisco influenced British men and signposted a new kind of sexual and political assertiveness that reminded readers that they too could revel in the sexuality of “real men” while celebrating their identities boldly and openly. With its emphasis on wearing jeans, plaid shirts, boots, short hair, and mustaches, this look (sometime referred to as the “clone” aesthetic) was highly influential, as cultural commentator Peter Yorke noted in 1979 in Harpers and Queen.93 While he conceded that the embrace of masculinity by gay men functioned as an ironic stance (a form of camp that played with traditional gender roles), it was also about claiming something that had been denied to them for much of the twentieth century. Both magazines were especially preoccupied with extolling muscular aesthetics and stereotypically masculine clothing as they peddled a particularly appealing and sellable brand of manliness. As Geoff Stout (acting editor of Him Exclusive while Alan Purnell traveled to the United States in 1976) summed it up: “The style of Him is geared to the man with emphasis on leather and denim. Him Exclusive models tend to be active, butch, masculine, and hunky. Him is not a particularly soft approach, nor do we intend it to be. It is direct in its appearance, and is intended to tantalize and stimulate the minds of men who are definitely men.”94 The predilection for hunks and muscle was reflected not just in editorial comments but also in notices searching for models. A 1978 announcement in Zipper with the headline “Hey Mister—­Know Any Hunks?,” for instance, appeared opposite a nude image of a muscled man reminiscent of earlier physique poses (see fig­ure 7.7). The editors indicated that Zipper was always on the lookout for models and encouraged “chunky numbers walking the streets” to be photographed for the magazine.95 Similar calls appeared in other issues including one from 1980 that asked “Big Boy[s]” to appear in Alex McKenna videos and “well-­hung wonderful men” to pose for printed photographs.96

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Figure 7.6.  One version of the 1970s aesthetic. Cover of Him Exclusive, no. 1 (1974). Courtesy of the British Library.

The photo spreads and erotic stories that appeared in Zipper throughout the late 1970s and early 1980s showcased this hard and buff aesthetic in several telling ways. Most notable, of course, were those photographic features that highlighted musculature and, quite frequently, the quintessentially masculine credentials of the models. One 1980 spread featured

Figure 7.7.  The male body in 1970s pornography. Photograph from Zipper, no. 9 (1978): 4. Courtesy of the Bishopsgate Institute Library and Archives, London.

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“Beefy Ben!,” a steelworker from Huddersfield who recently moved to London where he was working as a bouncer at nightclubs and driving a taxicab.97 Desires for working-­class bodies were, as Matt Houlbrook and others have shown,98 common features of middle-­class queer culture for a good portion of the twentieth century, a point reflected not just in this feature but also in several others, including a 1981 piece on a muscular lorry driver from the North who liked rugby and enjoyed using the citizens band radio in his truck. His working-­class status was accentuated visually by a hard hat and worker’s overalls.99 A different working-­class aesthetic was celebrated in the same issue in a spread on Larry Harris (billed as “Larry the Skinhead”) who was described as football obsessed and, in one image, wearing the accoutrements of leather fetishists.100 Perhaps more common in these magazines were images featuring athletes, a trend in keeping with developments discussed in earlier portions of this book. Beyond aesthetic references to physique photographs and magazines, Him and Zipper also revealed lines of continuity between the penchant for collecting cartes de visite, postcards, and cigarette cards of athletic men in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and the desire for pornographic magazines, suggestive sportswear catalogs, and videos in the 1970s and 1980s. The elevation of the athlete appeared in a variety of different places in McKenna’s work. The cover of one 1980 issue of Zipper featured a muscled man in a jockstrap while an interior image, from that same year, featured a man in athletic shorts pulled halfway down his legs exposing a semierect penis covered in soap suds. Similarly, a 1983 issue incorporated several pictures of bodybuilders, reminding us of one important strand of same-­sex eroticism in the twentieth century.101 This athletic aesthetic was also promoted elsewhere in the magazine. McKenna referred to his own editorial ramblings as “Alex’s Pitch,” likening this page to the field where football games were played. Erotic stories like “Match of the Day” (a 1978 story that drew inspiration for its title from that of the BBC’s popular, weekly football broadcast) and “Gym Fantasy” (1981) described the sexual potential embedded in athletic culture.102 The former story, for instance, featured fellow football clubbers, one of whom was described as “well over six feet with huge, powerful shoulders and a deep, heavy-­set chest . . . fantastically hairy,”103 a body type that was also celebrated in a brief notice from 1981 on the Gloucester rugby player Phil Blakeway.104 The focus on athleticism also featured in an advertisement in the same issue for the London-­based company Sport Locker, which sold athletic T-­shirts, jockstraps, underwear, and swimsuits (among other

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items) and also made available, for the price of fifty pence, a color brochure that became yet another collectible item featuring the athletic physique.105 Although the hunks on display were frequently White, the editors occasionally included Black models in the pages of Him or ran essays on events intended for the Caribbean community, such as the Notting Hill Carnival. Rather than addressing serious issues connected to racism in the gay community or dealing explicitly with the desires or demands of men of Asian, African, or Caribbean extraction, the tendency was to fetishize non-­White men for a largely White audience.106 In describing the carnival, Him Exclusive highlighted distinctions between native Britons, assumed to be White, and “Blacks”: “The British find it hard to really let their hair down, and it is left to the Black population to lead the way for us.” The desire to document the carnival from a male-­loving perspective resulted in a photographic spread in which the Black male body figured prominently: “We think we found some very exciting sights, in spite of the fact that chill weather robbed us of the acres of flesh we may have hoped for.”107 This tendency toward sexualizing (and in the process trivializing) the Black male body was also highly evident in a Him Exclusive article that appeared in 1976 on one man’s sexual escapades during a vacation in Mombasa, Kenya. In recounting one experience for his readers, the author wrote of a tryst with Peter, “a broad-­shouldered hunk” whose “skin was black as midnight”: “I was enveloped in that heady, musky black-­man scent, and as he ran his hands up and down my body, squeezing my buttocks, I felt almost  .  .  . dwarfed by his magnificent bulk.”108 Despite the efforts of authors of other features in the magazine, particularly in later issues, to be more sensitive to racial matters, this fetishization remained painfully apparent throughout the 1970s.109 The presentation of non-­White bodies became a more consistent feature in these publications in the 1980s, reflecting a growing sense that the models represented should reflect the diversity of the population and appeal to different tastes. McKenna noted that he liked to include at least one man of color in every issue of the magazine.110 Despite recognizing this need, Zipper still peddled in well-­trodden stereotypes (particularly about Black men and Black bodies) that revealed certain assumptions about hypersexuality and prowess. These were nowhere more apparent than in a 1975 issue of Man-­to-­Man: International Focus in which John Barrington wrote that a Black lover was likely to be “more considerate, more virile, less inhibited, more eager to please than to be pleased, easier to please, . . . ‘stay on the job’ longer, and . . . come more frequently within any one session.”111 While the imperial frames of reference visible in earlier depictions were more muted

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and a number of the spreads on men of color made no mention of race in outlining the attributes of models, racist thinking persisted. Seemingly innocuous celebrations of Black beauty frequently existed alongside long-­standing tendencies among White Britons to view Blackness in general, and Black male sexuality more particularly, as both titillating and potentially dangerous.112 In one feature from 1980 on Steve Kopler, for instance, the race of this Black model (posed in athletic gear and exercising) was not mentioned. He was simply identified as an “East End boy” who works out between studying to be a mechanical engineer.113 Yet, the piece appeared in the very issue where a fantasy article (that was heavily criticized by some readers) titled “Back from the Front” profiled a Nazi army officer examining a “German” soldier in a sexually explicit manner.114 That same year, a spread on model Errol Martins, a large, muscular man, was titled “Big, Bad, Beautiful” (see figure 7.8), focusing on his ability to dominate the reader (a sexual fantasy of many to be sure) and highlighting his Blackness with terms like “black number” and “black hunk.”115 The politics of race and delineations of difference that have figured throughout this book thus continued into the 1980s. Early in what would turn out to be a tumultuous decade, these were exacerbated by racial tensions that sometimes turned violent. The direct result of frustrations felt by members of Black communities over issues such as police brutality and lack of economic opportunity, Bristol, London, and other cities experienced episodes of rioting in 1980 and 1981.116 The racial politics of looking are thus central to considerations of pornography. This cultural form also influenced developments in this period in London’s commercial gay culture where the pleasures of looking were frequently central. In June 1975, Him Exclusive sponsored a Mr. Playguy contest at the Fulham Town Hall in London. The event was lauded as an opportunity to “see some great bodies!” and the “most enjoyable gay night of 1975,” effectively linking the pleasures of viewing hunky men with an increasingly commercialized, vocal, and “out” gay identity in the British metropolis.117 A print advertisement for the event indicated that this was far removed, in terms of its celebration of sexuality, from the physique and male beauty contests of the early to mid-­twentieth century. Readers of Him were asked, in the first line of the advert, “Who is the most Desirable Man in Britain?” and then reminded that the contest would not just assess face and physique but, most importantly, “sex appeal.” While a drag queen was scheduled to host the contest, readers were reassured that the event would not compromise newfound claims to gay masculinity: “this will not be a drag ball as such, so no dresses required! It will be a very Butch evening.”118

Figure 7.8.  Photographs of Errol Martins revealing one form of representation for men of color. “Big, Bad, Beautiful,” Zipper, no. 25 (1980): 10. Courtesy of the Bishopsgate Institute Library and Archives, London.

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Humor was used here to separate post-­1967 gay men from early twentieth-­ century queens and fairies.119 It was also employed to position the act of sizing up the aesthetic qualities of other men as a thoroughly masculine, as well as a gay, prerogative. This tendency continued into the 1980s.120 In 1983, at the London club Heaven, the Mr. Hardware Finals were held. This was a national contest with men—­who had been selected at local contests in pubs and clubs in places like Birmingham, Blackpool, and Southampton—­coming together in the capital for a UK-­wide competition. Contestants paraded on stage in jockstraps and other costumes and were judged on their good looks and muscular development, all in ample abundance at the event. Alex McKenna was one of the judges for the evening, as was Mike Arlen, another porn entrepreneur, photographer, and filmmaker. In reflecting on the task at hand, it was clear that McKenna had enjoyed himself. The event, though, also offered him an opportunity to reflect on the diversity of tastes and desires within the gay community: “Should we put a good face above a chunky body! And does it help to have a bulging crotch? How many marks is a big dick? Is it more than a curvy butt or a nice pair of tits?”121 Events such as these were, in fact, part of a thriving gay consumer culture that not only commodified the male body through displays of this sort and pornographic magazines but also sought to cultivate its adornment, decoration, and pleasure at special venues like the Zipper store, which was advertised routinely throughout the magazine. Understanding individual reactions to pornography and its attendant consumer culture in the 1970s and 1980s is difficult, but not impossible. One way to access it is through the valorization of the fit body and the development of a finely tuned physique that appeared not just in photographic spreads or articles122 but also in personal advertisements that simultaneously expressed desires, fantasies, and aesthetic preferences.123 One from Him Exclusive in 1975, for example, discussed erotic preferences, a gender identity, and an inclination toward the visual: “Wanted: Muscles, masculinity, and moustaches. I’m 26, non camp, interested in body building. Photo please.”124 In a 1976 issue of Him International, an Oxford student also expressed his aesthetic demands (and desires for companionship) with the following words: “Good looking, well-­made, easy-­going, versatile. Seeking handsome, hairy, athletic type, 21–­35.”125 Similar sentiments were evident in a 1978 issue of Zipper where a strong preference for leather, denim, and athletic gear (such as “football kit” and “jockstraps”) and bodies was on display in the personals.126 Reactions to pornographic images, expressions of erotic preferences, and, in some instances, personal body image were also recorded in other places. Letters to the editors of these magazines provided opportunities

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for readers to reflect on their likes and dislikes. While some who wrote to the various Him ventures indicated a desire to see more racial diversity or younger, androgynous “blonds in their late teens,”127 most seemed to be satisfied with the hypermasculine vision of male beauty purveyed. Some chose to affirm the magazine’s vision by articulating their own desires in letters to the editor, effectively participating in a conversation about what they found attractive and why. By engaging in a sort of aesthetic dialogue with their audience through different forms of correspondence, the publishers of and contributors to various pornographic magazines reminded their audience that openly expressing preferences about the appealing male face and body was, in fact, a privilege of the modern gay man. George from West Yorkshire expressed his own preferences when he congratulated the editors of Him Exclusive in 1975 for catering to “guys who enjoy the more rugged muscular type of model.”128 He ended by urging the editors to ignore the calls of readers “who demand the more pretty younger type—­there are already more than enough magazines for them.” In another 1975 letter asking the editor of Him Exclusive to publish images of “blokes pissing themselves,” R.M. from Bristol expressed a preference for the uniformed aesthetic and martial masculinity that seemed to be so very popular among the magazine’s readers: “I’ve had dozens of sailors, soldiers, and particularly guardsmen. It’s the virile fitness of these blokes that makes them so good in tight uniforms.”129 A 1984 letter to Zipper gave vent to West Yorkshireman Paul’s fantasy of being in the midst of a football team in a bath following a match. Revealing the ways in which pornographic aesthetics and scenarios may have influenced his perceptions of real footballers, he concluded his letter by offering comments about Newcastle United forward Kevin Keegan: “The best thing I ever saw was when Kevin Keegan was in his underpants. That throbbing big bulge got me going.”130 The meaning of looking at sexually explicit images of beautiful men was frequently a topic of discussion in the emerging (nonpornographic) gay press, including in explicitly political publications such as Gay Left: A Gay Socialist Journal.131 It was also revealed in evidence gathered by the Home Office–­created Committee on Obscenity and Film Censorship (known as the Williams Committee for its chair, the Cambridge moral philosophy professor Bernard Williams).132 Many of the gay men who corresponded with the committee (through an official named Jon Davey) divulged quite intimate details about their reading habits and their personal struggles with the processes of sexual self-­discovery. In these fascinating documents, correspondents frequently referenced ideas about community, freedom, and persecution, and notions of self-­realization, aesthetic pleasure, and psychological development.

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The ability to view naked men and gay conceptions of male beauty were highlighted in several ways. In a letter written on September 25, 1977, M. G. Colgate refuted the belief that there was a connection between the enjoyment of pornography and perversion: “I enjoy pornography and I do not regard myself as a menace to the public.” More important were assertions about his right to view, unimpeded, images of naked men (and thus achieve sexual satisfaction and pleasure): “I object to other people determining what I may, or may not, see. I believe that obtaining sexual pleasure is a matter for the individual and should only be restricted if it can be shown to be harmful.” Throughout this letter, Colgate linked his ability to enjoy photographs and look at appealing men (a point reiterated time and again in Him and Zipper editorials) with the positive assertion of his identity as a “32 year old homosexual.”133 Sean Barker, an Emmanuel College, Cambridge, undergraduate, commented explicitly on the social and cultural role of pornography by noting the importance of beauty in the lives of gay men. Magazines like Him and Zipper, he asserted, represented a freedom “to create beauty in any form . . . to be obscene and excite lust . . . to witness obscenity and to be excited by it.”134

AIDS and Male Beauty in the 1980s and 1990s The ability to enjoy the naked male body was central not just to personal development but to a political movement that was at least partially predicated on access to and indulgence in the myriad pleasures of masculine beauty. These pleasures were, however, compromised in the early 1980s as the gay community contended with a new disease that, for many of its victims, literally destroyed the sculpted body or the carefully groomed face. The first deaths from AIDS in Britain were recorded in 1981 and 1982 at two London hospitals: Brompton and St. Thomas’s, where Terry Higgins, a reporter for Hansard and disc jockey, died on July 4, 1982.135 The disease’s effects on the appearance of the infected received intense media coverage almost from the very beginning of the crisis. In 1983 the Sunday People, a long-­ running tabloid weekly owned by the Daily Mirror, published a story on the AIDS epidemic with the following eye-­catching headline “Exclusive: Pictures that Reveal the Disturbing Truth about AIDS Sickness.” In even larger letters, the paper caught the attention of readers by stating “What the Gay Plague Did to Handsome Kenny” (see figure 7.9). The physical effects of the disease were reinforced with a kind of didactic diptych that illustrated Kenny’s transformation from exemplar of mustachioed male beauty to a swollen and scarred victim of a devastating disease. In offering answers to the implied questions of the headline John Smith, writing from

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Figure 7.9.  Depicting the aesthetic consequences of  HIV/AIDS. “What the Gay Plague Did to Handsome Kenny,” Sunday People, June 20, 1983. Courtesy of the Lesbian and Gay Newsmedia Archive, CE—­HIV-­AIDS 1980s (1).

San Francisco, observed “no mugger did this to handsome Kenny. It happened with frightening speed when he fell victim to AIDS, which stands for Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome and is called the Gay Plague,” a characterization that persisted, as art historian and critic Simon Watney observed in 1986, even after it was clear that others were becoming infected.136 Stories such as this one stigmatized people living with AIDS as immoral, while also casting the disease as primarily gay and American.137 Many noted this tendency in their responses to the National Lesbian and Gay Survey (NLGS), a Mass-­Observation-­style project that was started by Kenneth Barrow in 1986. While one fifty-­nine-­year-­old volunteer commented on the

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media as a source of sexual education early in his life, noting how the News of the World provided him with information on “sex scandals, divorces, and tales of ‘queer’ vicars, scout leaders, and the like,”138 others were more pointed in their critique of negative images: “In the media generally gay men have always been seen as a threat. . . . With AIDS the media have had a field day—­perversion and death together in one story.”139 The diseased gay body in the popular press could serve as a reminder of the threat that queerness was seen to pose to the British nation and to the heterosexual family, with the disease-­ravaged body standing in for the homosexual man more generally. It was also a body that no longer conformed to the aesthetic standards of masculine beauty that had unfolded over the course of the twentieth century and had been significantly influenced by same-­sex-­ desiring and gay men. Stigmatization and backlash are important to consider, but they need not be the only themes explored in examining the history of this horrific, and still ongoing, episode in world history. As the historian Matt Cook has recently reminded us, the British response must be viewed through a variety of lenses. Doing so necessarily involves examining critically the emotional lives of victims and observers alike.140 My goal here is to explore the aesthetics of disease, noting the ways in which the public at large and gay men, in particular, viewed the effects of AIDS through the lens of beauty, bodily transformation, and aesthetic disruption—­a tendency also evident in early nineteenth-­century understandings of tuberculosis, which was curiously seen to confer beauty on the afflicted.141 The AIDS crisis, when it first emerged in the 1980s, prompted a range of representational strategies.142 To fully grasp historical complexity, we must consider media images alongside modes of gay self-­fashioning and understanding.143 In what follows, I explore how the popular press regularly depicted “withered, wrinkled, and loathsome” bodies in their coverage, invoking cultural memories of Dorian Gray’s degeneration at the end of Oscar Wilde’s novel.144 I also, however, illustrate the ways in which gay men and their supporters reacted to and challenged these prevailing representations and understandings.

˙∙˙ While “Handsome Kenny” images reflect the profound aesthetic impact of the AIDS pandemic in its early phases, before-­and-­after photos were hardly uncommon in the visual culture of the twentieth century. Portrayals of AIDS reversed the typical narrative of transformation in male beauty culture,145 curiously following an aesthetic trajectory similar to that used in documenting facial injuries in the First World War. Historian Dominic

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Janes has noted the ways in which the American magazine Life depicted the impact of AIDS by juxtaposing pictures of Rock Hudson’s muscular body from the 1950s with those from the 1980s. In so doing, he has reminded us that these telling cues resonated on both sides of the Atlantic.146 Excessive thinness and the appearance of Kaposi’s sarcoma lesions on the face and body were depicted as the most prevalent and devasting physical markers of the disease in publications intended for audiences across a broad spectrum of political beliefs and social classes. In one piece from 1986 on a thirty-­five-­year-­old librarian named Billy, the aesthetic impact of AIDS was noted with two simple, but telling, lines. The first of these appeared as a headline—­“Even His Oldest Friends Turn Their Faces Away”—­while the second appeared in the article’s final paragraph: “the emptiness of hope is visible on his face.”147 Statements of this sort not only conveyed the isolation felt by sufferers of the disease but also the difficulties that many faced in looking at people with AIDS. They also served to mark the faces of people with AIDS as reminders of a sort of aesthetic disjuncture whereby the disease reversed, almost overnight, the gains in self-­presentation and representation that gay men in Britain had made in the 1970s, when magazines like Him Exclusive and Zipper sought to lay open claim to sexual pleasure and a particularly healthful and virile brand of masculinity.148 This article, and others like it, attempted to cast blame on Billy for his own appearance by highlighting the fact that he had slept with more than twenty men in a six-­month period in New York City. In another piece, also from 1986, the journalist Paul Hallam conveyed in a simple phrase how central aesthetic considerations were to understandings of the disease: “Young flesh had never seemed so vulnerable.”149 Even acts intended to destigmatize and humanize people with AIDS had the effect of reinforcing the disease’s aesthetic consequences. The most public of these acts were those of Diana, Princess of Wales, who, during the 1980s and 1990s, took up HIV/AIDS as one of her primary charitable causes.150 The public face of this work entailed frequent visits to hospital wards and hospices and, not insignificantly, social interactions with AIDS patients that involved close contact, the shaking of hands without protective gloves, and (in one famous instance in 1989) a kiss on the cheek, something the press picked up on repeatedly in their coverage. The aesthetics of these exchanges were also vitally important to public perceptions of the disease. A beautifully coiffed and clothed Diana was almost always positioned, in these images, against a patient (either actually or presumed to be gay) dealing with excessive thinness and the disfiguring marks of Kaposi’s sarcoma (see figure 7.10).151 As reminders of the gay male body’s vulnerability to the disease, images of this sort performed important cultural work.

Figure 7.10.  Diana, Princess of  Wales, visiting with a patient at the opening of the Rodney Porter Ward for AIDS Patients, Saint Mary’s Hospital, Paddington, London (December 1989). Courtesy of Shutterstock.

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For some unsympathetic members of the public, they allowed them to give voice to antigay biases (one M-­O respondent called AIDS victims “dying queers” and expressed that he had no sympathy for the men depicted in the press).152 For many gay men, though, negative reactions to photos of people with AIDS and caustic slurs about figures like Freddie Mercury (who died in 1991) were evidence of homophobia in the politically hostile climate of Margaret Thatcher’s and John Major’s Britain.153 These images were never, of course, uncontested. Many people with AIDS sought to fight such depictions by claiming that the disease did not define who they were or by highlighting their healthy appearance, despite being infected with HIV or suffering from full-­blown AIDS. In an NLGS response from the early 1990s, one gay man, who assumed that he was HIV positive despite being untested, noted the importance of maintaining a healthy frame of mind to protect his body. To proactively forestall the potential effects of the disease, he asserted the value of maintaining optimism: “I feel that I must remain positive about myself and my future, as a healthy mind will drag the body into line.”154 In a feature on one gay man living with AIDS that appeared in the Observer Magazine in April 1987, the subject of the story combined the power of positive thinking with a particular brand of queer defiance. Stewart, the young man profiled, noted his desire to combat the aesthetic predilections of the mainstream press: “I’m not here to sit and look sick. You are only a victim if you choose to be, and I choose not to be. I’m not suffering from AIDS—­I ’m challenging it.”155 This spirit led Stewart and others to create, in 1985, a self-­help group known as Body Positive, which provided advice and counseling on safer sex, healthy living, and body image, reflecting the ways in which attempts to contest prevailing representations might lead to direct political action. The responsibility of dealing with the aesthetic consequences of the disease and counteracting popular media images frequently fell to the gay press and the porn industry. While never denying the physical effects of the disease, many sought to challenge increasingly dominant representations of gay men as AIDS victims by emphasizing the continued athleticism, vitality, and aesthetic and erotic appeal of the queer male body, building on some of the precedents established in the late 1970s. This strategy was employed by Him Monthly (the successor to Him Exclusive). Partly in response to obscenity charges brought against the magazine throughout the 1970s and early 1980s,156 and partly in response to the AIDS crisis, this publication began to shift its focus away from more sexually explicit fare. Instead of emphasizing frequently hairy, and occasionally leather-­clad, men, the magazine focused more on hairless and muscled athletic bodies positioned, either visually or textually, in locker rooms or other sporty settings, following the lead of

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Zipper. This is not surprising given that Alex McKenna and Millivres, Ltd. (a company he acquired in 1977 or 1978) secured a controlling interest in this (and other) magazines during these years, but it must also be attributed to the crisis of the moment.157 Articles came to focus heavily on physical fitness and the acquisition of muscle through bodybuilding, a prescription for health undoubtedly intended to counter, culturally at least, the wasting associated with HIV/ AIDS.158 Even as the magazine occasionally ran articles on AIDS in the United Kingdom or shared conspiracy theories about the disease’s origins, Him Monthly seemed to be primarily focused on celebrating the youthful, fit body (see figures 7.11a and 7.11b). The October 1982 cover featured an image of a pole-­vaulting champion from South Africa, while content inside included a piece titled “Him’s New Face,” which showcased pictures of a nineteen-­year-­old model named James Montague who enjoyed swimming and other sports.159 Style features in this and other issues featured tight-­ fitting athletic gear, Speedos, and white socks with bold stripes around the calf and regular articles on working out (showcasing buff models encouraging the creation of a “healthy, fit and pleasing body”).160 This aesthetic was also made available to consumers in other contexts, including a series of postcards featuring nude watercolors of athletic men by artist and gay right’s advocate David Hutter.161 While direct causality is hard to discern, this aesthetic focus undoubtedly had an impact on the mainstream press, where a number of articles on the appearance and cultivation of the “body beautiful” appeared.162 Gay men themselves noted in NLGS responses both the appeal that images of this sort held and the difficulty of living up to the ideals that they promoted. One man commented in 1989 on the impact of these aesthetic changes: “Body image is important to me, and I would say to most gay men it is a crucial matter . . . how young you look is vital, then after that how fit.” At the “the gay club, the Daisychain,” he continued, “I was amazed to note how muscular everyone looked!!” He also noted the particular appeal that the athletic ideal retained for him, a tendency that meshed well with the growing emphasis on healthy bodies in the era of AIDS: “I find sports attire irresistibly sexy!! Nothing like wet Speedos, a grimy athletic support or football strip to get my fantasies rolling!!!”163 The aesthetic also appealed to a forty-­two-­year-­old artist who responded favorably to “people who care about . . . their bodily selves” and noted that the “‘muscle man’ image has a certain sexual attraction for me.”164 The issue of living up to expectations presented in magazines such as Him Monthly was articulated by a forty-­six-­ year-­old civil servant (self-­identified as overweight) from Belfast, Northern Ireland: “I feel very jealous of people with perfect shapes as I can never look

Figures 7.11a and 7.11b.  Promoting health and fitness. “Him Gym and Sport,” Him Monthly, no. 51 (October 1982): 26–­27, and “Peter,” Him Monthly, no. 61 (September 1983): 18. Courtesy of the Bishopsgate Institute Library and Archives.

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like them . . . the media could do more for people like me by understanding that not all folk are like the images they show.”165 This tendency toward focusing on healthy bodies was also reflected in some of the safer-­sex campaigns that were inaugurated in the 1980s and 1990s. Those created by organizations such as the London Lesbian and Gay Switchboard focused on countering sensationalized media representations and educating about safer-­sex techniques, without frightening their intended audience.166 Seen in a variety of places, most notably in posters directed at the gay community and in print advertisements, these images picked up on celebrations of athletic bodies to both promote safer-­sex practices (most notably the use of condoms) but also to, once again, counteract the dominant AIDS trope of the emaciated and marked gay man (see plate 10). In the mid-­1980s, as it became apparent that the epidemic was not confined to the gay community, the British government began to devote more resources to the disease and create specific units in the Department of Health and Social Security and, in 1987, the National AIDS Trust. Posters produced by several private initiatives and government-­funded organizations also used healthy and alluring bodies (what Simon Watney has referred to as an “erotics of protection”167) to promote safer sex while paying some attention, by the late 1980s and 1990s, to racial diversity. In some instances, the creators capitalized on the association between gay men and swimming (see plate 11). Drawing on a long aesthetic tradition evident as well in the work of both Henry Scott Tuke and Keith Vaughan, these safer-­sex campaigns also invoked long-­held assumptions about the erotic potential of the Hyde Park Serpentine, various lidos in the 1930s, and the Turkish bath. Once again, we gain a glimpse into how gay men responded to these campaigns in the 1980s and 1990s by looking at the NLGS. A 1990 directive, for instance, asked volunteers to weigh in on advertising, body image, and muscularity.168 One thirty-­seven-­year-­old Birmingham teacher commented on the impact of the media, establishing a link between body image and various safer-­sex campaigns: “I agree that body-­image is promoted considerably in the media.” In providing evidence, he asserted: “one only has to look at the ‘Play Safe’ Campaign pictures on the back of gay magazines!” This respondent went so far as to connect this strategy to an earlier epoch in male beauty history: “didn’t the Romans promote the physical beauty of man as something desirable and something to be worshipped.”169 For this man and many others, the use of attractive, muscled, and, seemingly, healthy bodies promoted condom use and other safer-­sex measures. It also situated the same-­sex-­desiring, male body in a historically inflected aesthetic tradition that some presented as a potential antidote to the health crisis facing the gay community.

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Beautiful bodies were also on display when, in 1992, the Terrence Higgins Trust (created by Higgins’s friends following his death in 1982) released an erotically charged safer-­sex video that depicted explicit sexual acts performed safely with the use of condoms. Relying on beautiful bodies, the video was touted by its producers as the first of its kind and also a landmark challenge to the strict censorship of the British Board of Film Classification. Nick Partridge, chief executive of the trust at the time, observed in an interview with the American Billboard magazine in 1992: “This tape . . . both explains safer sex in detail, and illustrates it in practice.” He then went on to note the social function of the video and the potential responses it might elicit: “It will complement other initiatives promoting safer sex for gay men” and “other sections of the community. Sadly, some people will see it as pornography. It isn’t pornography—­it’s an erotic lifesaver.”170 The aesthetically appealing body was thus harnessed to emphasize the pleasures of safer sex and to deny, at least briefly, the physical realities of the epidemic. It also continued a project, begun by purveyors of pornographic magazines, that utilized explicit images of gay sexuality as powerful forces that could both educate and liberate. The impact of this and similar videos was noted by at least one respondent to an NLGS directive from 1994. In discussing his own video-­viewing habits, a retired teacher in his seventies recorded his impressions of a series titled Adonis as well as more educational fare: “I have also seen the two Safer Sex gay videos. I think they are excellent and I hope there will be more, especially if they are reaching young men. . . . The one targeted specially at younger men ends with a scene showing fucking, every bit as explicit as in the ‘illegal’ videos [referring to censored material]—­but in this case you see the guy putting on a condom, and you can see it clearly during the action.”171 Another respondent pointed to the video’s ability to counteract the aesthetic decline that was a dominant feature of AIDS representations, encourage sex positivity, and titillate (his word). In the response, he recounted a visit to Zanzibar—­a gay club in Brighton—­with a group of straight friends. The appeal of the Gay Man’s Guide to Safe Sex was reflected, for this respondent, in the fact that the bar was showing the video to both educate and stimulate: “out of the corner of our eyes we all watched a T.H.T. [Terrence Higgins Trust] safer sex video.” With some humor and, then, a tone of seriousness, he continued: “I hadn’t been so embarrassed in ages, but I just tried to think of some young inexperienced gay man seeing sex portrayed for the first time, and how instructive the shower scene was!”172 The aesthetic responses to the AIDS crisis shifted following the emergence of successful new antiretroviral drug therapies in the mid-­1990s. As new medical interventions literally brought some AIDS patients “back from

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the brink,”173 before-­and-­after photos now acquired a new type of meaning. The transformation brought about for those in the developed Western world lucky enough to have access to these new drug cocktails (including protease inhibitors) became a new kind of aesthetic experience for the people of  Britain, one whereby some men returned to an, albeit altered, version of their former selves and certainly stemmed the wasting that had been such a dominant feature of the disease. The fact that this warranted regular commentaries in both the mainstream and the gay press should serve as a useful reminder of how important representations of the body are in the popular understandings and personal experiences of disease. This recent episode in queer and medical history should remind us, as Susan Sontag did in her work on disease as metaphor, of the ways in which moral judgment, physical transformation, and aesthetics were linked in British understandings of the AIDS crisis.174

˙∙˙ The decades examined in this chapter were ones of dramatic social, cultural, and political change, a dynamic whirlwind reflected in the dizzying rate at which masculine hairstyles, forms of dress, and body aesthetics were adopted, reinvented, or shed. At the core of these changes were desires on the part of men and women alike to consider and, in some instances, to rethink their own place in the gender or sexual order. For some, like Johnny Black, considerations of personal appearance clearly functioned as an attempt to reflect on contemporary gender roles, to locate one’s place in society, and to engage with prevailing aesthetic categories and hierarchies. For others, challenging convention by embracing feminine styles or personae or rejecting White aesthetics served an explicitly political function by calling into question both social expectations and rigid boundaries and binaries. For gay men in this period, the celebration and cultivation of male beauty, the assumption of aggressively masculine poses, and the consumption of images of the beautiful and the appealing marked an assertive and public “coming out” that placed gay aesthetics and the gay presence front and center in British culture. This, of course, was challenged by the AIDS crisis as gay-­identified men struggled to show that, in the face of such devastation, they could continue to cultivate male beauty and celebrate it through an emphasis on clean aesthetics and athletic muscularity.175

[  Ch a pter 8   ]

Insecure Men, Metrosexuals, and Spornosexuals It’s only in recent years that it has become acceptable for women to salivate over the male body. For centuries, men have poeticized and philosophized over every aspect of the female form . . . yet women have always held back. . . . Thankfully, all that has changed and the male bum is now a sexual asset of respectability, admired and adored by women the world over. jac i e st ephen, “A Sidelong Look at Sex . . . and the Sexes,” Daily Mail (1991) Men are also succumbing to the traditionally female preoccupation of looking good on the outside, too. Sales of male beauty products have leapt 30 percent over the past decade. Almost 20 percent more men are having plastic surgery . . . [and] . . . a quarter of anorexia and bulimia sufferers is male. During the fashion shows, male models had their own equivalent of the size-­zero debate. e l i z a b eth day, “Depressed, Repressed, Objectified: Are Men the New Women?,” Observer Woman (2008)

In 1997, British filmmaker Peter Cattaneo released The Full Monty. Re­ volving around the efforts of six unemployed Sheffield steelworkers to peddle themselves as male strippers in an endeavor to earn money, the film derives its humor from the improbability of this group of misfit men as sex symbols. Diverse in terms of race, sexuality, and marital status, the main male characters grapple not only with declining social position and financial insecurity in a postindustrial economy but also with their status as men. The plotline also necessarily makes this a film about the main characters’ bodies and physical appearance. In one scene, the men contemplate the idea of taking off their kit before an audience of local women. In steeling 285

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themselves for this performance, they decide to first disrobe in front of each other. As they strip down to their underwear, they talk about image-­ enhancing activities like tanning. They also discuss body shape and size, reflecting on weight gain, diets, penis length, and lack of musculature.1 A scene undoubtedly intended to appeal to female audiences who would have found pleasure in the tables being turned, it also highlighted the ways in which masculine anxieties were literally inscribed on the body in this period, often in more open ways than they ever had been in the past.2 The Full Monty was not created in a vacuum. Indeed, the sense of dislocation that permeates the film was part and parcel of what was identified, increasingly in the final decade of the twentieth century, as a crisis of masculinity. Rooted in economic upheaval that saw Britain move even further toward a service and finance-­oriented economy,3 and the growing political and social clout of women, this shift was identified positively by feminist activist Beatrix Campbell as the “demise of the authoritarian patriarch-­as-­ provider.”4 Historian, journalist, and broadcaster Michael Ignatieff summa­ rized the state of affairs in a 1991 piece that appeared in the Observer: “This may be a man’s world, but there is something amiss with us males. Patriarchy still rules, but masculinity is in trouble.”5 Indeed, the 1990s and early 2000s were a period in which the idea of masculinity was critically examined perhaps more than it ever had been. The very use of the word increased dramatically during these years. A search using the keyword “masculinity” in the Proquest Historical Newspapers database (including pieces from the Guardian and the Observer) shows 161 items on the topic appearing between 1971 and 1980, 311 between 1981 and 1990, and 1,090 between 1991 and 2000. Discussions of masculinity in various public arenas and in the media were fueled, as Ignatieff noted, by a growing interest in the topic among academics who began to interrogate it seriously in studies that explored sport, schooling, work, and the family. Historians were often at the fore of this project, showing how masculinity is created by complex cultural forces while also being chronologically variable and contingent.6 As the quotes that open this chapter reveal, discussions of masculinity often turned to the beautiful body and physical appearance. In a review of a 2000 book titled The Adonis Complex, Guardian journalist Cosmo Landes­ man assessed contemporary attitudes about gender and sexual binaries, linking these to growing preoccupations at the turn of the century with the male body: “We no longer live in a world in which there are such rigid divisions between masculine and feminine, heterosexual and homosexual. I have no doubt that men today are more concerned about the state of their bodies than ever before and it is crucial to a man’s sense of self-­esteem.”7 For many men in this period, masculinity was lived primarily through the

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adorned, preened, and carefully posed body. By the end of the twentieth century, masculine identities were, probably to a greater extent than ever before, determined more by appearance than by one’s social standing, occupation, moral standing, or position vis-­à-­vis women.8 This particular preoccupation was evident in a variety of different developments that occurred as the twentieth century gave way to the twenty-­first. In the 1990s, journalist and cultural critic Mark Simpson coined the term “metrosexual” to describe grooming-­and fashion-­obsessed men,9 “new lad” magazines like Loaded, FHM, and Maxim highlighted body-­oriented definitions of masculinity, and gay body aesthetics (particularly those peddled in pornographic magazines) informed the mainstream more openly and with greater force than they had in the past.10 This chapter illustrates these points in two ways. In the first instance, I highlight media and visual culture to illustrate the role that “promotional culture” and the consumerism of “Cool Britannia” played in these developments.11 Concepts such as “metrosexuality” or “spornosexuality” had links to the past for sure, despite claims by cultural commentators that these developments were entirely new.12 Yet, there were things that were distinct about this late twentieth-­century moment. The popularization of the underwear aesthetic, drawn substantially from pornography and gay culture, enabled discussions about desire that focused especially on female pleasure and enjoyment as well as a fully fledged and genitally oriented sexualization of the bodies of athletes like David Beckham and models like David Gandy.13 Second, I examine personal narratives of the body and masculine aesthetics to illustrate how men coped with both the commodification and spectacularization of the male form and the impact this had not just on self-­ esteem but also on how they saw themselves represented in culture, or not, as was the case for many men of color, overweight men, and those deemed unattractive.

Representing and Displaying the Male in Contemporary Britain Men on display were an important component of twentieth-­century visual culture. Since the Second World War, the spectacle of the male body was exploited by advertisers and others to encourage the pleasures of looking and indulging in various forms of male sensuality.14 Beginning in the 1960s, enjoying men on display in teenage magazines or in various pornographic ventures became one of the ways in which young women and gay men formulated their understandings of sexual desires and identities. By the 1970s and 1980s, tabloid newspapers began to publish photographs of

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men, posed in ways that replicated those employed in showcasing “Page Three” girls.15 The existence of this evidence, and much more, challenges the assumptions of historian Adrian Bingham who has asserted that “men’s bodies were never scrutinized and rated in the same way as women’s.”16 This is not meant to deny the existence of systemic sexism and the objectification of female bodies that render popular cultural representations of women so problematic. It is, though, intended to remind us that accepting such statements at face value runs the risk of belying the rich history of male beauty in modern Britain. The final decades of the twentieth century prompted a moment of anxiousness similar to that produced at the conclusion of the nineteenth, but also quite different in some ways.17 Several historians of contemporary culture have noted the rise of the style-­conscious man in the 1980s who appealed to advertisers, designers, and magazine publishers alike. This so-­ called “new man”, who was reputed to be more concerned with his appearance than his predecessors (and, in some instances, more sensitive, family focused, and feminist), set into motion revivified discussions of the relationship between masculinity and self-­fashioning, even if his newness has been overstated.18 Part of a longer conversation about the status of the male gender, the “new man” provided an entrée in British culture, for a whole host of commentators in the 1990s and 2000s, to reflect on the embodied nature of masculinity, the relationship between personal appearance and social identities, and the place of men in a highly segmented British and world consumer economy.

˙∙˙ In discussing the continuities that existed between men’s fashion marketing in the 1950s and 1980s, historian Frank Mort invoked the nineteenth-­ century phrase, “plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose” (the more things change, the more they stay the same).19 In reflecting on this topic, though, it is probably more useful to think about cycles or reinventions in considering the relationship that British men have had with fashion, grooming techniques, and body enhancement or modification.20 Discussions of hirsuteness, hair length, musculature, and the use of cosmetics have recurred throughout this book. But in each instance, context matters profoundly. Muscular bodies in the age of high imperialism, for instance, frequently sig­ nified racial difference and marked one as a masculine colonizer. In the late twentieth century, however, they were more often than not markers of the individual’s ability to discipline himself and embrace the culture of self-­care and personal development. Similarly, a “short back and sides” conveyed

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masculine conformity in the immediate postwar period. Yet, carefully quaffed, short hair in the 1990s frequently signified a gay identity or marked one as a metrosexual. Reading nuance and historical specificity into the material presented in this chapter reminds us how the meanings of male beauty shifted over time, even when the styles and looks were seemingly similar on the surface. Considerations of the relationship between gendered attributes and phys­ icality were especially prominent in the final decade of the twentieth century, as many reflected on the status of British men. Journalist Pat Kane, for instance, examined bodybuilding culture in his hometown of Coatbridge, Scotland, to understand working-­class masculinity in this postindustrial town outside of Glasgow. With reference to the ways in which one might “read” the gym he visited to understand this particular culture, Kane observed: “The gym is full of puffing, heaving rage—­driven by private demons, dodgy supplements, dreams of trophy gold: who knows.”21 Kane goes on in the article to address male beauty and masculinity in the 1990s and early 2000s, a theme that appeared in multiple reflections on muscularity and its role in popular culture and in the everyday lives of British men. Often included in many of these discussions, though, were commentaries on the media’s influence on body image and the difficulties some men encountered in trying to live up to social expectations, a reflection of the ways in which both savvier media consumption and feminist critiques of body representation may have entered the mainstream in this period.22 Throughout the 1990s and into the new millennium, the focus on masculine bodily display, particularly of the “fit and muscular” and the sexy,23 was something that appeared in the popular press and in fashion and lifestyle magazines like the British versions of GQ and Esquire, FHM, and Loaded. Female-­oriented magazines such as For Women, a venture that was described in 1996 as “Britain’s only explicit sex magazine for heterosexual women,”24 showcased the male body as something to be enjoyed as a female prerogative in an era when sexual pleasure was increasingly prioritized.25 The male body was especially prominent in advertisements for underwear, such as one Marks and Spencer campaign from 1994, which not only put the masculine form on display but also the penis (see figure 8.1).26 Writer Michael Bracewell commented in a 1994 Guardian article on the new obsession with underwear, noting that men were now much more inclined to purchase their own pants and to think about the aesthetic pleasures of their partners. In situating this trend, he referenced a mid-­1980s Levi jeans advertisement that ran on British television and in cinemas in which the model Nick Kamen strips down to his boxers in a launderette where he is ogled as a sex object by a host of characters.27 Commentaries on underwear

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Figure 8.1.  Marks and Spencer magazine advertisement for a new men’s underwear line (1994). Courtesy of the Advertising Archives/Alamy Stock Photo.

advertisements continued into the early 2000s, with one piece on the history of the genre appearing in a 2007 issue of the Observer.28 In 2005, another article discussed genital enhancing numbers from C-­IN2 and noted the reactions of one woman, which curiously mimicked some of the aesthetic preferences that gay men articulated in a host of publications from the 1970s forward: “I’m more of a bum person, but I might give his lunchbox a quick glance if he was good-­looking. Well you would, wouldn’t you?”29 The ubiquity of the male image in British culture and growing expectations that men would adhere to difficult-­to-­achieve body aesthetics produced anxieties that the press was only too willing to cover now that, as journalist Lisa O’Kelly noted in 1994, “even Marks & Spencer advertises its socks with pictures of hunky men.” This “historical accident that has been waiting to happen” was prompted, for O’Kelly, not only by the print media but by the increasing presence of hard bodies in film and on television. The idea that men were judged on their sexual attractiveness and ability to compete with images in popular culture and with men on the street was punctuated by interviews with several different subjects. One, identified as

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Tim Walmsley (a thirty-­eight-­year-­old painter and decorator), noted this tendency toward comparison as well as the ways in which he looked to his partner for validation and worried about aging: “I like to look attractive and I look at people and subconsciously grade them on how they look. I’m hurt when my partner Jill says: ‘Tim, you’ve got a paunch.’ . . . I want to keep my youth as long as I can. . . . White hairs have . . . started appearing on my nice hairy chest, and I pick them out.”30 For some men, these expectations led to specific forms of consumption and particular behaviors. For instance, in 1992, it was estimated that there were some five hundred thousand bodybuilders in Britain, all of whom joined gyms and many of whom took dietary supplements. Additionally, press accounts reported an increase in the number of men dealing with eating disorders and body image issues more generally.31 In one Daily Mail story, City stockbroker David Rogers admitted to being obsessed with dieting and with building up his arms: “I could be chasing after the wrong body. But it’s too deeply ingrained in myself to change. There’s so much advertising. It could be that.”32 The quest for muscle growth and the use of steroids to stimulate it was cited in the press throughout the 1990s and early 2000s as a potential danger, with stories of “steroid madness” and death appearing on more than one occasion.33 Most telling, perhaps, was an article by Rachel Shabi that appeared in a 2001 issue of the Guardian’s weekend magazine. Titled “Muscle Mania,” it chronicled the growing presence of the “muscleman” in popular culture and the impact that “the heat of body scrutiny and the tyranny of objectification” was having on men in both Britain and the United States. Shabi focused particularly on the phenomenon identified as “bigorexia.” This “condition,” which drew its name from the eating disorder known as anorexia nervosa, identified a form of body dysmorphia in which men (particularly those who were involved in bodybuilding) saw themselves as small, even when they were, in fact, quite large. A product of media images, Shabi also noted that the cultural emphasis on achieving ideal bodies was the product of shifting gender roles and the growing power of women: “Muscularity . . . represents an assertion of discipline and command at a time when those qualities are no longer exclusive to men.” In addressing how men relate to each other in this piece, Shabi too pointed to how they compared themselves to both idealized images and to their mates at the gym. One twenty-­six-­year-­old interviewee named Chris Gallard referenced the interpersonal dynamics of working out: “If you look fat, everyone at the gym tells you. I think that’s good. I don’t need to hear people say I look great, and hearing that isn’t going to change the way I train.”34

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The impact of media images was explored, during these years, by psychologists and sociologists who examined body anxiety and men’s “problematic relationship[s] to . . . representations.”35 Many writers tackled these issues in popular venues, frequently injecting their accounts with a bit of humor, as reflected in one 2002 Guardian article in which columnist Hadley Freeman interviewed men at Selfridges about whether images of Calvin Klein’s new underwear model, Australian Travis Fimmel, made them feel insecure about their penis size or their bodies. In their responses, some refused to admit feeling any sense of insecurity (dismissing the model as either a “poof ” or “poncy”), while others admitted that images of this sort made them question their own attributes: “I think pictures like these do make men feel insecure. They’re everywhere these days, aren’t they? So I think men do feel under more pressure to look as good as that. . . . The way women have been feeling for years, I guess.”36 The tendency toward comparison and self-­assessment was also evident in a 2009 Guardian Weekend cover story. Titled “Make Me Perfect: How Far Would You Go to Get the Body You Dream Of?,” the piece was primarily about plastic surgery and was introduced by an image of a very attractive man examining himself in a handheld mirror (see plate 12). The grooming industry was also front and center in considerations of the male face and physique in British culture in the 1990s and early 2000s. The growth of this market segment was noted repeatedly. In 2001, for instance, 453 million pounds worth of male grooming products were sold in the UK, double the amount sold five years earlier.37 In an account from 1999, British men were reported as spending more on personal grooming than their Continental counterparts, nearly ten pounds on a weekly basis (mostly on deodorant, shaving products, haircare, and some skincare), compared to about eight pounds in France and six pounds in Italy. Attributed to new masculine sensibilities and the influence of “lads’ mags,” this trend continued as the millennium turned.38 By 2010, UK sales for men’s grooming products were reported to be growing at twice the rate as those for women. The potential in this segment led advertisers to attach, as their predecessors had, the marketing of grooming products to sporting events and to emphasize themes like comfort and technological development.39 Considerations of these changing habits allowed Britons to rehearse a range of viewpoints on gender roles as men sought to negotiate, as a grooming guide author put it in 2006, the fine line between “machismo and sensitivity.”40 Hair (on both the body and the head) elicited particularly poignant comments about the nature of masculinity during these years. Discussions of the meanings of beards and their popularity (or lack thereof )41 as well as of baldness and the hairstyles of politicians were standard fare. In one 1992

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Times piece, journalists Joseph Connolly (bearded) and Robert Crampton (clean-­shaven) addressed the merits of facial hair. Connolly asserted that “Hairiness is male” and that shaving was both a “perversion” and “a form of female impersonation,” while Crampton extolled the virtues of removing one’s beard as a “masculine experience” marked by ritual and particular accoutrements including “the brush, the razor, the post of foam.”42 Other accounts discussed baldness as something that could be sexy, despite male fears that were described by Daily Mail writer Jessica Davies in telling terms. “Without their hair,” she asserted, men “believe they are impotent: after all look what happened to Samson when Delilah sheared off his locks.”43 Hair on the chest, back, legs, and genitals offered fashion commentators and columnists a chance to opine on a trend that took off in the 1990s—­ body hair removal. Following the lead of both gay pornography and male strippers—­most notably in Britain, the Dreamboys—­the pursuit of smooth skin prompted several different reactions.44 Two pieces in the Daily Mail from June 1993 highlighted elements of the debate among women, responding to Andre Agassi’s hairless chest at Wimbledon that summer. Jane Kelly argued that hair on the male body should be a thing of the past, noting that “excessive hairiness is unappealing,” especially when it appears on the back, shoulders, and hands. Equating hairiness with “Neanderthal” attitudes and other ethnicities, including Italians and Spaniards, her article ended with the following statement: “These days men need to do a lot more to attract and keep women, and their essential accoutrements are perfume—­and a razor.”45 A counterpoint was offered by Victoria Mather who equated hairlessness with wimpishness, denying the masculinity of the smooth man who was likened to “Barbie’s Ken.”46 In reflecting on men’s hair, bums, or fit mus­ cles,47 female journalists frequently commented openly and unapologetically on their own sexual desires, part of a trend that feminist Germaine Greer identified in 2003 as a component of “women’s reclamation of their capacity for and right to visual pleasure.”48 This focus on the male body and male grooming prompted discussions of how this supposedly new obsession might be interpreted. Unsurprisingly, some sought a label for ostensibly heterosexual men who were concerned with their appearance and actively immersed in the consumer culture of male beauty. In referencing the shifts at the turn of the century, Times journalist David Lister observed, “Not so long ago many males aspired to have a chest with the rug-­like consistency of Sean Connery’s; and it was only gay men, bodybuilders, and swimmers who were prepared to get themselves waxed.”49 Indeed, the notion that attention to one’s appearance and to style was a particular prerogative of homosexually identified men was common, as we have seen throughout this book, in British culture into the 1990s. But,

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as the changes described here should remind us, it was clear that this was a well-­worn stereotype. In writing on grooming-­obsessed men and an exhibition organized by GQ magazine with the historically inaccurate title “It’s a Man’s World—­Britain’s First Style Exhibition for Men,” journalist Mark Simpson identified what he claimed was a new kind of male narcissist—­the “metrosexual” who was consumption oriented, obsessed with his physical appearance, resolutely into fashion, and urban but not, necessarily, gay. Described by Simpson as a “commodity fetishist,” the metrosexual used face creams, specialized shaving ointments, and was drawn to brand names. He was, Simpson observed, also a creation of marketers who recognized the potential in the male market.50 While Simpson first used this word in 1994, it became especially popular after he wrote a piece in the online magazine Salon in 2002, at a point in time when the internet was becoming increasingly important in spreading ideas about male beauty and the culture of physical appearance, along with a whole new brand of easily accessible pornography.51 The subject of this piece was more centrally David Beckham, the captain of England’s football team and most definitively, in Simpson’s eyes, a metrosexual. Beckham was not, however, any run-­of-­the-­mill metrosexual but rather “the biggest metrosexual in Britain because he loves being looked at and because so many men and women love to look at him.”52 While we turn more to Beckham later, Simpson’s choice of the footballer was not just because he embodied the characteristics of metrosexuality. He was also chosen because of his prevalence in advertisements and other aspects of popular culture, including the 2002 film Bend It Like Beckham.53 By 2003, the term was going global,54 and the Guardian announced: “The Man of the Moment Is Metrosexual.”55 While the magazine Marketing was questioning by 2008 just how pervasive metrosexuality was, it is clear that the term captured a moment in time when the relationship between men and beauty and grooming culture was thought to be shifting and when the lines between gay and straight markets and lifestyles were, once again, blurring.56 Simpson’s use of David Beckham as the quintessential metrosexual was part of the continued valorization of the male athlete in the 1990s and early 2000s. Promoted by a games-­obsessed nation, sports figures functioned in these decades as heroic exemplars of masculinity, emblems of Englishness, Scottishness, or Welshness (especially during Test cricket or World Cup football matches), and important objects of desire.57 In the late twentieth century, prominent athletes were on par with actors in terms of their celebrity status. They were idolized, revered, and assigned a variety of social meanings related not just to their bodily strength and skill but also to their romantic and sexual prowess with women, their capitalist success, and their

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ability to capture attention. In an era of ubiquitous photography, their status was predicated partly on intense visuality. A number of commentators in this period, including feminist blogger Chloe George,58 offered reflections on the place of the athlete in British culture, their nearly divine status, and the investment that men and women alike had in looking at and indulging in the pleasures of their bodies.59 For many in the 1990s and early 2000s, athletes were observed most directly through sports photography in the popular press. Increasingly reproduced in color, these images frequently relied on an aesthetic that was both exceedingly expressive and revealing (think of the number of photographs of footballers with shirts removed). As sporting celebrities such as Eugen Sandow, C. B. Fry, and Denis Compton had in earlier periods, athletes at the turn of century appeared in a variety of different advertising campaigns peddling products ranging from underwear to that old standby Brylcreem. There was something different about the 1990s and early 2000s, though. While depictions of athletes in extremis (which had been present in magazines such as Picture Post) continued to be common, the fin de siècle athlete, in some ways, became an even more complex figure. The explicit and open emphasis on the intense eroticism of the athletic body and the idea that the sportsman could function as a particular kind of fashion icon, as discussed by historian Stella Bruzzi, reflected some points of departure.60 Similarly, the blurring of the lines between the pornographic representations that figured prominently in the last chapter and traditional sports photography and advertising, a trend that has been identified by some as “porno-­chic,” meant that more and more symbolic and sexual meaning accrued to the bodies of these important cultural figures.61 Some writing in the press, including novelist and critic Geoff Dyer, chose to locate the aesthetics of sports and of the athletic body in high-­art traditions of “Renaissance pietas and heroic sculpture.” In a 1992 Guardian contribution, he linked painterly and sculptural depictions to the World Athletic Championships where “athletes strained to defy gravity, to push back the limits of the physical.”62 Most coverage of the athlete consisted of more typical sports page fare and, increasingly, discussions in gossip magazines like Hello! and OK! that treated the bodies and antics of athletes as newsworthy. Sometimes the focus was on highlighting the exertions involved in certain types of contests, like rowing, where the body in motion made for particularly compelling visual material in newspapers. In other instances, the focus was on the athlete as celebrity, but this was a form of celebrity often predicated on both his abilities and looks. In one Guardian essay from 1997, rowing correspondent Christopher Dodd wrote about the crew that would compete for Britain at the Rowing World Cup in the “coxless four” event

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(a race consisting of four rowers working together without a coxswain). In this case, the crew (which included rowing star and five-­time Olympic gold medalist Steven Redgrave) was not depicted rowing. Rather, their strength and musculature were highlighted by having them lift their four-­seat boat over their heads (the way it would be moved to the river typically).63 Other features also focused on the bodies of rowers, a direct reference to a form of long-­standing celebration that is an important part of the history of male beauty in Britain. The exertions of rowers were featured in a 2000 article on the prospects of British Olympians at the Sydney games.64 By far the largest image in the piece, the photograph of the rowers showcased athletic musculature (and the good looks that were generally thought to accrue to those in possession of it) as well as intense activity, a trend that continued in features on male Olympic athletes at the 2012 and 2016 games.65 While the piece included pictures of both men and women, it was the male body that was most prominently on display and most vulnerable (in terms of exposure) throughout the article. In keeping with a media tendency to highlight both the skill and sexual appeal of male bodies, this piece reminds us of the central role that displays of male beauty were playing in coverage of sport and athleticism. This was, of course, true across a broad array of disciplines. A 2003 article on the British swimmer Mark Foster featured a photograph, by Shaun Botterill, that highlighted Foster’s impressively smooth and muscled arms and chest as well as his very handsome face with a barely perceptible smile, fashionable haircut, and the slightest hint of razor stubble. Strikingly, Foster’s pose followed aesthetic conventions evident in early twentieth-­century physical culture photographs, midcentury physique magazines, and, even, some gay pornography of the 1970s and 1980s (see figure 8.2). A “Sportsweek” opinion piece in the Independent by Welsh cricketer Simon Jones noted the propensity of the press to run features on athletes that emphasized their physical attributes. With reference to coverage of him in one Sunday magazine, Jones observed: “My photograph was on the cover of the magazine, holding a cricket bat. I was naked from the waist up.” He indicated that this “raised a few eyebrows” and even though “loads of photographs” were taken, the editors chose to feature the semi-­nude ones. While he indicated that he was not bothered by this attention, he did admit to getting “peeved” sometimes.66 Getting “peeved” though did not keep him from posing nude (with hands strategically placed to cover his genitals) as the Cosmo Centrefold in the UK version of Cosmopolitan magazine in 2005,67 where he reflected on his body (he indicated he liked his stomach but thought the rest could use some work) and was held up as an appropriate object of admiration for women. Jones’s comments remind us that in the early twenty-­first century, the lines between revered athlete, model, and

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Figure 8.2.  Showcasing the beautiful man in the twenty-­first century. Photograph of Mark Foster from a Guardian article by Pete Nichols, “Silver Lining for a Man Apart” ( July 29, 2003), 25. Author’s personal collection.

porn star could, and often did, blur, highlighting the intersection of different, but overlapping, aesthetics.

Men on Parade: Superstardom and the Celebrity Body The tendency toward bodily presentation in profiling star athletes has remained very important in the twenty-­first century. In June 2009 the Observer’s sport magazine, Observer Sport Monthly, highlighted the England

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cricket team as they prepared for the Ashes (the Test match between En­gland and Australia). Titled “England Suits Up for Battle,” the article consisted of interviews with the cricketers that focused on a range of issues (including who was the vainest) and portraits by photographer Jim Naughten that showed team members wearing or being fitted for high-­end suits and ties.68 Among the group was Kevin Pietersen, the South African–­born star who, in 2009, was also “announced as the face of Brylcreem, another example of an athlete being used to promote grooming products”69 The feature also usefully indicated, in the form of portraits of both Monty Panesar and Ravi Bopara, the increasingly multicultural nature of cricket in Britain and the incorporation of South Asian standards of masculine beauty, in particular, into traditional definitions of British masculine attractiveness.70 The focus on appearance and standards of beauty was not accidental or isolated to this one article in the magazine. It actually suffused the issue, reminding us of the ways in which individuals might simultaneously occupy the status of sports hero, film star, and sex symbol. Evident in both an advertisement for Hugo Boss (featuring many of the same cricketers who appeared in the article) (see plate 13),71 and in a profile on Irish rugby player Paul O’Connell titled “How I Got My Body,” the connections made between physical development, aesthetic appeal, and success are presented for readers in a relatively unvarnished fashion.72 While all the men profiled in the 2009 Observer Sport Monthly issue achieved some form of celebrity status in British culture, I want to highlight in this section two figures whose beauty and public bodily displays enabled them to achieve a form of superstardom that exceeded that accomplished by most—­David Beckham and David Gandy.

˙∙˙ Beckham was, of course, the British athlete cum product sponsor and sex symbol par excellence. His accomplished football career as a Manchester United star and captain of the English national team, his embrace of both athletic fashionability and male grooming, and his appeal to men and women alike led to extensive press coverage in the 1990s and 2000s. Beckham’s celebrity, his relationship to metrosexuality, and the various ways he was represented have all garnered the attention of, not just Mark Simpson, but also scholars, some of whom have a better sense of the historical underpinnings of Beckham mania than others. David Coad, for instance, notes the prece­ dent of the “dandy” and the “dude” in thinking about the rise of the met­ rosexual in a transatlantic context. Similarly, sociologist Momin Rahman argues that Beckham embodies both “reassuring” (father, working-­class

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footballer, etc.) and “dissonant” (fashionable metrosexual, queer-­friendly, etc.) versions of masculinity that are, in turn, used to sell a variety products and lifestyles to different constituencies.73 The complexities of Beckham’s image are rooted in the larger histories of looking, display, and admiration that are outlined in this book. His career as a public figure and celebrity are familiar territory for many. The interest elicited, for example, in his personal life when he became engaged to Victoria Adams (better known as Posh Spice, a singer in the nineties girl group Spice Girls) in 1998 differed little from what might have appeared in cinema-­related magazines of the 1930s and 1940s, with discussions of the engagement ring and statements like “Although it is bad news for the many male and female fans of the couple, the union is one to make a bank manager snap his pencil.”74 One image of the couple that harkened back to this earlier culture of depicting celebrities as glamorous figures was presented in a 2011 advertisement for their Intimately Yours fragrance line that featured Beckham in a tuxedo posed next to Victoria in a style reminiscent of romantic close-­ups of film stars from the years around the Second World War and immediate postwar period.75 Beckham was also a decidedly modern figure whose alleged affairs and bad behavior on the pitch were the subject of tabloid gossip columns that had, since the 1950s and 1960s,76 shed much of their discretion, challenging his identity as a “faithful family man and honest footballer.”77 His modernity was probably most evident in those depictions that accentuated his sexual appeal. Two images from the first decade of the twenty-­first century illustrate this point and highlight the ways in which men and women alike, regardless of sexuality, were expected to indulge in the pleasures of the beautiful man. The first of these was an artistic installation by video artist Sam Taylor-­Wood (now Sam Taylor-­Johnson) simply titled David (2004). The piece runs for sixty-­seven minutes and shows Beckham sleeping. When unveiled, it generated attention partly because it reminded reviewers of Andy Warhol’s 1963 film Sleep and partly because it was a unique commission for the National Portrait Gallery.78 Simply lit and filmed in close-­up, the piece captured Beckham’s breathing, movements, eye flutterings, and subconscious smiles. It also invited viewers to join a celebrity, whom many think they know intimately, in bed (see figure 8.3). The installation’s pansexual appeal thus reminded all of the erotic potential in Beckham’s nude body. Critic Richard Dorment discussed this in a review of the piece, describing the subject as “one of the most beautiful men in the world” and Taylor-­ Wood’s approach to portraiture as unapologetically sensual.79 The second image is a “gargantuan poster,” installed in front of the London department store Selfridges in 2009, depicting Beckham wearing

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Figure 8.3.  Capturing sleeping male beauty. Sam Taylor-­Wood (now Sam Taylor-­Johnson), David (2004), National Portrait Gallery, London. © Sam Taylor-­Johnson. All Rights Reserved DACS 2020/ARS, NY.

black boxer briefs designed by Giorgio Armani. Showcasing Beckham tanned and oiled, fully flexed, and holding onto a large rope that has been partially coiled around his body, the advertisement was described in the press as the “first billboard of Beckham to appear in London.”80 Its unveiling was described as a major event that included an introduction of Beckham, some brief words about posing nude (or nearly nude), and all the requisite components of a contemporary consumer spectacle (see figure 8.4). Most significant, perhaps, was the crowd that gathered for several hours before the covering on the image was dropped. Within the crowd, interviewed for a piece in the Guardian by deputy fashion editor Emma Sibbles, were those who were willing to offer their views of Beckham between screams and wolf-­whistles and, according to Sibbles, a young woman who became sick with excitement. The significance of these images to women was noted a year earlier by fashion journalist Suzy Menkes, who, with reference to Beckham’s career as an underwear model, observed the satisfaction she was deriving from seeing “poster boys. . . . being given the hypersexualized treatment meted out for so long to my own gender.”81 Menkes was careful to emphasize the universal appeal of this image and its ability to sell underwear to same-­sex-­and opposite-­sex-­desiring men alike.

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One twenty-­one-­year-­old-­artist named Aaron Proud who was in attendance when the billboard was revealed enthused about Beckham’s status as “role model” and “worldwide icon”: “he’s so good looking. . . . He’s massive, a talented football player and a gay icon. . . . I really like him. I think women like him because he’s a family man . . . he’s like Michael Jackson.”82 Highlighting some of the themes Rahman examines in his piece, the reactions of this spectator also prompt us to think about how Beckham’s looks and impressive body came to occupy a symbolic space as a marker not only of his heroic status but also his celebrity, his wholesomeness, and the openly queer readings of sporting bodies in twenty-­first-­century Britain. While the chance to observe the billboard was important, it is worth noting that Selfridges held a contest whereby the first 270 customers to purchase three pairs of the Armani products from the Underwear Lounge in the store between June 5 and 11 would be invited to meet Beckham, “one of our greatest icons, ambassadors, sex symbols, and footballers,” get his autograph, and walk away with a “limited edition poster of [him] showing off his rather fetching physique.”83 Such a gimmick reminds us that there was appeal in touching greatness but also in collecting beautiful memorabilia that might

Figure 8.4.  David Beckham Emporio Armani underwear campaign launch at Selfridges, Oxford Street, London. Unveiling of the Beckham Billboard ( June 11, 2009). Courtesy of PA Images/Alamy Stock Photo.

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serve as a memento of an important occasion at the same time that it facilitated the literal possession of Beckham’s desirable face and body. Beckham’s celebrity was rooted in both his football prowess and his looks as well as in the trend toward using skilled and fit athletes to sell clothing and accessories.84 But for those male models who achieved a revered place in British popular culture in the Beckham era, it was their appearance that functioned as their primary commodity, at least in the first instance. Opportunities for male models increased between the 1970s and the late 1980s with some bona fide “stars” emerging as demand for the male image in peddling consumer goods increased,85 a point made by the authors of several books on the topic.86 This growing interest in male models was reflected in a 1977 piece in the Sunday Times titled “Who’s a Pretty Boy, Then?” (hinting, perhaps, just a bit at a tone of belittlement) in which “five successful male models reveal their beauty secrets.”87 It was also highlighted in a somewhat sensationalist and titillating piece on the “Perils of the Male Model” in a 1982 issue of the News of the World. Focused on the sexual exploitation of male models like Geoff Wootten and Nigel Baxter, this piece emphasized how male models could function as objects of desire, be subject to sexual danger, and become fodder for celebrity gossip.88 By the 1990s and early 2000s, in part as a result of developments mentioned earlier in this chapter, male models were becoming even bigger news. In 1995 a book on careers in modeling heralded the “arrival on the modelling scene of the ‘superhunks’ whose fame is starting to rival that of their female counterparts” (a reference to the supermodel phenomenon of the late 1980s and early 1990s, captured poignantly in a video for George Michael’s 1990 song “Freedom! ’90,” which featured a number of these women including Linda Evangelista and Christy Turlington). This book situated this development in the “liberated nineties” in which men were engaging more in the beauty industry and “looking after their appearances” by working out and using products previously thought to be feminine.89 Various print organs of the industry focused on the keen interest in viewing men and assessing their market potential. One magazine, for instance, titled Scene: The Modelling Magazine that began life in 1989 under the title Get Seen (and was seemingly geared toward the aspirant model) purported to provide a “behind the screens” look at the fashion industry. It also highlighted “New Faces,” paying particular attention to those attributes that made a man both appealing and a commercially successful model (see figure 8.5). In 1995, for example, a young Scot by the name of Alan Pike, discovered working at a bar in London, was said to have been signed up by Flame (a London agency) as a result of his “fresh face, sparkling eyes, and gorgeous personality” while a Nevs (another agency) model named Mark

Figure 8.5.  Models in casual poses. Photograph of Amy Howsam and Mark Wilson in “New Faces,” Scene: The Modelling Magazine, Autumn 1995, 67. Courtesy of the British Library.

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Wilson was described as a “pin-­up cutie” who already had a “fashion spread in FHM magazine.”90 The male model was also routinely discussed in the British press in this period. One 1997 Observer article reported on unscrupulous impostors who recruited men and women on the street to be models but were really just in it to fleece them (demanding money upfront to “represent” their “clients”).91 Most pieces, though, sought to make sense of the rise of the male model in British culture and the aesthetic influences that determined “male beauty nowadays,” as journalist and broadcaster Cole Moreton noted in a 2000 Independent on Sunday article. The piece focused partly on the influence of transatlantic film culture on standards of attractiveness and the rising incidence of plastic surgery. Moreton also, however, sought to define the look of the moment in Britain, which he defined as not only well-­groomed and rugged but also posh or aristocratic (labeled by him as “Brideshead types”).92 The model-­related issue that received the greatest amount of attention in the first decade of the twenty-­first century was, in fact, body shape and size. Of particular concern were excessively thin male models who were increasingly popular on runways in London and Paris around 2007 and 2008 and who elicited headlines in the British press, like “Why Have Male Models Got So Skinny?,” “Ban on Skinny Men to Fight ‘Manorexia,’” and “Where’s the Beef?”93 Partly the product of skinnier fashion trends, this development resulted in commentaries on the rise of eating disorders among men and the impossibly thin mannequins that were being manufactured by British firm Rootstein in 2010.94 It was into the context of growing celebrity for male models and intense scrutiny of the masculine form that David Gandy, possibly still the most renowned male model in the world, began his career. According to the industry website, Models.com, and a number of interviews with Gandy on television and in print, his entry to the profession was facilitated by friends who sent his picture into the ITV show This Morning for a 2001 “Find a Male Model” contest.95 Winning that secured him a contract with Select Model Management and started his career, which skyrocketed after he was chosen to be the face of a new campaign for Dolce and Gabbana’s Light Blue pour Homme fragrance, appearing in a form-­fitting white swimsuit with a female model in Capri. In narrating his career, Gandy himself commented on this moment as a significant one that transformed the male modeling aesthetic on catwalks, in print, and in television advertisements. As he noted in a 2007 Sun interview: “When I came into modelling my look—­which is a classic ‘manly’ look—­wasn’t in. Androgynous thin guys were in.”96 More recently, also with the Sun, Gandy talked about the aesthetic shift that he believed his success ushered in: “With Light Blue it changed again and the classic,

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good-­looking guy came back into modelling. So everyone started working out, training and getting their bodies really into shape—­which is good. I like the fact that people got fitter because of it” (see plate 14).97 Gandy’s face and body have made him a highly successful catwalk model in major fashion capitals. They have also made him highly appealing to women and gay men as evidenced in his 12 million internet hits in 2007 and his nearly 1 million Instagram followers in 2019.98 Following the successful Dolce and Gabbana fragrance campaign, the objectification of Gandy’s body was especially apparent in a number of reflections. Times columnist and features writer Carol Midgley, for instance, had much to say about Gandy when Dolce and Gabbana featured him in their 2008 underwear campaign. Commenting on his “luscious lunchbox” as well as his perfect body—­which, as Midgley notes, was compared by Dolce and Gabbana to Michelangelo’s David—­the piece places a primary emphasis on the heterosexual female gaze. In particular, Midgley notes how the internet exponentially expanded Gandy’s exposure and created opportunities for “women the world over” to write “Phwoar, Cor! O mio dioooooooo! into YouTube as they drool over . . . eye-­popping photos—­of which [his] man-­pouch is unequivocally the star.”99 Images of Gandy became hot commodities indeed as the twenty-­first century moved into its second decade. In 2011, Gandy began a relationship with Marks and Spencer, serving as the face of an advertising campaign for the High Street shop’s Autograph collection and designing a line of leisure wear and swimwear. The campaign utilized not just printed images but also a filmed series of advertisements, set in beautiful locales, that were as much about Gandy’s impressive body as they were about the products being sold. One, from 2014, invited viewers to join Gandy in bed. Unlike the video piece on Beckham, in this instance Gandy is completely awake. The advertisement begins with his smiling face and then pans down his body, before highlighting him posing in a variety of different pieces and places. It ends playfully with the same pose that it started with but in the last seconds, Gandy smiles and throws the pillow at the camera (see figure 8.6).100 Gandy’s body was also central to a 2011 Dolce and Gabbana–­published book of images that featured the model clothed, partially clothed, and naked.101 Gandy observed in Vogue online that he was the “first British (maybe even international), male model to have this privilege” and that the book included images from advertising campaigns, fashion shows, calendars, editorial fashion shoots, and a number of new photographs by Mariano Vivanco. Intended to raise funds for the digitization project undertaken at the Uffizi museum in Florence, the book functioned also as a further manifestation of the long and complex history of commodification.102

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Figure 8.6.  Times Magazine cover featuring a still from a David Gandy Marks and Spencer advertising campaign (September 6, 2014). Author’s personal collection.

The aesthetic moment that Gandy seemed to capture was discussed by several different commentators between about 2006 and 2014. Aside from Gandy’s own reflections on the ways in which his arrival on the scene sig­ nified a momentous shift, his importance was highlighted, for example, by Alex Clark in a 2010 Times Magazine piece that began with the simple headline “My Week with the Most Beautiful Man in Britain.” In addition to identifying him as an appealing “male pin-­up,” Clark commented on Gandy’s career as one based on the active commodification and display of muscle and “impeccable grooming” as “an image of supreme health” and “male beauty.” Clark continued by asserting that Gandy’s bodily presentation functioned as a commentary on prevailing standards of masculinity that were, once again, conveying “strength, vigour, and potency.”103 Like other pieces on Gandy, the focus here is on looking closely at the man, situating him within a broader aesthetic trajectory, and giving vent to the open expression of all sorts of female desire.

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These tendencies were also present in gay cultural forms, reflecting the ways in which ideas about male beauty in queer and straight communities intersected. In considering the career of Gandy and some of the other modes of display discussed in this section, it is perhaps worth considering the extent to which gay aesthetics inform the mainstream and vice versa. Several examples are particularly telling. The Mr. Gay UK contest, for in­ stance, which began life (in 1982) as the Mr. Hardware contest, placed the presentation of the male face and body (billing itself on its website as “an annual beauty contest for gay men”) front and center. The bodies and poses appearing in the pages of programs from the 1990s and early 2000s are virtually indistinguishable from those of models on catwalks or in print advertisements (the clothes on professional models are just better) or in twenty-­first-­century modeling contests (including the one during which Gandy was “discovered”).104 The current Mr. Gay UK website has as its lead image a torso as impressive as Gandy’s, and the photographs of winners from the period between 2006 and 2013 rely very much on the defined musculature and swimsuit/underwear aesthetic that has been the stock-­in-­ trade for Gandy’s career (see plate 15).105 More mundane manifestations of this appeared in notices for male escorts in free magazines (usually distributed in gay bookstores and bars) such as QX Magazine and Boyz,106 and in advertisements for gyms and gay clubs. One from 2014 for the Soho bar Circa featured six athletic men in swimsuits in various active poses (see plate 16). It was this melding of aesthetics that led perceptive cultural commentator Mark Simpson to, once again, capture a complex set of cultural developments with a catchy single-­word term—­“spornosexual.” The first of these developments was an intense focus on the cultivation of the muscular body. The second was a desire to be admired, an active cultivation of the gaze by those who were working out and dieting incessantly. The final point was a kind of unapologetic form of “male self-­objectification” in the form of photographs and a range of social media posts that were meant to be enjoyed openly by women and same-­sex-­desiring men alike. Simpson, writing in American and British publications, defined this phenomenon and located some of the men discussed in this chapter within that tradition, including David Beckham and David Gandy, whose “sensual, athletic, beautiful body is his calling card.”107 Lest anyone be left to wonder, Simpson noted that this form of “second-­generation metrosexual is totally tarty.”108 Men who fit this particular bill, he observed, thoroughly enjoyed “fetishizing themselves.”109 Examples of this abound. Simpson himself pointed to the sale of calendars with nude (but obscured) and unapologetically sensual images of Warwick

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Figure 8.7.  Warwick University rowers in an article from an American queer-­oriented magazine. David Artavia, “A Very Sexy New Year,” Advocate 1100 (December 2018–­January 2019): 18. Author’s personal collection.

University rowers, a campaign that began in 2009 to support diversity and inclusion initiatives and LGBT rights in sport.110 The fact that their 2019 calendar was announced with fanfare in the December 2018–­January 2019 issue of the Advocate (an American gay magazine) signposts just how wide-­ reaching British ideas and British aesthetics remain (see figure 8.7).

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Race and the Culture of Display at the Fin de Siècle As in earlier periods, masculine aesthetics in Britain in the 1990s and early 2000s remained predominantly White, highlighting the ways in which the culture of male beauty, even in an era of intense demographic shifts, functioned as part of a longer-­term project of racialization.111 Discussions of racial disparities and Black representation in the beauty and fashion industries were, unsurprisingly, taken up by a variety of publications directed at people of color. These included weekly newspapers like the Voice (a weekly for the Afro-­Caribbean community founded in 1982 and currently published in paper and online formats) and Pride (a magazine founded in 1991 and geared to Black women in the UK). In both instances, discussions of the beauty industry, Black entrepreneurship, and, sometimes, pieces on Black models have figured prominently. The aesthetic pleasure to be found in looking at attractive Black men was a frequent topic in Pride. One 2010 piece featured an interview with the African American actor Taye Diggs that included a description of his personal appeal, an almost standard feature in celebrity journalism: “Dressed in a khaki V-­neck t-­shirt, stone-­ washed jeans and open-­toe sandals, topped off with a sun-­kissed glow and pearly white teeth, Taye looks fresh. Yeah, ladies, you know what I mean!”112

˙∙˙ The Voice magazine has paid attention to personal aesthetics and celebrations of Black beauty throughout its history. In the second decade of the twenty-­first century the magazine noted both the rise of new business ventures focused on male grooming and the growing role that Black male models have played in the fashion industry. One piece from 2016, for instance, focused on the launch of a new line of grooming products for Black men called Shear and Shine, named after the barbershop of founder Aaron Wallace from Croydon, South London. These products were intended to counter the tendency of the grooming industry to cater to White markets: “Afro-­Caribbean skin and hair is notoriously known for having its own set of common problems that require different treatments to its European counterparts.”113 Wallace placed a high premium indeed on the cultivation of personal appearance and pride, a point also taken up by Daniel Johnson, a mixed-­race barber and grooming expert who made a name for himself catering to footballers and, in 2018, launched a fragrance called Daniel Johnson Artemis.114 The careers of male models of color who have become increasingly important in the industry have also been spotlighted in the

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Voice. In addition to discussing men of color in high-­fashion runway shows, the publication also featured, in 2017, the work of Tidiou M’Baye who was born to a “Senegalese father and a mother of French, Russian, and Indian origin” and made a name for himself appealing to female and male audiences alike in Vogue, GQ, and the gay-­oriented Attitude.115 The discussion of diversity and race in the culture of male beauty and the beauty industry was not confined to the pages of Black-­oriented publications. It also occurred in national newspapers, especially important in an era when the awareness of representation in the media was emerging as a crucial topic in a country that was, despite continued racial conflict, attempting to celebrate multiculturalism. In 1998 Ben Arogundade—­a model, fashion magazine editor, and author—­wrote a Guardian piece on Black male models. In it he documented his own experiences as a kind of accidental mannequin while also outlining the difficulties that male models of color faced. Black men, Arogundade asserted, were particularly disadvantaged in the industry, unable to reach the heights of female models like Naomi Campbell, Alek Wek, and Veronica Webb, who, despite being paid less than their White counterparts, were still “supermodels.” Citing the American Tyson Beckford (who was one of the faces of Ralph Lauren) as an exception, he observed that it was only very recently that companies were willing to take a risk with Black models, who in the sixties and seventies were deemed “threatening figures.” Despite the fact that Black male models were still underrepresented in London agencies (Models 1, for instance, had just nine Black men out of two hundred on their books),116 there was, by the late nineties, a growing awareness that there was money to be made in diversity, reflected in one 2002 photograph of a South Asian makeup artist and model preparing for a fashion show in Manchester and various pieces in the press on models of color (see figure 8.8).117 The most critical commentaries on representations of Black men in British popular culture came, though, less from those with explicitly commercial interests and more from those engaged in various artistic ventures, particularly photography, in the period between the late 1980s and the early 2000s. An important figure was Rotimi Fani-­Kayode, a Nigerian-­born Briton who took on the subject of the nude, Black male body to explore a wide array of issues, including questions of representation, race, and the historical legacies of slavery. Contained within his work, though, are also attempts to explore gay sexuality (particularly in the era when many were dying from AIDS), traditional Yoruba beliefs, and Christianity. These explorations of the Black male body functioned, in part, as an attempt to insert Black representations into a cultural milieu where they were often absent. The Black body in Fani-­Koyode’s work also served to discuss the relationship between people of color and the British state and the ways in which it has been objectified

Figure 8.8.  South Asian men in the fashion industry. Photograph captioned “Applying Make-­Up to a Model before a Fashion Show in Manchester, 2002,” from Moving  Here: 200 Years of  Migration to England, National Archives Online, BHU/90. © Tim Smith Photos.

Figure 8.9.  Representing Black male beauty. Rotimi Fani-­Kayode, Union Jack (1987). Courtesy of Autograph London.

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by White desires (see figure 8.9). What was perhaps most central to Fani-­ Koyode’s work was his desire to use photography to reflect on topics of belonging, marginalization, and intersectionality—­the notion that identities and experiences of oppression frequently overlap and can, in fact, exacerbate each other.118 Fani-­Koyode’s own words on this are especially instructive: “It is photography, therefore—­Black, African, homosexual photography—­ which I must use not just as an instrument, but as a weapon if I am to resist attacks on my integrity and, indeed, my existence on my own terms.”119 Questions of representation and engaging with concepts of race and gender performativity (to borrow a concept developed by philosopher Judith Butler)120 also informed the work of an important art photographer, Ajamu X. Born in Huddersfield, West Yorkshire (to parents who migrated from Jamaica) in the 1960s, he moved to London and settled in Brixton in the late 1980s. His work, which he first started to show in 1990, addressed issues of gay identity and gay sex, the Black experience in Britain, and, again, the legacies of history.121 As David Bailey noted in the introduction to a catalog that accompanied a 1994 Ajamu show titled Black Bodyscapes, his work not only portrayed “black masculinities” but “represent[ed] the way in which the innocent notion of blackness as a unitary and undifferentiated identity has been radically questioned in the world of black gay men.”122 In addition to photographs showcasing gay male sexuality (including sadomasochistic practices), Ajamu’s work also played with gender by depicting, in one example, a muscular Black body wearing a bra and in others showing similarly proportioned men in a blond wig, a wedding dress, or lacy knickers.123 The work in Black Bodyscapes that focused on the beauty of distinctive body parts is especially compelling, with lips, nipples, ears, and buttocks all becoming important sites of desire and objects of admiration.124 As a response to representations of White gay men, Ajamu saw within his work the potential to “capture on film my own desires and fantasies.” As he noted in 2003, depicting ideal physical types (particularly in the form of bodybuilders) also had the effect of addressing issues of desire and reflecting on how depictions of “perfect” bodies affected “self-­esteem.”125 The desire to liberate that seemed to inform, in part, Ajamu’s work (a modus operandi also evident in a show on Black queer youth titled Fierce that he did at the Guildhall Gallery in London in 2013)126 was also a driving force behind a 2016 show organized by curator and author Ekow Eshun titled Made You Look. Shown at the Photographer’s Gallery, the show focused on Black, male self-­fashioning as an act that functioned “beyond the white gaze” and rendered the “black body” as a “site of liberation rather than oppression.”127 As was the case in earlier periods, a rec­ ognition that engaging with and upending White conceptions of male beauty resonated politically with varied communities of color in Britain.

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Male Body Image in the 1990s and 2000s The diverse sources discussed in the previous section provide some perspective on male body image and the reactions that men had to both advertising and beauty ideals and expectations. Historians of the very recent British past have a rare opportunity to gain insights into these topics by examining responses to directives on the role of the media in British life, on physical appearance, and on health that volunteers produced during these years for the NLGS and the resurrected M-­O project. The evocative and telling responses, written by hand or typed, function as telling narrations of the body that provide a wonderful point of access for learning how the developments discussed in the earlier portions of this chapter affected both the construction of body ideals and self-­perceptions. As such, we can use them to discern how masculinity was lived and understood through the body in an era when men were given greater license to reflect on these topics,128 how aesthetic judgments affected personal identities, and how both desire and disgust were articulated through specific discussions of physical traits and bodies that were either admired or shunned.

˙∙˙ The social shifts of the 1990s, accompanied by the cultural obsession with masculinity, meant that many gay and bisexual men engaged with media images as they reflected on their place in the gender order or ruminated on their personal body image. The stories of the body that respondents told the NLGS revealed a sort of openness to delineating a genealogy of fantasy and desire that frequently referenced older aesthetic traditions alongside the new types of masculine poses and body types that were prevalent in 1990s Britain. An example of the kinds of questions respondents were asked is evident in a directive on gay men and health that was distributed in the spring of 1991. In this case, volunteers were prodded with the following statement: “In our society the media and advertising world try incessantly to promote body image.” They were then asked, “Is body image important to you?” Similarly, volunteers were told and asked in the same directive that “in gay publications and increasingly more often in mainstream advertising muscular male bodies are projected as the ideal. How do you respond to this?”129 Versions of these questions were posed to respondents in requests for information into the early 2000s. Body aesthetics were, in fact, front and center in many of the survey re­ sponses that gay and bisexual men provided. One elderly BBC broadcaster, for instance, provided an interesting definition of homosexuality that firmly

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placed same-­sex-­desiring feelings in this realm, emphasizing the act of looking and assessing bodies: “I sometimes feel that homosexual feelings and preferences are partly a matter of aesthetics. Men and boys simply are, to me, more beautifully proportioned than women and girls and very often move more elegantly.”130 This focus on the admiration of the male body and homosexuality was also highlighted by one airline executive in his fifties who added to his commentary on visual media and celebrity culture a clear preference for the stereotypically masculine: “I enjoy the masculine imagery in advertising and the handsome people on the television, etc.” He continued by commenting on his fantasy life and the unlikelihood of attaining one of the men he admired from afar: “I fantasise a bit in a vague way about loving, living with, wrestling with, one of these hunks, but I don’t think it’s going to happen in real life.”131 For another respondent in his late sixties writing in the mid-­1990s, the obsession at that time with the appealing body (sometimes labeled an “Adonis” physique)132 was similar to what he expe­ rienced in his youth in the 1950s and early 1960s when the classical ideals133 promoted in physique magazines predominated for many. This aesthetic was, of course, one that fetishized athleticism, fitness, and hairlessness, a look that took a particularly strong hold in Britain (and elsewhere) as gay men sought to counter the wasting and ravaging of the male body that accompanied AIDS. For many, the fetishizing of muscle was im­ portant and highlighted in a variety of distinctive ways. With reference to these developments, one hotel worker from Edinburgh described the increasing appearance of more “muscular male bodies” in advertisements as appealing not only because he liked to look at them but because it put them “on par with female bodies,”134 reminding surveyors of the growing sexualization and objectification of the male body in modern British culture. Others, like a Cumbrian systems analyst in his thirties, characterized the ideal of the day as “lean, muscular, and athletic.”135 One retired university lecturer in his late sixties privileged admiration and looking in his response, hinting perhaps at the fewer sexual opportunities that sometimes presented themselves to older Britons:136 “I get a lot of innocent satisfaction from admiring other people’s young, muscular bodies. Cyclists’ legs if they’re wearing shorts. Bums going up escalators. Young men at the swimming bath.”137 For many, there were stresses and frustrations associated with these aesthetic ideals and the pressure to conform. Mediating between the desire for a better body (and to be desired) and the notion that the bodies in magazines were unattainable, a number of respondents outlined the difficulties they faced in contending with ideal images. The university-­educated systems analyst mentioned above, for instance, noted that “I am constantly aware of the social pressure, from media and especially advertising, for men

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to be lean and muscular” and that this pressure led him to “exercise with the sole purpose of improving my physique to make me more attractive.”138 Another man in his thirties (a foreign-­born accountant) commented on his daily swimming regimen (thirty lengths a day) and described it as part of an ongoing effort to maintain a fit body and a youthful appearance.139 Others discussed going to health clubs and gyms to “keep fit” and to socialize with other men,140 but some, like an information officer from Huddersfield in his late twenties, saw the push toward the gym for many as something that could develop into an unhealthy obsession by noting: “There are people, a couple of whom I have met, who become utterly obsessed with exercise and/or body image” in order to “follow the parameters being laid down for me by the advertising industry.”141 Some identified excessive muscularity or the preoccupation with fitness as a problem by expressing a desire for more diverse ideals. One respondent, a Nigerian Briton in his twenties, indicated that while he found bodybuilding “nice—­in magazines,” in person it was “much too intimidating and generally less attractive than any similar lean physique.” His critique of the gay press, which he claimed was “full of pictures and drawings of muscular hunks,” was decidedly more pointed. In addition to finding these fixations “boring and very childish,” he said they led to an “overvaluation of the body at the expense of personality.”142 Similarly, a young man from Bristol decried the conformist tendency toward hairlessness in many magazines noting, “For God’s sake where have all the hairy men gone!” He objected to the “airbrushed type” that predominated in magazines and concluded: “All men are beautiful in different ways. . . . We aren’t all the same so why pretend!”143 Other critiques were more mundane, pointing to the need for the media to be more representative: “I feel that the media could do more for people like me by understanding that not all folk are like the images they show in advertisements and so on.”144 This desire to showcase other aesthetics was also reflected in the responses of some, like one former airline cabin crew member in his fifties who was “over fifty, overweight, over-­bald” and “over-­hairy” but nonetheless still enjoyed a satisfying sexual life with his partner.145 Men who found this particular aesthetic attractive were also not shy about speaking up in their responses. A young Brighton librarian critiqued the pressure to be “young, slim, smooth, attractive, and white,” noting: “I personally like stocky, older, hairy men.” He concluded by arguing that nonconforming individuals should be welcome in the gay community and that embracing “diversity” was vital.146 A predilection for larger men also appeared in the comments of an older former aircraft technician who commented that his “sexual fantasies centre on body shape” and that he “love[s] big, fat men especially with

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enormous stomachs or beer guts.”147 Such comments should remind us of both the complexities of desire and the ways in which standards of attractiveness, especially in the realm of sexual fantasy, might depart from widely accepted idealized types. Gay men were not alone in commenting on the prevalence of these aesthetic ideals, their relationship to masculine identities, and the kinds of anxieties that they produced. Ostensibly or self-­identified heterosexual men often reflected on a broad range of matters related to appearance—­ including weight and hair—­in the press and in responses to M-­O directives sent out in the 1990s and early 2000s. While generally less overtly sexual, this material helps us to understand the influence of the media and the relationship between personal appearance and presentations of the gendered, classed, and national self. Tim Walmsley, who was introduced earlier in this chapter, did not just offer reflections on his own body image. He also commented on the propensities of his colleagues in the building trades, some of whom “like to show off their bods.” While noting a kind of pride in the masculine working-­class body—­even as he personally disavowed the practice of stripping down—­he blurred gender lines in his description by likening shirtless scaffolders to “drag artists”: “both lots of men are basically walking up and down the catwalk.” In so doing, he pointed to both various gendered performances and discussions of the male body in the 1990s that created opportunities to contemplate the meanings of masculinity in a changing world.148 Reflections on body image, most notably perceptions of other people’s bodies, were especially apparent in responses to a 1997 M-­O directive about being overweight. While many male respondents reserved their harshest criticisms for obese women, commentaries on their own bodies and on those of other men reflected the degree to which the culture of assessment, measurement, and body obsessiveness entered the popular consciousness broadly. One working-­class, sixty-­seven-­year-­old retiree from Harrogate in Yorkshire, while fairly forgiving of others, noted his disappointment at acquiring a “small beer belly on retirement.”149 This was different from the beer bellies of what one sixty-­three-­year-­old identified as “gross men in their twenties” (also identified as “grotesque”) and characterized as belonging to “poorly educated over indulgent beer and lager drinkers.”150 Commentaries on paunches developed either in middle age or as a result of excess could thus convey multiple meanings. On the one hand, they were reserved to express anxieties about bodily degeneration and personal failure. On the other, they became important markers of class difference that enabled one man to position himself over others by highlighting notable physical differences, a tendency again with a long history that reveals telling

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continuities with earlier modes of assessing the distinctions between social groups. Responses to M-­O directives also provided opportunities to reflect on the influence of the media. One fifty-­year-­old designer and illustrator living in Cambridgeshire, for instance, commented directly on social ideals regarding fit bodies: “In this modern lifestyle (a hideous word) besotted society, never before have looks been regarded as so important. This has meant that to be slim is the only ideal . . . whatever anyone’s naturally inherited body shape might be.”151 Sentiments of this sort were echoed in a preponderance of responses that noted the beauty and body ideals promoted by a range of groups, including food retailers who, one twenty-­seven-­year-­ old engineer from Reading observed, make money by promoting “healthy option” foods.152 Like in the instance of gay men who commented on the pervasiveness and impact of media images, one seventeen-­year-­old respondent summarized the perspective of some with the following condemnation: “Overweight people aren’t placed on magazine covers and in papers like supermodels in our society. Fat is not the stereotypical perfection.”153 Appearance also figured prominently in M-­O material on hair and hairdressing from 2001, which tended, in fact, to be more self-­reflective on the relationship between hair and masculine satisfaction. Respondents commented on a range of topics including prominent ears and balding, often echoing, as least in part, what men had to say about the subject in the late 1930s and early 1940s.154 Commentaries on hair also served a variety of other purposes at the beginning of the twenty-­first century. For some, including a twenty-­seven-­year-­old solicitor’s clerk (who at one point in his life wore dreadlocks), hair was a vehicle for “debating politics, religion, and the intricacies of personal aesthetics.”155 Most interesting, perhaps, were those who noted the influence of celebrity culture and the impact that the physical appearances of politicians had on ordinary Britons as they assessed hairstyles and good looks. One fifty-­eight-­year-­old former newspaper executive, for instance, pointed to the excesses of some prominent figures in highlighting grooming techniques that should be avoided. Arthur Scargill, the president of the National Union of Mineworkers, for instance, was derided for his conspicuous comb-­over, while former government minister David Mellor was critiqued for “that ridiculous quiff above a pair of very thick spectacles.”156 In the end, pronouncements such as these remind us how physical appearance and masculine body image could be referenced at the turn of the century as men defined personal identities and situated themselves in complex hierarchies of masculine attributes.

˙∙˙

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For British men in this period, masculinity was an experience lived through their bodies as a particular kind of aesthetic space, as physical entities that could be adorned, sculpted, and clothed in ways that spoke volumes about their position in the wider world. It was also an experience lived through different forms of consumption and a direct engagement with a new, more erotically charged and more self-­consciously ambiguous sexual culture that placed exposed and admired male bodies on par with those of women and sometimes blurred the lines between the masculine and the feminine and the queer and the normative. These changes were, of course, part of a much longer history dating back, at least, to the rise of photography in the 1840s. Yet, a growing sense that one’s own masculinity was both fragile (indeed, unstable) and something reflected not so much through direct action or a particular occupation or hobby but, instead, through poses, performances, and various acts of consumption (including the purchase of clothing, chemical substances, and plastic surgery), meant that obsessions about body image, and about new ways of being embodied (reflected, for instance, in the figures of the metrosexual and the spornosexual) assumed new dimensions as the twentieth century gave way to the twenty-­first. While I have cautioned, throughout this book, against claiming that the 1990s and early 2000s were unparalleled in their concerns about masculine appearance, the complexity of these issues in this period, as reflected in some of the material discussed throughout this chapter, points to just how tumultuous the turn of the century was in terms of gender and sexual politics. Dramatic social and economic changes, which accelerated beginning in the 1950s and 1960s, led to new modes of self-­presentation and consumption that relied on the cultivation and satisfaction, to an ever-­larger extent, of a British male appetite for the new grooming products and new forms of dress that manufacturers and the fashion industry were readily peddling. The growing ubiquity of the frequently nude male body as both a specific commodity and advertising ploy meant that Britons were literally bombarded with images of fit, hairless, and, indisputably alluring, men. Combined with growing preoccupations with the status of manhood, it should come then as no surprise that British men bit at the chance to express their views about their faces and bodies and, in the process, negotiate their way through a changing landscape where the masculine and the manly were not always self-­evident but, clearly, almost always in the eyes (and pocketbooks) of the beholders.

Epilogue

The story, of course, continues in the age of social media and the political upheavals associated with Brexit. Britons continue to use the culture of male beauty writ large to reflect on the status of manhood. Some of these preoccupations we have seen before, particularly as they relate to men using products generally thought to be reserved for women. “Will Blokes Ever Go Big for Bronzer?,” queried the Guardian in a 2018 piece before discussing the availability of male cosmetics at the online fashion retailer ASOS and the existence of a new company, MMUK, that was beginning to sell concealer and other products to men. The piece located the interest in male makeup in a particular technological moment: “The availability of camera phones and the likelihood we will be photographed or videoed by friends on a night out, with the result inevitably shared on social media, has made men more conscious than ever of the way they look.”1 Evident in several periods examined in this book, this emphasis on newness reflected a desire, on the part of different historical actors, to lay claim to distinctiveness in an effort to establish the epochal nature of the times they were living through. It also revealed a persistent belief that it was only in more “evolved” or “enlightened” eras that Britons were sophisticated enough to reflect on the pleasures of the male body or the nature of masculinity. Discussions of male body shape and size have also continued to feature in the British media. Less than a decade after David Gandy’s arrival on the scene was said to have heralded the return of muscular, classically handsome men to fashion runways and advertisements, the Daily Mail was reporting on male models in 2016 with the following headline: “Buff hunks out, skinny dudes in! How the fashion industry’s idea of a perfect male model went from muscular and manly to slim and androgynous.” Androgyny and interesting facial features on the runways of the major fashion capitals, it seemed, signaled the arrival of a “decidedly ‘gender fluid’” aesthetic. This online feature included images of thin men, often with hollowed cheeks, and contrasted them with the buff physiques of the early 2000s. The piece 320

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also highlighted the career of a twenty-­six-­year-­old model named Lex who refused to “identify” as either male or female, highlighting the ways in which, for some at least, beauty need not have been assigned a gender in the second decade of the twenty-­first century.2 Discussions of the gendered implications of dress and body adornment were also showcased in a 2014 Guardian article on the so-­called lumbersexual. In this instance, columnist Holly Baxter identified this new species of fashionable man as bearded, wearing a plaid shirt, carrying a backpack, and wearing “artfully scruffy hair barely contained by his sensible woollen hat.” He was characterized, as well, as an urban man with an affinity for craft beers, cold-­brew coffee, Barbour jackets, and tattoos. Baxter cautioned readers of this piece, though, to resist the tendency to see this simply as a kind of silly pose and encouraged them, rather, to view it as a kind of gender play, a serving up of a “hypermasculine aesthetic with an unashamedly ironic grin.” Her injunction served then as a useful reminder of the constructed nature of gender and the complex roles that fashion and aesthetics have played in the lives of men and women alike.3 In keeping with a long tradition in the newspaper and periodical press, Baxter highlighted just how central considerations of the male face and body have been in different facets of British culture. Each of these pieces points to important issues that have been addressed throughout this book. The first, connected to the discussion of men’s makeup, relates to both the redemptive power of consumerism and the notion that one might improve one’s appearance, and thus prospects in life, by cultivating good looks or sculpting the body. Connected to this, though, is the importance of looking and being seen, themes that have been explored from a variety of different angles, ranging from the craze for carte de visite portraits in the nineteenth century to the obsession with model David Gandy’s face and body. The second issue, discussed in the article on the return of the skinny, androgynous model, addresses the relationship between body shape, muscularity, and ideals of masculine beauty. It also reminds us that, throughout the history chronicled here, individuals have used their bodies to both conform to and flout gender conventions. Every part of the male body—­the beard, the torso, the leg, the penis, and so on—­has acquired different cultural meanings at different points in British history.4 So even if the beard might be read as an emblem of hypermasculinity in the era of the “lumbersexual,” in the 1930s, as discussed by fashion journalist John Taylor in the 1970s, wearing a beard was considered “cissy.”5 This book has been principally concerned with what is revealed when we think about beauty standards, body and fitness regimens, and aesthetic experiences historically. Rather than revisiting the arguments that have

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unfolded in the preceding pages, I want to pick up on the themes raised in the three examples from the press that open this epilogue. In so doing, I want to further illustrate how considerations of past and present might be used to more fully understand the moment we are currently living through. The image revolution that came with the arrival of the internet has transformed how we receive information, how we date, and how we reflect on the place of physical beauty in our lives. Similarly, it has affected the way we consume images of those we find attractive or sexually appealing, most notably in the form of internet pornography. It has also altered the way we practice history, creating new archives, questions, and methods. In part, this book was made possible by the digitization of books, newspapers (such as the Times and the Guardian), and magazines like Picture Post, an important component of the technological revolution of the past thirty years or so. Searching for keywords, pinpointing and situating important developments, and tracing continuities has been simplified, in some ways, by the introduction of these new tools. Artifacts of the internet and social media age are rich sources for anyone interested in furthering the story of male beauty told here and will, if accurately archived and preserved moving forward, be enormously beneficial to historians who pursue the topic in the future. The issues of assessment, categorization, and even the harsh judgments that come when people start to weigh aesthetic merits is reflected in a variety of electronic locations, the most notable example being the dating site BeautifulPeople. com, which started in Denmark in 2002 and opened a UK site in 2005 before going global in 2009. This is a dating platform that continues to flourish and purports to provide distinctive services including, according to current wording, opportunities to “connect with beautiful men and women in your area and from around the world” and to “meet real beautiful people who actually look in real life as they do online,” reminding us that questions of artifice and authenticity continue to gnaw in the present just as they did in the past.6 In order to become a member of BeautifulPeople.com, aspirants have to submit a profile that must be judged favorably by current members.7 Not to be outdone, Howard James, a UK-­based internet entrepreneur sought to counter BeautifulPeople.com with a website for the ordinary or “aesthetically challenged.” Called TheUglyBugBall.com and launched in 2010, it was rooted in a simple premise: “It struck me that most people aren’t beautiful so there would be a bigger market for ugly people.” If mined appropriately, sites such as these provide ample opportunity to assess not only contempo­ rary aesthetic standards but also the important questions of self-­presentation and self-­perception that have figured so prominently in this book.8 The same might be said of the various dating apps that have appeared in recent years. Sites like Tinder and Bumble, for instance, allow users to

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swipe on profiles they like or dislike (usually based on aesthetic choices) in an effort to create a “match” and facilitate a potential meeting. Grindr, a site for same-­sex-­desiring, gay, bi, trans, and queer men that started in the United States, features aesthetically appealing photos of members, many of whom use the site for casual sexual encounters. Apps of this sort literally bombard users with images and opportunities for assessment as well as, in some instances, the exchange of nude photos that can serve multiple purposes in this new kind of consumer marketplace, including the fueling of sexual fantasies. Aesthetic pleasures are at the core of another enormously popular app, Instagram, favored by celebrities and ordinary folk alike. While many post pictures of family events and food experiences on the site, those who make money off their looks use it to display handsome faces and fit bodies. Models, in particular, use the app to court followers, some of whom visit it to scout talent and some of whom use it as a site of aesthetic and sexual pleasure. British models (many of whom spend significant amounts of time abroad) who use the app to great effect include not only the more famous David Gandy but also figures like Ollie Edwards, Kit Butler, and Ty Ogunkoya. Their careers, their relationship to social media, and their understandings of topics like objectification all beg for more analysis, especially of the sort that might be inflected with a fully developed sense of historical precedent and perspective.9 The impulse toward competition and aesthetic judgment that figured into discussions of beauty and physique contests addressed in earlier chapters also figures prominently in the era of the internet and social media.10 While evident in some of what has already been discussed, it was made painfully obvious in 2011, when a Sexy MP (Member of Parliament) website was launched by Francis Boulle. Including both male and female MPs, visitors to the site, many of whom presumably went to it for a laugh, were able to judge a member “hot or not,” with the results receiving some media attention and the site being banned in parliamentary offices in 2015. 11 Commenting on the existence of the site, Times journalist Tim Teeman was able to offer some perspective on what was otherwise treated as a pretty humorous affair and a “bit of fun.”12 “Of course we judge politicians (and not only politicians) on their looks. Vladimir Putin knows this: for all the accusations levelled at him, the Russian PM shamelessly publishes pictures of himself topless in the wilderness in army combats.”13 Thinking not just about content but about what motivates some to visit such a site (or, indeed, an Instagram account) might help us to understand that much more about the ways in which attitudes and ideas about personal beauty enter into the day-­to-­day consciousness of both the ordinary and the extraordinary. What makes the contemporary moment distinctive, in addition to the proliferation of images and competition that has come with social media

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is how gender fluidity and nonconformity and the identities and status of transgender men in Britain have shifted notions of beauty and masculinity in fundamental ways. To be sure, there is a long history of gender fluidity that we are now learning about. Recently, historians and journalists have turned their attention to a broad range of topics including gender blurring in the interwar period, gender affirmation surgery, and drag performance in the twentieth century.14 The relationship between gender nonconformity, trans identities, and traditional masculine aesthetics appears at points in this book, but could be explored more centrally in studies that emphasize this as a primary research question. Considering trans men’s engagement with the advertising industry and grooming practices, as the one trans-­identified subject I referred to in chapter 5 did, has the potential to yield very interesting results indeed. Similarly, profitable cultural analysis about the relationship between gender presentation, bodily representation, and the trans relationship to “traditional” masculine aesthetics might be achieved by thinking carefully, just as an example, about the use of trans male models (such as the American-­born Laith Ashley), in recent years, by the British version of GQ, as well as by the queer publications Attitude and Gay Times.15 The final issue I would like to mention comes directly out of the Holly Baxter piece. In many ways, her insights are most similar to some of the perspectives on the history of male beauty that I have offered in this book. Baxter recognizes the ways in which gender is literally inscribed and reinscribed on the body over and over again during the course of an individual’s life. A lumbersexual might have been, in an earlier life, a clean-­cut and clean-­shaven wearer of polo shirts and chinos just as he might become, later in life, a tweedy and, perhaps, graying gentleman of distinction. What the piece on the lumbersexual reminds us of is the need to think carefully not just about fashion cycles but about life cycles. The vicissitudes of age affect how men are perceived and understood to operate within hierarchies of masculine beauty. They also influence how much men come to care or not to care about how they look, about how they present themselves, and about how they understand what their beauty trajectory may have been over the course of the lives.16 Thinking about trajectories, about patterns, and about life cycles is the perfect way to end this book. While new styles, new ways of being seen, and new forms of representation were constantly emerging over the timespan covered in these pages, Britons were almost always also referencing the past, contemplating what had preceded, and, inevitably, seeking to mediate between tradition and change. Thinking deeply about beauty thus helps us to understand not just changing standards and fashions for men but also the complexities and intricacies of the human relationship to the past, to the present, and to whatever it is that the future might hold.

Acknowledgments

This book was made possible, first and foremost, by the generosity and as­ sistance of many fine teachers. It originated with a discussion in a London park that I had with my mentor and friend Barbara Todd, and I am grateful for the insights on the topic that she has provided over the years. I have also benefited from the fine guidance of other inspiring teachers includ­ ing Mardges Bacon, Richard Helmstadter, Trevor Lloyd, Alison Prentice, and Sylvia Van Kirk. Of greatest importance has been Susan Pennybacker, whom I first met at my undergraduate institution, Trinity College. Susan took me under her wing and mentored me and, since the 1980s, has been a fierce ally and friend as well as a thoughtful critic and sounding board. The field within which I work is full of wonderful colleagues, and I am delighted to thank the many who have supported me as I completed this project. Erika Rappaport has been amazingly gracious and generous. Her keen readings of my work have improved it immeasurably. The same holds true for Jessica Clark, a fellow historian of beauty who has helped to sharpen my thinking on the topic. Philippa Levine has been a steadfast supporter, font of good ideas, and a perceptive reader. Chris Waters is an exceptional colleague and friend who has encouraged and inspired me in numerous ways. Nadja Durbach and Matt Houlbrook provided incisive read­­ ings of this book in manuscript form that, I think, have made all the dif­ ference. Many other historians have also provided ideas, support, and as­ sistance. Among them are Jeffrey Auerbach, Sascha Auerbach, Jordanna Bailkin, David Baillargeon, Justin Bengry, Stephen Brooke, Anna Clark, Deborah Cohen, Becky Conekin, Lucy Curzon, Ruby Daily, Caroline Daley, Stefano D’Amico, Carolyn Day, Michael Diambri, Averill Earls, Stephen Heathorn, Carol Helstosky, Matthew Hendley, Carol Herringer, Katie Hindmarch-­Watson, Kali Israel, Dominic Janes, Tim Jenks, Dane Kennedy, Claire Langhamer, Marjorie Levine-­Clark, Brian Lewis, Patrick McDevitt, Ben Mechen, Cecilia Morgan, Frank Mort, Elizabeth Prevost, Jen Purcell, Greg Smith, Peter Stansky, Aliza Wong, and Ina Zweiniger-­Bargielowska. 325

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If there are others I have forgotten, please forgive the omission and know that I am grateful. My colleagues at the University of Vermont have sustained me in many important ways. I am especially grateful to my friend and fellow cultural historian Abby McGowan, who read and provided critical feedback on this manuscript not once, but twice. Others in my department provided me with support and assistance as I tried to finish this book (a period that coincided with my time as department chair), most especially Dona Brown, Kathy Carolin, Shari Dike, Nicole Phelps, Amani Whitfield, and Steve Zdatny. The friendships of several others inside my department have been especially important to me, including those of Boğaç Ergene, Jon Huener, and Sean Stilwell. My dean, Bill Falls, championed my work and was generous with funds to help with the expense of producing a heavily illustrated book. In addition to financial assistance from the College of Arts and Sciences that he heads, I have also received strategically important grants from the Humanities Center and the Office of the Vice President for Research. I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge all the wonderful archivists and librarians who helped me amass the many piles of research notes, pho­ tographs, and photocopies that this project generated. These folks are the true heroes of the discipline, and I am grateful for the help I received at the Bishopsgate Institute, London; the British Library; the Centre for Oxford­ shire Studies; Harrods, Ltd.; the Imperial War Museum; the John Johnson Collection at the Bodleian Library, Oxford; the King’s College Archive Center, Cambridge; the London Metropolitan Archives; the London School of Economics; the Mass Observation Archive in Sussex; Middlesex Univer­ sity; the National Archives in Kew; the National Media Museum in Brad­ ford; Queen Mary’s Hospital, Sidcup; the Royal College of Surgeons; Tate Britain; the Victoria and Albert Museum; the Wellcome Library; and the Westminster City Archives. Dr. Andrew Bamji at the Queen Mary’s Hos­ pital, Sidcup, was especially generous with his time as I navigated my way through materials amassed by the plastic surgeon Harold Gillies. Mass-­ Observation material is reproduced with the permission of the Trustees of the Mass Observation Archive, University of Sussex. Small parts of chapter 5 appeared in “Selling, Consuming, and Becoming the Beautiful Man in Brit­ ain: The 1930s and 1940s,” in Consuming Behaviours: Identity, Politics, and Pleasure in Twentieth-­Century Britain, ed. Erika Rappaport, Sandra Trudgen Dawson, and Mark J. Crowley (London: Bloomsbury, 2015), and a small portion of chapter 7 appeared in “The Cultural Politics of Gay Pornography in 1970s Britain,” British Queer History: New Approaches and Perspectives, ed. Brian Lewis (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2013).

ac kn ow l e d g me n ts   › 327

I must also thank several at the University of Chicago Press. Doug Mitchell, who has now sadly left us, commissioned this work and was a huge supporter of the project, providing me with pep talks when I needed them (often over wonderful meals). After Doug retired, the project was ex­ pertly shepherded through the review process by Kyle Wagner, who pro­ vided insightful feedback and great encouragement. As the book entered its production phase, I benefited greatly from the help provided by Dylan Montanari, who was a pleasure to work with. Expert copyediting was pro­ vided by Mark Reschke, and the design team at the University of Chicago Press (particularly Kevin Quach) have helped to produce a book that, aes­ thetically speaking, could not be any better. I will leave it to readers to de­ cide what they think of the content. I am grateful for the generous support of many other friends on both sides of the Atlantic and the many different people who make up my family. They have never questioned my choices about career or research topics and have relished in my successes and held me up in those times when I have failed. The greatest support in my life is my husband, Jeff Hodgson. He has lived with this project for more time than either of us would care to admit. Through it all, he has provided me with support, sustenance, companion­ ship, lots of fun, and, most importantly, a ton of love. Dedicating this work to him is just a small token of my gratitude and love for him.

Archival Collections Consulted

Advertising Archives Online (AAO) Archives of the Royal College of Surgeons of England, London (ARCS) Bishopsgate Institute Library and Archives, London (BI) British Library, London (BL) Centre for Oxfordshire Studies, Oxford (COS) Daily Herald Collection, National Media Museum, Bradford (DHC, NMM) Gillies Archive, Queen Mary’s Hospital, Sidcup (GA). This archival collection has been broken up, with much of the material moving to the ARCS. I have used the GA archival designation to indicate material that was consulted in Sidcup. Hall-­Carpenter Archives, London School of Economics, London (HCA, LSE) Harrods, Ltd. Company Archive, London (HA) Imperial War Museum, London (IWM) J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, CA ( JPG) John French Collection, Victoria and Albert Archive of Art and Design, London ( JFC, VAAAD) John Gielgud Collection, British Library, London ( JGC, BL) John Johnson Collection, Bodleian Library, Oxford ( JJC, BL) John Stephen Collection, Victoria and Albert Archive of Art and Design, London ( JSC, VAAAD) Lesbian and Gay News Archive, Middlesex University, Middlesex (LAGNA). While I consulted this material initially in Middlesex, the collection now resides at the BI. London Metropolitan Archives, London (LMA) Magdalen College Archives, Oxford (MCAO) Mass Observation Archive Online (MOAO) Mass Observation Archive, University of Sussex, Falmer (MOA) National Archives, Kew (NA) National Media Museum, Bradford (NMM) Nineteenth-­Century Collections Online (NCCO)

329

a rc h i va l c o l l ect i o ns c o nsu lt e d   ‹ 330

Rupert Brooke Papers, King’s College, Cambridge (RBP, KCC) Tate Gallery Archives, Tate Britain, London (TGA) Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Toronto (TFRB) Wellcome Library, London (WL) Westminster City Archives, London (WCA)

Notes

Introduction 1. “The Handsomest Man in Cambridge,” Granta 19, no. 415 (February 17, 1906): 193. 2. “Handsome Men. Masculine Beauty Show,” Evening Post, November 6, 1909, 11. 3. “Britain Looks around for Mr. Apollo” (1950), British Pathé, accessed July 10, 2018, https://www.britishpathe.com/video/britain-­looks-­around-­for-­mr-­apollo /query/Mr+Apollo. 4. Carin Simon, “100 Men—­The Best in Britain,” Honey, February 1971, 18–­21. 5. “Man Talk: Chat,” Him Exclusive, no. 4 (1975): 18; and advertisement for the Mr. Playguy Contest, Him Exclusive, no. 5 (1975): 47. 6. Alex McKenna, “Mister Hardware Finals ’83,” Zipper, no. 45 (1983): 7. 7. Interview with David Gandy on This Morning ( June 22, 2011), accessed May 22, 2019, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UaxK4LAogQc. 8. Arthur Marwick, It: A History of Human Beauty (London: Hambledon and London, 2004), 35. Similar viewpoints are expressed in Adrian Bingham, Family Newspapers? Sex, Private Life, and the British Popular Press, 1918–­1978 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 225. 9. Michael B. Young, King  James VI and I and the History of Homosexuality (New York: New York University Press, 2000), 75. On legs in the eighteenth century, see Karen Harvey, “Men of Parts: Masculine Embodiment and the Male Leg in Eighteenth-­ Century England,” Journal of British Studies 54, no. 4 (2015): 797–­821. 10. Peter McNeil, “Macaroni Masculinities,” Fashion Theory: The Journal of Dress, Body, and Culture 4, no. 4 (2000): 373–­404; and Dominic Janes, Oscar Wilde Prefigured: Queer Fashioning and British Caricature, 1750–­1900 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 25–­54. 11. Susan Vincent, The Anatomy of Fashion: Dressing the Body from the Renaissance to Today (Oxford: Berg, 2009), 22–­29. 12. Joanne Entwistle, The Fashioned Body: Fashion, Dress, and Modern Social The­ ory (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2000), 73; and George L. Mosse, The Image of Man: The Creation of Modern Masculinity (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 17–­39. On perfectibility, see Kenneth R. Dutton, The Perfectible Body: The Western Ideal of Male Physical Development (New York: Continuum, 1995), 11–­18. 13. Ariel Beaujot, Victorian Fashion Accessories (London: Berg, 2012); Christopher Breward, The Hidden Consumer: Masculinities, Fashion, and City Life, 1860–­1914 (Man­ chester: Manchester University Press, 1999); Erika Diana Rappaport, Shopping  for

331

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Pleasure: Women in the Making of  London’s West End (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univer­ sity Press, 2000); and Brent Shannon, The Cut of His Coat: Men, Dress, and Consumer Culture in Britain, 1860–­1914 (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2006). An insightful new work on beauty entrepreneurship in the nineteenth century is Jessica P. Clark, The Busi­ ness of Beauty: Gender and the Body in Modern London (London: Bloomsbury, 2020). On photographic documentation, see Michael Anton Budd, The Sculpture Machine: Phys­ ical Culture and Body Politics in the Age of Empire (New York: New York University Press, 1997), 25. 14. On visual culture in the nineteenth century, see Vanessa R. Schwartz and Jean­ nene M. Przyblyski, The Nineteenth-­Century Visual Culture Reader (New York: Routledge, 2004); and Lynda Nead, Victorian Babylon: People, Streets, and Images in Nineteenth-­ Century London (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000). On visual culture in the twentieth century, see Lucy D. Curzon, Mass-­Observation and Visual Culture: Depicting Everyday Lives in Britain (Abingdon: Routledge, 2017); Lynda Nead, The Tiger in the Smoke: Art and Culture in Post-­War Britain (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2017); and Penny Tinkler, Smoke Signals: Women, Smoking, and Visual Culture (Oxford: Berg, 2006). 15. Christopher Oldstone-­Moore, “The Beard Movement in Victorian Britain,” Vic­ torian Studies 48, no. 1 (2005): 7–­34, and Of Beards and Men: The Revealing History of Facial Hair (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016); and Susan Walton, “From Squalid Impropriety to Manly Respectability: The Revival of Beards, Moustaches, and Martial Values in the 1850s in England,” Nineteenth-­Century Contexts: An Interdisciplinary Journal 30, no. 3 (2008): 229–­45. 16. See Sharon Marcus, The Drama of Celebrity (New York: Columbia University Press, 2019), 29–­34, 131–­32. On the male pin-­up see, Richard Dyer, “Don’t Look Now,” Screen 23, nos. 3–­4 (1982): 61–­73; and Andy Medhurst, “Can Chaps Be Pin-­Ups? The British Male Film Star of the 1950s,” Ten-­8, no. 17 (1985): 3–­8. On celebrity and monarchy, see Nick Couldry, “Everyday Royal Celebrity,” in British Cultural Studies, ed. David Morley and Kevin Robins (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 221–­33; and Laura Nym Mayhall, “The Prince of  Wales versus Clark Gable: Anglophone Celeb­ rity and Citizenship between the Wars,” Cultural and Social History 4, no. 4 (2007): 529–­44. 17. On men’s dress reform, see Joanna Bourke, Dismembering the Male: Men’s Bodies, Britain, and the Great War (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 198–­209; and Ina Zweiniger-­Bargielowska, “‘Healthier and Better Clothes for Men’: Men’s Dress Re­ form in Interwar Britain,” in Consuming Behaviours: Identity, Politics, and Pleasure in Twentieth-­Century Britain, ed. Erika Rappaport, Sandra Trudgen Dawson, and Mark J. Crowley (London: Bloomsbury, 2015), 37–­51. On appealing to male markets, see Paul Jobling, Advertising Menswear: Masculinity and Fashion in the British Media since 1945 (London: Bloomsbury, 2014), and Man Appeal: Advertising, Modernism, and Menswear (Oxford: Berg, 2005). 18. See Bourke, Dismembering the Male, 171–­98; Budd, The Sculpture Machine; Anna Carden-­Coyne, Reconstructing the Body: Classicism, Modernism, and the First World War (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 160–­212; Paul R. Deslandes, Oxbridge Men: British Masculinity and the Undergraduate Experience, 1850–­1920 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005), 154–­83; Bruce Haley, The Healthy Body and Victorian Culture (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1978); J. A. Mangan, Athleticism in the Victorian and Edwardian Public School: The Emergence and Consolidation of an

n ot es to pag es 2– 4   › 333

Educational Ideology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981); Patrick F. McDevitt, May the Best Man Win: Sport, Masculinity, and Nationalism in Great Britain and the Empire, 1880–­1935 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004); Roberta J. Park, “Muscles, Symmetry, and Action: ‘Do You Measure Up?’ Defining Masculinity in Britain and America from the 1860s to the early 1900s,” International Journal of the History of Sport 22, no. 3 (2005): 365–­95; and Ina Zweiniger-­Bargielowska, Managing the Body: Beauty, Health, and Fitness in Britain, 1880–­1939 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). 19. On plastic surgery, see Sander L. Gilman, Making the Body Beautiful: A Cultural History of Aesthetic Surgery (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999). On the First World War in particular, see Suzannah Biernoff, Portraits of  Violence: War and the Aesthetics of Disfigurement (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2017); Carden-­ Coyne, Reconstructing the Body; and Deborah Cohen, The War Come Home: Disabled Veterans in Britain and Germany, 1914–­1939 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001). 20. Justin Bengry, “Courting the Pink Pound: Men Only and the Queer Consumer, 1935–­39,” History Workshop Journal 68, no. 1 (2009): 122–­48, and “Peacock Revolution: Mainstreaming Queer Styles in Post-­War Britain, 1945–­1967,” Socialist His­tory 36 (2010): 55–­68; Shaun Cole, “Don We Now Our Gay Apparel”: Gay Men’s Dress in the Twentieth Century (Oxford: Berg, 2000); Matt Cook, London and the Culture of Homosexuality, 1885–­1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), and Queer Domesticities: Homosexuality and Home Life in Twentieth-­Century London (Basing­stoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014); Matt Houlbrook, “‘The Man with the Powder Puff ’ in Interwar London,” Historical Journal 50, no. 1 (2007): 145–­71, and Queer London: Perils and Pleasures in the Sexual Metropolis, 1918–­1957 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005); and Clare Lomas, “‘Men Don’t Wear Velvet You Know!’: Fashion­able Gay Masculinity and the Shopping Experience, London, 1950–­Early 1970s,” in The Men’s Fashion Reader, ed. Peter McNeil and Vicki Karaminas (Oxford: Berg, 2009), 168–­78. 21. The expansive definition of culture employed here was developed in the 1960s and 1970s by cultural studies scholars and by practitioners of the new cultural history since the 1980s. On cultural studies, see Dick Hebdige, Subculture: The Meaning of Style (London: Hutchinson, 1976); and Angela McRobbie, In the Culture Society: Art, Fashion, and Popular Music (London: Routledge, 1999). On cultural history, see Lynn Hunt, ed., The New Cultural History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989). I applied some of these ideas in Oxbridge Men, 9–­11. On beauty culture, see Paul R. Deslandes, “The Male Body, Beauty, and Aesthetics in Modern British Culture,” History Compass 8, no. 10 (2010): 1191–­208. The expansive definition of consumer culture discussed here is advo­ cated in Frank Mort, Cultures of Consumption: Masculinities and Social Space in Late Twentieth-­Century Britain (London: Routledge, 1996), and Capital Affairs: London and the Making of the Permissive Society (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010), 6–­8. 22. Mosse, The Image of Man, 5. 23. On performance, see Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (New York: Routledge, 1990), 140. 24. Bingham, Family Newspapers?, 201–­27; Arthur Marwick, The Sixties: Cultural Revolution in Britain, France, Italy, and the United States, c. 1958–­c. 1974 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 398–­99. 25. On other cultures, admittedly with a much stronger focus on women, see Lois W. Banner, American Beauty (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1983); Tiffany M. Gill, Beauty

n ot es to pag es 4 – 6   ‹ 334

Shop Politics: African American Women’s Activism in the Beauty Industry (Urbana: Univer­ sity of  Illinois Press, 2010); Michael Hau, The Cult of Health and Beauty in Germany: A Social History, 1890–­1930 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003); Lynn Luciano, Looking Good: Male Body Image in Modern America (New York: Hill and Wang, 2001); Kathy Peiss, Hope in a Jar: The Making of America’s Beauty Culture (New York: Metro­ politan Books, 1998); Mary Lynn Stewart, For Health and Beauty: Physical Culture for Frenchwomen, 1880s–­1930s (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001); and Julie A. Willett, Permanent Waves: The Making of the American Beauty Shop (New York: New York University Press, 2000). 26. On nineteenth-­century London, see Clark, The Business of Beauty; Rappaport, Shopping for Pleasure; and Shannon, The Cut of His Coat. 27. On elements of this, see E. M. Collinghman, Imperial Bodies: The Physical Expe­ rience of the Raj, c. 1800–­1947 (Cambridge: Polity, 2001). 28. Andrew Bamji, Faces from the Front: Harold Gillies, the Queen’s Hospital, Sidcup, and the Origins of Modern Plastic Surgery (Warwick: Helion and Co., 2017). 29. Roger Horrocks, Male Myths and Icons: Masculinity in Popular Culture (New York: Saint Martin’s Press, 1995), 136–­38; and Alistair O’Neill, London—­A fter a Fashion (London: Reaktion, 2007), 136–­38. 30. This is discussed in David Coad, The Metrosexual: Gender, Sexuality, and Sport (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2008). 31. Peg Zeglin Brand, “Beauty Matters,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 57, no. 1 (1999): 2–­10. 32. The separate spheres argument is presented in Lori Loeb, Consuming Angels: Advertising and Victorian Women (New York: Oxford, 1994), 12. A refutation of this is contained in Breward, The Hidden Consumer, 101. The idea that fashion and media re­presentation were oppressive to women was a cornerstone in second-­wave feminism. The classic text is Germaine Greer, The Female Eunuch (London: MacGibbon and Kee, 1970). On feminist challenges, see Bingham, Family Newspapers?, 223–­27. 33. Some of this is discussed in the American context. See Jackson Lears, Fables of Abundance: A Cultural History of Advertising in America (New York: Basic Books, 1994), 162–­95. On aspects of it in the British context, see Loeb, Consuming Angels, 72–­85. 34. Loeb, Consuming Angels, 73–­74, 162. 35. Mathew Thomson, Psychological Subjects: Identity, Culture, and Health in Twentieth-­Century Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). 36. Paul R. Deslandes, “Selling, Consuming, and Becoming the Beautiful Man in Britain: The 1930s and 1940s,” in Rappaport, Dawson, and Crowley, Consuming Behaviours, 53–­70. 37. On this, see Lisa Z. Sigel, Making Modern Love: Sexual Narratives and Identities in Interwar Britain (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2012); and Houlbrook, Queer London, 270. 38. On competition, see Deslandes, Oxbridge Men; and Patrick Joyce, The State of Freedom: A Social History of the British State since 1800 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer­ sity Press, 2013). 39. For a discussion of how some of these categories operated in a nineteenth-­century context, see Nadja Durbach, Spectacle of Deformity: Freak Shows and Modern British Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010), 1–­32. 40. On this, see Cole, “Don We Now Our Gay Apparel,” 5.

n ot es to pag es 7 – 1 4   › 335

41. On physique magazines in an American context, see David K. Johnson, Buying Gay: How Physique Entrepreneurs Sparked a Movement (New York: Columbia Univer­ sity Press, 2019). On pornography, see Paul R. Deslandes, “The Cultural Politics of Gay Pornography,” in British Queer History: New Approaches and Perspectives, ed. Brian Lewis (Manchester: Manchester University Press 2013), 267–­96. 42. See Sharrona Pearl, About Faces: Physiognomy in Nineteenth-­Century Britain (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010). 43. See Chris Shilling, The Body and Social Theory, 3rd ed. (London: Sage Publica­ tions, 2012), 17. 44. Vanessa R. Schwartz and Jeannene M. Przyblyski, “Visual Culture’s History: Twenty-­First Century Interdisciplinarity and Its Nineteenth-­Century Objects,” in Nineteenth-­Century Visual Culture Reader, 6–­7.

Chapter One 1. This obsession is noted in Michael Hau, The Cult of Health and Beauty in Germany: A Social History, 1890–­1930 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003); Kathy Peiss, Hope in a Jar: The Making of America’s Beauty Culture (New York: Henry Holt and Com­ pany, 1998); and Mary Lynn Stewart, For Health and Beauty: Physical Culture for French­ women, 1880s–­1930s (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001). 2. Sharrona Pearl, About Faces: Physiognomy in Nineteenth-­Century Britain (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010), 26–­56. 3. Anna M. Lyden, “‘As We Are’: Exploring the Royal We in Photographs of Queen Victoria,” in A Royal Passion: Queen Victoria and Photography, ed. Anna M. Lyden (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2014), 137–­44. 4. On vision in Victorian society, see Chris Otter, The Victorian Eye: A Political History of Light and Vision in Britain, 1800–­1910 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008). 5. Pearl, About Faces, 13–­14. 6. Vanessa Schwartz and Jeannene M. Przyblyski, “Visual Culture’s History: Twenty-­ First Century Interdisciplinarity and Its Nineteenth-­Century Objects,” in The Nineteenth-­ Century Visual Culture Reader, ed. Schwartz and Przyblyski (New York: Routledge, 2004), 9; and Joy Sperling, “Multiples and Reproductions: Prints and Photographs in Nineteenth-­Century England—­Visual Communities, Cultures, and Class,” in A History of  Visual Culture: Western Civilization from the 18th to the 21st Century, ed. Jane Kromm and Susan Benforado Bakewell (Oxford: Berg, 2010), 296–­308. 7. Jordan Bear, Disillusioned: Victorian Photography and the Discerning Subject (Uni­ versity Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2015), 4. 8. Jennifer Tucker, Nature Exposed: Photography as Eyewitness in Victorian Science (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2005), 4. 9. Bear, Disillusioned, 11–­31. 10. “Photographic Portraits,” Glasgow Herald, April 24, 1865, 6. 11. See Christopher E. Forth, Masculinity in the Modern West: Gender, Civilization, and the Body (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 17, 67–­138. In her study of the relationship between text, image, and object in the formation of masculinities in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Joanne Begiato attempts to locate this narrative earlier. While a useful intervention, the new technologies of representation in the pe­ riod covered in this book must be understood as producing a profound shift in this rela­ tionship. See Joanne Begiato, Manliness in Britain, 1760–­1900: Bodies, Emotion, and Material Culture (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2020), 1–­33.

n ot es to pag es 15 – 19   ‹ 336

12. See Bradley Deane, Masculinity and the New Imperialism: Rewriting Manhood in British Popular Literature, 1870–­1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 147–­70; and Paul R. Deslandes, Oxbridge Men: British Masculinity and the Undergrad­ uate Experience, 1850–­1920 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005), 35–­47. 13. See George Mosse, The Image of Man: The Creation of Modern Masculinity (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 59. Mosse relies extensively on German evidence in his work. On physiognomy in Germany, see Michael Hau, The Cult of Health and Beauty in Germany: A Social History, 1890–­1930 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003), 33, 36, 49–­50, 80–­81. 14. “The English and the American Face,” Aberdeen Weekly Journal, August 4, 1879, 2. 15. “The Face,” Jackson’s Oxford Journal, December 18, 1858, 7. 16. Aliza Z. Wong, Race and the Nation in Liberal Italy, 1861–­1911: Meridionalism, Empire, and Diaspora (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), 5; and Pearl, About Faces, 1–­25. 17. Barbara M. Benedict, “Reading Faces: Physiognomy and Epistemology in Late Eighteenth-­Century Sentimental Novels,” Studies in Philology 92, no. 3 (1995): 313. 18. Johann Caspar Lavater, Essays on Physiognomy, trans. Thomas Holcroft (London: B. Blake, 1840), 6. 19. Lavater, 6–­11. 20. Katherine Crawford, “The Good, the Bad, and the Textual: Approaches to the Study of the Body and Sexuality, 1500–­1750,” in Routledge History of Sex and the Body: 1500 to the Present, ed. Sarah Toulalan and Kate Fisher (London: Routledge, 2013), 32. 21. Lavater, Essays, 403. 22. Benedict, “Reading Faces,” 321. 23. Charles Dickens, “The Demeanor of  Murderers,” Household Words 13, no. 325 ( June 14, 1856): 505. 24. Lynda Nead, Victorian Babylon: People, Streets, and Images in Nineteenth-­Century London (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000), 57. 25. Mosse, The Image of Man, 24–­39. 26. See Robert L. Patten, “Meadows, ( Joseph) Kenny (bap. 1790, d. 1874), Illustra­ tor and Caricaturist,” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, accessed June 22, 2018, http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb -­9780198614128-­e-­18478; and Christopher Marsden, “Smith, John Orrin (1799–­1843), Wood-­Engraver,” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, accessed June 22, 2018, http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb -­9780198614128-­e-­25859. 27. Kenny Meadows and Orrin Smith, “Preface,” in Heads of the People or Portraits of the English, vol. 1, ed, Kenny Meadows and Orrin Smith (London: Robert Tyas, 1840), iv. 28. Meadows and Smith, iii. 29. William Leman Rede, “The Lawyer’s Clerk,” in Heads of the English, 28. 30. Douglas William Jerrold, “The Cockney,” in Heads of the English, 325. 31. On naval masculinities, see Mary A. Conley, From Jack Tar to Union Jack: Repre­ senting Naval Manhood in the British Empire, 1870–­1918 (Manchester: Manchester Uni­ versity Press, 2009); and Isaac Land, War, Nationalism, and the British Sailor, 1750–­1850 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009). 32. Edward Howard, “The Midshipman,” in Heads of the English, 217–­18. 33. Charles Darwin, The Expression of Emotions in Man and Animals (1871; London: Harper Collins, 1998), 359. Quoted in Pearl, About Faces, 199.

n ot es to pag es 19 – 25   › 337

34. Pearl, About Faces, 106–­47. Discussions of how anthropology encouraged a con­ sideration of facial beauty appear in George W. Stocking, Victorian Anthropology (New York: Free Press, 1987); and Sadiah Qureshi, Peoples on Parade: Exhibitions, Empire, and Anthropology in Nineteenth-­Century Britain (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2011). 35. Thomas Woolnoth, The Study of the Human Face: Illustrated by Twenty-­Six Full-­ Page Steel Engravings (London: William Tweedie, 1865), 181. 36. Woolnoth, 182. 37. Alfred T. Story, A Chapter on Noses (Reprinted from the Phrenological Magazine), Profusely Illustrated (London: L. N. Fowler, 1881), 3–­4 These same traits are discussed in Story’s The Face as Indicative of Character: Illustrated by Upwards of One Hundred and Twenty Portraits and Cuts (London: L. N. Fowler, 1890), 30–­31. 38. “Beauty” and “Plainness,” in Woolnoth, The Study of the Human Face, illustra­ tions between 178 and 179 and 180 and 181. 39. Alfred T. Story, ed., A Chapter on Eyes and Eyebrows (London: L. N. Fowler, 1881), 14. 40. Story, 7. 41. Story, The Face as Indicative of Character, 16. 42. Rosa Baughan, The Handbook of Physiognomy (London: George Redway, 1885), 11. 43. Baughan, 22. 44. George Meyners, The Face and Its Fortune in the Matter of Human Love (London: Taylor and Francis, 1906), xiv. See also Frank Ellis, Physiognomy: The Science of Physi­ ognomy Explained in the Form of Question and Answer (Blackpool: Ellis Family, Prom­ enade, 1901), 11. 45. Maud Wheeler, Whom to Mary or All about Love and Matrimony (London: Rox­ burghe Press, 1894), 62. 46. Wheeler, 114. 47. Ellis, Physiognomy, 14. 48. “A Representation of the Several Humerous Heads, Exhibited in the Lecture on Heads Etched in Caricature. Engraved for the Universal Museum & Complete Magazine (1765),” WL, no. 34515i; and “George Combe Lecturing on Phrenology to a Large Mixed Audience in his Edinburgh Home; Presented with Protuberances Covering His Head. Coloured Lithography by L. Bump, after J. Lump (1826),” WL, 11836i. 49. “Professor” John Barter, How to Read the Face and Head (London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent, & Co., 1896), 39. 50. “A Family of Phrenologists,” Tower Project Blog, accessed June 22, 2020, https:// vl203.wordpress.com/2011/12/16/a-­family-­of-­phrenologists/. 51. Ellis Family, Guide to Success (Blackpool: Ellis Family, ca. 1900–­1916). 52. Richard Dimsdale Stocker, Face and Physique or Within and Without (London: C. W. Daniel, 1904), 17. 53. Ina Zweiniger-­Bargielowska, Managing the Body: Beauty, Health, and Fitness in Britain, 1880–­1939 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 17–­104. 54. Zweiniger-­Bargielowska, 41–­42. 55. “Forewords,” Vim: A Magazine of Health and Beauty 1, no. 1 (December 15, 1902): 1. 56. Frank Mort, Dangerous Sexualities: Medico-­Moral Politics in England since 1830, 2nd ed. (London: Routledge, 2000), 88. 57. “On, On, and Still On!!!,” Vitality and Health Culture: A Magazine for the Pro­ mo­tion of Mental and Physical Vigour 1, no. 1 (1902): 3. On cultural anxieties about

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masturbation, see Thomas W. Laqueur, Solitary Sex: A Cultural History of Masturbation (New York: Zone Books, 2003), 363–­81. 58. Richard Dimsdale Stocker, “Phizzes and Physiques. I.—­Digestion and Character,” Vim: A Magazine of Health & Beauty 1, no. 9 (August 15, 1903): 258. 59. Richard Dimsdale Stocker, “Mentality in Mouths,” Vim 2, no. 5 (May 1904): 131. 60. Richard Dimsdale Stocker, “The Form Beautiful,” Vim 2, no. 1 ( January 1904): 22. 61. Stocker, 22. 62. Richard Dimsdale Stocker, “Chins and Character,” Vim 2, no. 6 ( June 1904): 177–­78. 63. “A Little Exercise and Competition,” Vim 2, no. 6 ( June 1904): 178. 64. Nead, Victorian Babylon, 151–­54. 65. Doug Nickel, “The Camera and Other Drawing Machines,” in British Photography in the Nineteenth Century, ed. Mike Weaver (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 1–­10; and Edward Lucie-­Smith, Adam: The Male Figure in Art (New York: Riz­ zoli, 1998), 38–­39. 66. Kathy Peiss, Hope in a Jar: The Making of America’s Beauty Culture (New York: Metropolitan Books, 1998), 45–­48. The classic text on women as the object of the male gaze is Laura Mulvey, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” Screen 16, no. 3 (1975): 6–­18. Edward Snow tried to complicate these ideas in “Theorizing the Male Gaze: Some Problems,” Representations, no. 25 (1989): 30–­41. On looking at men, see Roger Horrocks, Male Myths and Icons: Masculinity in Popular Culture (New York: Saint Martin’s Press, 1995), 44. On women looking at women, see Sharon Marcus, Between Women: Friend­ship, Desire, and Marriage in Victorian England (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2007), 109–­66. 67. “Daguerreotype or Photographic Miniatures,” Times, August 25, 1840, 4. 68. On this history, see Asa Briggs (with Archie Miles), A Victorian Portrait: Victo­ rian Life through the Work of Studio Photographers (New York: Harper and Row, 1989), 6–­21; Jennifer Green-­Lewis, “The Invention of Photography in the Victorian World,” in A Royal Passion, 1–­25; and Val Williams and Susan Bright, How We Are: Photographing Britain from the 1840s to the Present (London: Tate Publishing, 2007), 25–­27. 69. Dusan C. Stulik and Art Kaplan, The Atlas of Analytical Signatures of Photographic Processes: Albumen (Los Angeles: Getty Conservation Institute, 2013), 4–­7. 70. “Photographic Portraiture,” Illustrated London News, October 1, 1842, 323. 71. “Photographic Portraiture,” Bristol Mercury, August 14, 1841, 19. 72. Briggs, Victorian Portrait, 12. For a contemporary account, see “Photographic Portraits,” Morning Chronicle, March 20, 1841, 5. 73. “Photographic Portraiture,” Bristol Mercury. For other examples, see “Photo­ graphic Portraits,” Morning Chronicle; and “Photographic Portraiture,” Bristol Mercury, April 29, 1843, 6. 74. “Photographic Portraits—­The Improvements,” Times, June 21, 1848, 5. 75. Joseph Barlow Robinson, ed., A Record of the Great International Exhibition Held in London in the Year 1862. Containing Specimens of the Most Beautiful Works of Art, and Industry, Exhibited by the Nations of the World: United Kingdom, Class 14, Photographic Apparatus and Photography (London, 1862). 76. Tony Bennett, The Birth of the Museum (London: Routledge, 1995), 59–­88. 77. “Photographs,” Supplement to the Manchester Times, April 5 1862, 215. 78. “How to Sit for a Photograph,” British Journal of Photography 12, no. 268 ( June 23, 1865): 329.

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79. Denis G. Paz, Popular Anti-­Catholicism in Mid-­Victorian England (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1992). 80. “Lesage’s Photographic Portraits,” Freeman’s Journal and Daily Commercial Advertiser, October 9, 1869, 4. 81. “Facts and Fancies: About Colour,” Supplement to the Hampshire Telegraph and Sussex Chronicle, September 9, 1893, 9. 82. See Bear, Disillusioned, 53–­54; and Tucker, Nature Exposed, 20–­22. 83. Tucker, Nature Exposed, 65–­125. 84. “Flattery in Photographic Portraits,” Photographic Journal 9, no. 154 (1865): 206. 85. On aspects of this, see Forth, Masculinity in the Modern West. 86. “We Scarcely Know Which. . . . ,” Liverpool and Manchester Photographic Journal, new series, 2, no. 14 ( July 15, 1858): 171. 87. “How to Sit for a Photograph,” 329. 88. J. C. Leake Jr., “About Lighting the Sitter and Soft Pictures!,” British Journal of Photography 12, no. 263 (May 19, 1865): 258–­59. 89. “The Seven Photographic Ages,” Photographic News 46, no. 331 (1902): 286. 90. G. G. Mitchell, “Fat Sitters,” British Journal Photographic Almanac (1893), 560. 91. Drawn from Helen Barlow, “Cameron [née Pattle], Julia Margaret (1815–­1879), Photographer,” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, accessed June 19, 2018, http:// www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-­978019 8614128-­e-­4449; Julian Cox and Colin Ford, “Introduction,” in Julia Margaret Cameron: The Complete Photographs, ed. Julian Cox and Colin Ford (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2003), 1–­9; and Colin Ford, “Geniuses, Poets, and Painters: The World of Julia Margaret Cameron,” in Julia Margaret Cameron, 11–­39. 92. Ford, “Geniuses, Poets, and Painters,” 25; and Victoria Olsen, From Life: Julia Margaret Cameron and Victorian Photography (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), 154. 93. Olsen, From Life, 140–­41, 153. 94. Julia Margaret Cameron, “Annals of My Glass House” (1874), in Annals of My Glass House: Photographs by Julia Margaret Cameron, ed. Violet Hamilton (Seattle: Uni­ versity of Washington Press, 1996), 12. 95. Olsen, From Life, 161–­89. 96. Cox and Ford, “Introduction,” 291–­371. 97. Julia Margaret Cameron, “My Son Eugene of the RA” (1867), Photographs from the Na­tional Media Museum, NCCO, accessed June 23, 2020, https://link-­gale-­com .ezproxy.uvm.edu/apps/doc/BCNEOJ024734296/NCCO?u=vol_b92b&sid=NCCO &xid=b3a387eb. 98. On this relationship, see Olsen, From Life, 191–­92, 194–­96, 210–­11, 220. 99. Cameron, “Annals of My Glass House,” 14. 100. See Cox and Ford, “Introduction,” 512; and Julia Margaret Cameron, “Prize Runner” (1864), Photographs from the National Media Museum, NCCO, accessed June 23, 2020, https://link-­gale-­com.ezproxy.uvm.edu/apps/doc/BBUOTL362210574 /NCCO?u=vol_b92b&sid=NCCO&xid=0b89283f. 101. W. J. Stillman, The Amateur’s Photographic Guide Book, Being a Complete Resume of the Most Useful Dry and Wet Collodion Processes, Especially for the Use of Amateurs (London: C. D. Smith & Co., 1874). 102. William Heighway, Practical Portrait Photography: A Handbook for the Dark Room, the Skylight, and the Printing Room (London: Piper and Carter, 1876), 56.

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103. Heighway, 92–­93, 152. 104. Heighway, 95. 105. William Heighway, The Esthetics of Photography (London: Piper & Carter, 1882), 4. 106. Heighway, 6. 107. Heighway, 8–­9, 15–­18. 108. Heighway, 41. 109. Richard Penlake [Percy R. Salmon], Home Portraiture, for Amateur Photog­ raphers (London: L. Upcott Gill, 1899), 14. 110. “The Photographic Exhibition,” Observer, January 7, 1856, 5. 111. George Cruikshank, “Photographic Phenomena, or The New School of Portrait-­ Painting” (1842), ARTstor, accessed February 17, 2021, https://library-­artstor-­org .ezproxy.uvm.edu/#/asset/ARTSTOR_103_41822001148426;prevRouteTS=161359 8683533. 112. John Leech “The Carte de Visite,” Punch, or the London Charivari 41 (Novem­ ber 30, 1861): 218; George du Maurier, “Encouragement of Art,” Punch, or the London Charivari 53 ( July 27, 1867): 34, and “The Joys of Photography,” Punch, or the London Charivari 91 (August 28, 1886): 102. 113. Erika Diane Rappaport, Shopping  for Pleasure: Women in the Making of London’s West End (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000), 234n79. 114. “I Say, Sir—­Heave Us Up to Have a Look at Them Pictures!,” Punch, or the Lon­ don Charivari 30 (May 17, 1856): 194. 115. “Photography in and out of the Studio,” Photographic News 21, no. 973 (April 27, 1877): 193. 116. Agnes C. Smith Cartes de Visite Albums of  Victorian Personalities (1860s/1870s), NMM. 117. Gisèle Freund, “Precursors of the Photographic Portrait,” in the Nineteenth-­ Century Visual Culture Reader, 79–­82. 118. Cornelius Jabez Hughes, “Portrait of a Yeoman” (1853), JPGM, Object Num­ ber 84.XT.1566.2, accessed February 17, 2021, http://www.getty.edu/art/collection /objects/49458/cornelius-­jabez-­hughes-­portrait-­of-­a-­yeoman-­british-­about-­1853/. 119. On the soldier’s appeal, see Graham Dawson, Soldier Heroes: British Adventure, Empire, and the Imagining of Masculinities (London: Routledge, 1994); and Matt Houl­ brook, “Soldier Heroes and Rent Boys: Homosex, Masculinities, and Britishness in the Brigade of Guards, circa 1900–­1960,” Journal of British Studies 43, no. 3 (2003): 351–­88. On masculine hierarchies see, Deslandes, Oxbridge Men; and Forth, Masculinity in the Modern West. 120. “Cartes de Visite of Celebrities,” Hampshire Telegraph and Sussex Chronicle, October 11, 1862, 3. 121. Briggs, Victorian Portrait, 6–­30; and Nadja Durbach, Spectacle of Deformity: Freak Shows and Modern British Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010), 41. 122. “Photographs,” Supplement to the Manchester Times. 123. “Among My Photographs,” North Wales Chronicle, January 19, 1878, 4. 124. Briggs, Victorian Portrait 150. 125. See Lyden, A Royal Passion. 126. David Webb, “Hills, Robert and John Henry Saunders,” in Encyclopedia of Nineteenth-­Century Photography, vol. 1, ed. John Hannavy (London: Routledge, 2008), 662–­63.

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127. “At Home: Messrs. Hills and Saunders at Porchester Square,” Photographic News 24, no. 1131 (May 7, 1880): 218; and “At Home: Messrs. Elliott and Fry at Baker Street,” Photographic News 24, no. 1117 ( January 20, 1880): 50. 128. Tim Padfield, “Elliott, Joseph John and Clarence Edmund Fry,” in Encyclopedia of Nineteenth-­Century Photography, 479–­80. 129. “At Home: Messrs. Elliott and Fry,” 50; “At Home: Messrs. Hills and Saunders,” 219. On wages, see A. L Bowley, Wages and Income in the United Kingdom since 1860 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1937), 46. 130. Briggs, Victorian Portrait, 210. 131. Classified advertisements, Manchester Guardian, May 31, 1864, 8. 132. “Mlle Zaré Thalberg (the New Prima Donna), Just Taken by Elliott and Fry,” Times, May 6, 1875, 2; and “The Oxford Photographic Gallery,” Jackson’s Oxford Journal, May 7, 1864, 1. 133. “Portraits of the Royal Family,” Jackson’s Oxford Journal, January 24, 1863, 1. 134. Bear, Disillusioned, 70–­71. 135. Samuel Becket (Saltcoats, Scotland), “Eric Michael Bryan, Age of 7 Months” (September 1888), author’s personal collection. On tracing genealogies and the relation­ ship to race, see Shawn Michelle Smith, “‘Baby’s Picture is Always Treasured’: Eugenics and the Reproduction of  Whiteness in the Family Photograph Album,” in Nineteenth-­ Century Visual Culture Reader, 358–­70. 136. Mortimer Field and Son, “Photograph of an Unidentified Boy” (ca. late nine­ teenth century), author’s personal collection. 137. For a humorous take, see “Photographing the First Born,” Punch, or the London Charivari 71 ( July 15, 1876): 18. 138. Hills and Saunders, “F. L. Crabtree (Eton, c. 1889),” author’s personal collection. 139. Hills and Saunders, “Unidentified Man with Cane, Oxford” (n.d., ca. 1870–­90), Royal Photographic Society: Cartes de Visite Collection, NMM. 140. Elliott and Fry, “Unidentified Military Man, London” (n.d. ca. 1870–­90), Royal Photographic Society: Cartes de Visite Collection, NMM. 141. On this, see Deslandes, Oxbridge Men; Forth, Masculinity in the Modern West; and Patrick Joyce, The State of Freedom: A Social History of the British State since 1800 (Cambridge: Cam­bridge University Press, 2013), 278–­79. 142. Deslandes, Oxbridge Men, 158–­62. 143. Hills and Saunders, “Head and Shoulder Portraits of the Oxford University Crew, 1885,” COS, POX0030844, accessed February 17, 2021, https://pictureoxon.com/front end.php?keywords=Ref_No_increment;EQUALS;POX0030844&pos=1&action=zoom &id=30844. For another example, see Hills and Saunders, “Head and Shoulders of Ox­ ford University Rugby Union Fifteen, 1886–­1887,” COS, POX0560568, accessed Febru­ ary 17, 2021, https://pictureoxon.com/frontend.php?keywords=Ref_No_increment ;EQUALS;POX0560568&pos=2&action=zoom&id=1181269. 144. Photograph Album (ca. 1859–­1860), MCAO, P265/P1/1. 145. “The Australians v. Cambridge University,” Times, July 1, 1882, 6.

Chapter Two 1. See Brent Shannon, The Cut of His Coat: Men, Dress, and Consumer Culture in Britain, 1860–­1914 (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2006), 74–­89. 2. Lori Anne Loeb, Consuming Angels: Advertising and Victorian Women (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 100–­27.

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3. Jessica Clark, The Business of Beauty: Gender and the Body in Modern London (London: Bloomsbury, 2020), 4, 5, 11, 28, 31–­32, 97–­100. 4. Stephen Calloway, “The Search for a New Beauty,” in The Cult of Beauty: The Aes­ thetic Movement, 1860–­1900, ed. Stephen Calloway and Lynn Federle Orr (London: V & A Publishing, 2011), 11–­22. 5. These words appear throughout the Art Journal Illustrated Catalogue of the Indus­ try of All Nations, 1851 (London: George Virtue, 1851), Bacchus Image, 238, Gladiatorial Table, 239. On the Great Exhibition, see Jeffrey A. Auerbach, The Great Exhibition of 1851: A Nation on Display (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1999); Lara Kriegel, Grand Designs: Labor, Empire, and the Museum in Victorian Culture (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2007), 86–­125; and Thomas Richards, The Commodity Culture of  Vic­ torian England: Advertising and Spectacle, 1851–­1914 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990), 17–­72. 6. On public bathhouses, see Lee Jackson, Dirty Old London: The Victorian Fight against Filth (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2014), 134–­54. “Public Meeting to Establish Baths for the Working Classes,” Glasgow Herald, July 5, 1844, 2. Other ex­ amples include “Public Baths and Wash Houses,” Liverpool Mercury, July 17, 1858, 5; and “Public Baths and Wash-­Houses,” Graphic, June 21, 1881, 635. 7. Jackson Lears, Fables of Abundance: A Cultural History of Advertising in America (New York: Basic Books, 1991), 162–­95. 8. This concept is employed profitably throughout Vanessa Schwartz, Spectacular Realities: Early Mass Culture in Fin de Siécle Paris (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 2, 44, 74, 90. 9. Guy Debord, Society of the Spectacle, rev. ed. (Detroit: Black and Red, 1983). For applications, see Richards, The Commodity Culture of  Victorian England, 1–­16; and Erika Diane Rappaport, Shopping for Pleasure: Women in the Making of London’s West End (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000) 11, 184–­203. 10. Dagmar Kift, The Victorian Music Hall: Culture, Class, and Conflict, trans. Roy Kift (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); and Lee Jackson, Palaces of Pleasure: From Music Hall to the Seaside to Football, How the Victorians Invented Mass Entertain­ment (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2019), 56–­94. 11. Brenda Assael, The Circus and Victorian Society (Charlottesville, VA: University of  Virginia Press, 2005); Nadja Durbach, Spectacle of Deformity: Freak Shows and Mod­ ern British Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010); and Sadiah Qureshi, Peoples on Parade: Exhibitions, Empire, and Anthropology in Nineteenth-­Century Britain (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2011). 12. These ideas are developed in Anne Friedberg, Window Shopping: Cinema and the Postmodern (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 15–­16; and Rappaport, Shopping for Pleasure, 28–­29. Both draw on Walter Benjamin, “Paris, the Capital of the Nineteenth Century” (1935) and “Paris, Capital of the Nineteenth Century” (1939), in The Arcades Project, trans. Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaughlin (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1999), 3–­13, 14–­26. 13. See C. Lang Neil, “Physical Beauty in Art,” Sandow’s Magazine of Physical Cul­ ture, Sport, and Fiction 12, no. 67 ( January 1904): 5–­16. 14. See Alan Kidd and David Nicholls, eds., Gender, Civic Culture, and Consumerism: Middle-­Class Identity in Britain, 1800–­1940 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1999); and Anne Rodrick, Self Help and Civic Culture: Citizenship in Victorian Birming­ ham (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004).

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15. Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste, trans. Rich­ ard Nice (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984), 201–­8. 16. For an overview, see Matthew Rubery, “Journalism,” in The Cambridge Companion to Victorian Culture, ed. Francis O’Gorman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 177–­94. 17. On women, see Tita Chico, Designing Women: The Dressing Room in Eighteenth-­ Century English Literature and Culture (Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press, 2005). 18. L. P. Lamont, The Mirror of Beauty; or, The Lady’s and Gentleman’s Companion to the Toilet and Dressing Room Assistant; Containing Directions for Preparing the Most Approved Cosmetics, Perfumes, Dentifrices, & c. for Beautifying and Improving the Com­ plexion; with every Method of Making All Kinds of Scented Waters, Soaps, & c., Made Use of at the Present Day as Appendages to the Toilet (London: Bailey and Co., 1830). 19. Anon., The Book of Health and Beauty, or The Toilette of Rank and Fashion (London: Joseph Thomas, 1837), iii, in Women, Beauty, and Fashion: History of Feminism, vol. 1, ed. Monica Pietrzak-­Franger (London: Routledge, 2014), 3. 20. The Book of Health, 12–­13. 21. A London Hairdresser, The Gentleman’s Companion to the Toilet, or A Treatise on Shaving; Comprising Instructions for the Proper Use of Razors, as Well as Full Directions for Stropping, Setting, and Preserving Them in Good Order; With Some Remarks on Shav­ ing Soaps, and the Sort Best Adapted for General Use (London: W. Strange, 1844), 5. 22. Christopher Oldstone-­Moore, Of Beards and Men: The Revealing History of Facial Hair (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 186–­87. 23. “Why Shave?,” Household Words 7, no. 177 (August 13, 1853): 560; and “Professor Hairy,” “Why Do You Shave?,” Penny Illustrated Paper, November 26, 1864, 350. On health and beardedness, see “Why Masons Should Wear the Moustache,” Times, Decem­ ber 31, 1853, 8; and “Greybeard,” Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper, February 3, 1861, 8. 24. H. P. Truefitt, New Views on Baldness: Being a Treatise on the Hair and Skin (London: W. and A. Webster, 1863), 34–­35. 25. Truefitt, 188. 26. Truefitt, 123. On ideas about sperm, see Lauren Kassell, “Medical Understand­ ings of the Body, c. 1500–­1700,” in Routledge History of Sex and the Body: 1500 to the Present, ed. Sarah Toulalan and Kate Fisher (London: Routledge, 2013), 65–­66. 27. John Tosh, A Man’s Place: Masculinity and the Middle-­Class Home in Victorian England (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1999), 103–­4. 28. Truefitt, New Views, 207–­8. 29. See Kelley Graham, “Advertising in Britain, 1880–­1914: Soap Advertising and the Socialization of Cleanliness,” PhD diss., Temple University, 1993, 28–­74; Jackson, Dirty Old London, 138–­39, 149–­50; and Brian Lewis, “So Clean”: Lord Leverhulme, Soap, and Civilization (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2008), 56–­92. 30. Terrie M. Romano, Making Medicine Scientific: John Burden Sanderson and the Culture of  Victorian Science (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002). 31. Robert Dick, The Connexion of Health and Beauty: Or, the Dependence of a Pleas­ ing Face and Figure on Physical, Intellectual, and Moral Regulation (London: John Chap­ man, 1857), 28. 32. Dick, 3. 33. Dick, 6. 34. Dick, 37. 35. Dick, 15.

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36. D. H. Jacques, Hints toward Physical Perfection: Or, The Philosophy of Human Beauty; Showing How to Acquire and Retain Bodily Symmetry, Health, and Vigor, Secure Long Life, and Avoid the Infirmities and Deformities of Age (New York: Fowler and Wells, 1861), xiii–­xiv. 37. Edwin Wooton, Toilet Medicine: A Popular Scientific Manual on the Correction of Bodily Defects and the Improvement and Preservation of Personal Appearance; Together with Formulae for All the Special Preparations Recommended (London: L. Upcott Gill, 1882), title page. 38. Wooton, 1. 39. Wooton, 8. 40. Mrs. John J. Webster, Beauty and Health in Youth and Old Age: An Appeal to Men and Women of All Ages (London: Swan Sonnenschein and Co., 1907), 7–­8. 41. “A Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons,” Kallos: A Treatise on the Scientific Culture of Personal Beauty and the Cure of Ugliness (London: Simpkin, Marshall, and Co., 1883), iv. 42. “Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons,” 1. 43. Durbach, Spectacle of Deformity, 154–­58. On upper-­class incursions into London’s poorer neighborhoods, see Seth Koven, Slumming: Sexual and Social Politics in Vic­ torian London (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004). 44. “Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons,” Kallos, 9–­10. 45. “Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons,” 19. 46. “Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons,” 83. 47. “Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons,” 111. 48. Letter by Charles Mercier, May 20, 1873, Charity Organization Society, Case File #216, Saint John’s Hospital for Diseases of the Skin, vol. 1, 1872–­83, LMA, A/FWA/C/017/1. 49. Bayard, Vane, and Co., Beauty Culture: What Dermatology Has to Do with Beauty (London: Bayard, Vane, & Co, 1893), 3. 50. Bayard, Vane, and Co., 4–­5. 51. Bayard, Vane, and Co., 11. 52. Bayard, Vane, and Co., 7. 53. Bayard, Vane, and Co., 25–­27. 54. Clark, Business of Beauty, 4–­5, 30–­31, 138–­47. 55. “Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons,” Kallos, 3–­4. 56. Professor Boyd Laynard, Secrets of Beauty, Health, and Long Life (London: Hammond, Hammond, and Co., 1900), 6. 57. Laynard, 7. 58. See “Rush for Copies,” Penny Illustrated Paper and Illustrated Times, Novem­ ber 25, 1905, 336. 59. Laynard, Secrets of Beauty, 2. 60. Jonathan Conlin, Evolution and the Victorians: Science, Culture, and Politics in Darwin’s Britain (London: Bloomsbury, 2014); and Christopher E. Forth, Masculinity in the Modern West: Gender, Civilization, and the Body (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 142–­53. 61. Sharon Marcus, The Drama of Celebrity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2019), 25. 62. Laynard, Secrets of Beauty, 8. 63. Mathew Thompson, Psychological Subjects: Identity, Culture, and Health in Twentieth-­Century Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 23–­26.

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64. According to an article in the British Medical Journal, Christian Science emerged in Britain in the 1890s, with the first church being established in London in 1899. See “Christian Science in America and in England,” British Medical Journal 2, no. 2171 (Au­ gust 9, 1902), 410–­11. 65. Harriet B. Bradbury, The Gospel of Beauty (London: Power Book Co., 1912), 9. 66. The concept of practical psychology is borrowed from Thomson, Psychological Subjects, 17–­53. On psychology in the empire, see Erik Linstrum, Ruling Minds: Psych­ol­ ogy in the British Empire (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2016), 13–­42. 67. “A Beauty Culturist,” A Mental Method of Beauty Culture: How to Be Beautiful in Face and Form through the Development of Consciousness (London: Power-­Book Co., 1912), 65. 68. “A Beauty Culturist,” 58. On this and the occult, see Alex Owen, The Place of Enchantment: British Occultism and the Culture of the Modern (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004). 69. “A Beauty Culturist,” Mental Method, 10–­11. 70. “A Beauty Culturist,” 61. 71. Shannon, Cut of His Coat; 93 and Christopher Breward, The Hidden Consumer: Masculinities, Fashion, and City Life, 1860–­1914 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1999), 10, 180–­84. Justin Bengry discusses earlier ventures along with Men Only in “Courting the Pink Pound: Men Only and the Queer Consumer, 1935–­30,” History Workshop Journal 68, no. 1 (2009): 125–­28. On Men Only, see Jill Greenfield, Sean O’Connell, and Chris Reid, “Fashioning Masculinity: Men Only, Consumption, and the Develop­ment of Marketing in the 1930s,” Twentieth Century British History 10, no. 4 (1999): 457–­76. 72. Alexander Ross, “Preface,” Ross’s Monthly Toilet Magazine 2, no. 1 (1863): i–­ii. 73. Forth, Masculinity in the Modern West, 141–­68. 74. Alexander Ross, “Why Does Hair Fall Off and Become Grey Earlier Now than It Did Formerly?,” Ross’s Monthly Toilet Magazine 2, no. 5 (1863): 58. 75. Oldstone-­Moore, Of Beards and Men, 187. 76. Alexander Ross, “The Beard—­Its History, and Why It Should Be Worn,” Ross’s Monthly Toilet Magazine 2, no. 6 (1863): 65. 77. “Our Raison D’Etre,” Young Man: A Monthly Journal and Review 1, no. 1 ( January 1887): 1. 78. John Thain Davidson, “Hints on Health,” Young Man 1, no. 1 ( January 1887): 2. 79. Matt Cook, London and the Culture of Homosexuality, 1885–­1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 15–­18, 54–­55; and Charles Upchurch, Before Wilde: Sex between Men in Britain’s Age of Reform (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009), 198–­99. 80. “Young Men I Have Known. I.—­The Ladylike Youth,” Young Man 1, no. 2  (Feb­ ruary 1887): 21. 81. On this dynamic in British culture, see Joseph Bristow, Effeminate England: Homoerotic Writing after 1885 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995). 82. “Male Flirts. By the Author of ‘How to be Happy though Married,’” Young Man 3, no. 27 (September 1888): 34. 83. Student magazines are discussed throughout Paul R. Deslandes, Oxbridge Men: British Masculinity and the Undergraduate Experience, 1850–­1920 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005). 84. Advertisement for the Eureka Toilet Saloon, Fashion, no. 2 (April 1898): 19.

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85. Cook, London and the Culture of Homosexuality, 31. 86. E. L. Robertson, “The Ruddy Countenance: How Town Workers Can Get It,” Modern Man: A Weekly Journal of Masculine Interest, no. 1 (November 7, 1908): 19. 87. F. G. Mitchell, “Rapid Physical Development,” Modern Man, no. 1 (November 7, 1908): 4. 88. H. Neilson, “Make the Most of  Yourself: For Ugly Readers Only,” Modern Man, no. 6 (December 12, 1908): 17. 89. Thomas Inch, “Physical Culture and Personality: Well-­Known Physical Culture Expert Gives Some Practical Suggestions,” Modern Man, no. 71 (March 12, 1910): 2; Francis Scott, “On Looking Trim: Showing That It Is Not a Matter of  Money,” Modern Man, no. 76 (April 16, 1910): 1; “Sporting Faces,” Modern Man, no. 103 (October 22, 1910): 1; and F.G. Mitchell, “Rapid Physical Development: A Weekly Feature,” Modern Man, no. 116 ( January 21, 1911): 14. 90. On looks and financial success, see A. Craig, “The Face Muscles: They Are Worth Developing,” Modern Man, no. 4 (November 28, 1908): 4; and Oliver Stokes, “Dandies,” Modern Man, no. 15 (February 13, 1909): 11. On the gendered implications of grooming, see Stokes, “Dandies,” 11; Neilson, “Make the Most of Yourself,” 17; H. B. Impy, “The Dandy’s Toilet,” Modern Man, no. 4 (November 28, 1908): 22; and R. F. Boulter, “Face Massage: You Can’t Alter Your Features, but You Can Improve Your Skin,” Modern Man, no. 146 (August 19, 1911): 7. 91. H. B. Impy, “Centre or Side? A Hairsplitting Problem,” Modern Man, no. 2 (No­ vember 14, 1908): 1. 92. Oldstone-­Moore, Of Beards and Men, 213–­21. 93. Charles Blyth, “Clean Shaving: Should a Man, or Shouldn’t He?,” Modern Man, no. 9 ( January 2, 1909): 2. 94. Shannon, Cut of His Coat, 89. 95. Breward, Hidden Consumer, 103, 114–­17. 96. The idea of a “Great Masculine Renunciation” in the nineteenth century was de­ veloped by psychologist J. C. Flugel in the 1930s. On aspects of this history, see Paul R. Deslandes, “Exposing, Adorning, and Dressing the Body in the Modern Era,” in Rout­ ledge History of Sex and the Body: 1500 to the Present, 189–­98. Breward and Shannon both challenge this idea in their work. See Breward, Hidden Consumer, 24–­27; and Shannon, Cut of His Coat, 23–­26. Breward and Shannon also question Lori Anne Loeb’s tendency to focus on the primacy of women as consumers in her study of nineteenth-­ century advertising. See Loeb, Consuming Angels. 97. On this, see Ariel Beaujot, Victorian Fashion Accessories (London: Berg, 2012), 9, 32, 75–­76, 124–­31. 98. Breward, Hidden Consumer, 100–­151. 99. “Truefitt and Hill—­History of the Oldest Barber Shop in the World,” Truefitt and Hill, Saint James Street, London SW1A 1PH. 100. Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Sketch of Truefitt’s of Bond Street (ca. 1836–­38), The Complete Writings and Pictures of Dante Gabriel Rossetti: A Hypermedia Archive, accessed September 17, 2020, http://www.rossettiarchive.org/index.html. 101. On aspects of this see, Deslandes, Oxbridge Men, 62; Amy Milne-­Smith, London Clubland: A Cultural History of Gender and Class in Victorian Britain (Basingstoke: Pal­ grave Macmillan, 2011); and John Tosh, A Man’s Place: Masculinity and the Middle-­Class Home in Victorian England (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1999), 123–­42. 102. “Hairdressing, Shampooing, and Hair-­Dyeing Rooms, Victoria Street” (ca. mid-­ nineteenth century), WL, Hair Care Ephemera 1, EPH 154.

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103. On perfecting the body, see Lears, Fables of Abundance, 162–­95. 104. Jno. Teetgen, My Razor and Shaving Tackle! As It Ought to Be: And as It Ought-­n’t. How to Shave without Great Pains and Little Cuts (London: J. Stratford, Printer, 1845), WL, C. II.c. 19 T. 611, EPH 160A—­Hair Care Ephemera. 105. Teetgen, My Razor, cover page, 28–­29. 106. Post Office London Directory, 1854 (London: W. Kelly, 1854), 1574; and Post Office Directory, 1861 (London: W. Kelly, 1861), 1660. 107. “A Contrast Complete” (n.d., ca. 1850), JJC, Beauty Parlour, 1(16c). 108. Sharon Marcus, Between Women: Friendship, Desire, and Marriage in Victorian England (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2007), 6. 109. “Advertisement for F. Browne’s Concave Slanting Scurf Brush” (n.d., ca. 1850), WL, Beauty Ephemera, Box 1 EPH 134. 110. On aspects of this process, with reference to images of  women, see Rappaport, Shopping for Pleasure 185–­86; and Loeb, Consuming Angels, 95–­99. 111. On categorization in imperial culture, see Annie E. Coombes, Reinventing Africa: Museums, Material Culture, and Popular Imagination (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1994); Stephen Heathorn, For Home, Country, and Race: Constructing Gender, Class, and Englishness in the Elementary School, 1880–­1914 (Toronto: University of  To­ ronto Press, 2000); and Peter Hoffenberg, An Empire on Display: English, Indian, and Australian Exhibitions from the Crystal Palace to the Great War (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001). 112. Alexander Ross, Hints on Dress, and on the Arrangement of the Hair. A Practical Essay, Suited to Either Sex (London: Ross and Company, 1861), title page, 15. 113. Ross, 16. 114. Alexander Ross, Ugliness and Its Remedy (London: Ross and Company, 1874), 23–­24. 115. Alexander Ross, “The Male Toilet; or, Second Youth,” in Alexander Ross, The Art and Science of Personal Beauty: Exemplified by a Narrative (London: 1888), 23. 116. Ross, “The Male Toilet,” 25–­26. 117. Alexander Ross, “Handsome Men; or, How to Look Well,” in The Art and Science of Personal Beauty, 28–­31. 118. Alexander Ross, The Nose Machine, by Which an Ill-­Shaped Nose Is Diverted to Symmetry or Perfect Beauty. Also Some Remarks upon Noses Generally (London: Pri­ vately Printed by the Author, 1880). For a later example of these sorts of products, see Advertisement for Bailey’s Rubber Complexion Brush, Vim 2, no. 1 ( January 1904), n.p. 119. “Hairdressing, Shampooing, and Hair-­Dyeing Rooms, Victoria Street.” 120. “Compressed Air for Hairdressers,” Hairdressers’ Weekly Journal 36, no. 1302 ( June 15, 1907): 872. 121. Alexander Ross, Some of the Deformities of Human Structure, and the Means Best Displayed for Their Cure (London: Privately Printed by the Author, 1888?), 1. 122. Alexander Ross, Angularity of the Human Face and High Cheek Bones, and Hard and Square Chins: With a Description of Mechanical Contrivances to Remedy Such (Lon­ don: Privately Printed by the Author, 1880), 2. 123. Ross, 9. 124. Alexander Ross, The Black Wizard: A Wonderful Toilet Tale (London: Privately Printed by the Author, 1874); and Love in a Square: Proprietor of Inventions for Facial and Other Personal Imperfections (London: Ross and Company, 1875?). 125. Alexander Ross, Second Sight: A Spiritual Toilet Tale (London: Privately Printed by the Author, 1880), 3.

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126. Douglas Crichton, Admirable Crichton: The Real Character (London: L. Upcott Gill, 1909), 14–­15. 127. Alexander Ross, “Handsome Men; or, How to Look Well,” 29. 128. Ross, Second Sight, 23–­24. 129. Ross, 24. 130. Richards, The Commodity Culture of  Victorian England, 168–­204; and Lears, Fables of Abundance, 43. On hydrotherapy and other life reform practices, see Ina Zweiniger-­Bargielowska, Managing the Body: Beauty, Health, and Fitness in Britain, 1880–­1939 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 27–­36. 131. On the rise of patent medicine and relations between producers and doctors, see Lori Loeb, “British Patent Medicines: ‘Injurious Rubbish,’?” Nineteenth Century Studies 13 (1999): vi, 1–­21. 132. On the appeal of foreign perfumers and hairdressers, see Clark, The Business of Beauty, 92–­96. 133. On this, in relation to aesthetic surgery, see Sander Gilman, Making the Body Beautiful: A Cultural History of Aesthetic Surgery (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999), 36–­42. 134. The theoretical idea of the gaze has been influential in visual culture studies. See Laura Mulvey, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” Screen 16, no. 2 (1975): 6–­18; and Edward Snow, “Theorizing the Male Gaze: Some Problems,” Representations, no. 25 (1989): 30–­41. For an overview of impact, see Deslandes, “Exposing, Adorning, and Dressing in the Modern Era,” 179–­80. 135. “Luxuriant and Beautiful Hair” (advertisement for Latreille’s Excelsior Lotion), in Toilet Medicine (1882), n.p. 136. Advertisements for Kauzeroon, Hairdressers’ Weekly Journal 19, no. 924 ( January 6, 1900): inside back cover; and Hairdressers’ Weekly Journal 19, no. 929 (February 10, 1900): 118. 137. “Bald, Grey, or Sparse of Hair” (advertisement for Mr. Geo. R. Sims’ Tatcho) (1907), JJC, Beauty Parlour 2(53). 138. “Hair Culture Free” (advertisement for Harlene), Penny Illustrated Paper and Illustrated Times, April 13, 1907, 240. 139. “Increase Your Height 3 Inches” (advertisement for Arthur Girvan, the Six-­Foot Specialist), Modern Life, May 17, 1913, 21.

Chapter Three 1. On aspects of this, see Michael Hatt, “Physical Culture: The Male Nude and Sculp­ ture in Victorian Britain,” in After the Pre-­Raphaelites: Art and Aestheticism in Victorian England, ed. Elizabeth Prettejohn (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1999), 240–­56. 2. On the relationship between celebrity culture and the body, see Sharon Marcus, The Drama of Celebrity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2019), 29–­33. 3. The literature on this topic is large. For a summary, see Philippa Levine, “Anthro­ p­ology, Colonialism, and Eugenics,” and Marius Turda, “Race, Science, and Eugenics in the Twentieth Century,” in Oxford Handbook of the History of Eugenics, ed. Alison Bashford and Philippa Levine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 43–­61 and 62–­79. 4. See Patrick Brantlinger, Dark Vanishings: Discourse on the Extinction of Primitive Races, 1800–­1930 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2003); and Nancy Leys Stepan,

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The Idea of Race in Science: Great Britain, 1800–­1960 (Hamden, CT: Archon Books, 1982). 5. Christopher Breward, “Aestheticism in the Marketplace: Fashion, Lifestyle and Popular Taste,” and Edwina Ehrman, “Women’s Dress,” in The Cult of Beauty: The Aes­ thetic Movement, 1860–­1900, ed. Stephen Calloway and Lynn Federle Orr (London: V & A Publishing, 2011), 194–­205, and 206–­7. 6. See Alison Smith, ed., Exposed: The Victorian Nude (New York: Watson-­Guptill Publications, 2001). On male nudes, see Paul R. Deslandes, “Exposing, Adorning, and Dressing the Body in the Modern Era,” in Routledge History of Sex and the Body: 1500 to the Present, ed. Sarah Toulalan and Kate Fisher (London: Routledge, 2013), 181–­89. 7. Richard W. Livingtone, The Greek Genius and Its Meaning to Us (Oxford: Claren­ don Press, 1912), 125–­27. Quoted in Roberta J. Park, “Muscles, Symmetry, and Action: ‘Do You Measure Up?’ Defining Masculinity in Britain and America from the 1860s to the early 1900s,” International Journal of the History of Sport 22, no. 3 (2005): 372. See also, Paul R. Deslandes, Oxbridge Men: British Masculinity and the Undergraduate Experience, 1850–­1920 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005), 154–­83; Chris­ topher E. Forth, Masculinity in the Modern West: Gender, Civilization, and the Body (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 137–­38; J. A. Mangan, Athleticism in the Vic­ torian and Edwardian Public School: The Emergence and Consolidation of an Educa­ tional Ideology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981); J. A. Mangan, The Games Ethic and Imperialism: Aspects of the Diffusion of an Ideal (Harmondsworth: Viking, 1986); Patrick F. McDevitt, May the Best Man Win: Sport, Masculinity, and Nationalism in Great Britain and the Empire, 1880–­1935 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004); and Ina Zweiniger-­Bargielowska, Managing the Body: Beauty, Health, and Fitness in Britain, 1880–­1939 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 17–­104. 8. On this tendency as it relates to art and anatomy, see Anthea Callen, Looking at Men: Anatomy, Masculinity, and the Modern Male Body (New Haven, CT: Yale Univer­ sity Press, 2018), 10–­27. 9. See Matt Cook, London and the Culture of Homosexuality, 1885–­1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 128–­29; and Lisa Z. Sigel, Governing Pleasures: Pornography and Social Change in England, 1815–­1914 (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2002), 104–­18. 10. On the ways in which this tendency existed in aspects of female culture in the nineteenth century, see Sharon Marcus, Between Women: Friendship, Desire, and Mar­ riage in Victorian England (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2007), 111–­66. 11. Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species (1859), in Darwin: A Norton Critical Edition, ed. Philip Appleman, 3rd ed. (New York, W. W. Norton and Company, 2001), 115. 12. Darwin, Origin, 116. 13. Adrian Desmond, James Moore, and Janet Browne, “Darwin, Charles Robert (1809–­1882), Naturalist, Geologist, and Originator of the Theory of Natural Selection,” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, accessed February 12, 2019, http://www .oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-­9780198614128 -­e-­7176. 14. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man (1871), in Great Books of the Western World: Darwin, vol. 49, ed. Robert Maynard Hutchins (Chicago: William Benton for Encyclo­ pedia Britannica, Inc., 1952), 571. 15. Darwin, Descent, 573. 16. Darwin, 571.

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17. “The Descent of Man: A Continuation of an Old Song,” Blackwood’s Magazine 109, no. 666 (April 1871): 518. 18. Paul Ekman, “Introduction to the Third Edition,” in The Expression of the Emo­ tions in Man and Animals, 3rd ed., ed. Paul Ekman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), xxviii. 19. Mark Francis, Herbert Spencer and the Invention of Modern Life (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2007), 82. 20. Herbert Spencer, “Personal Beauty,” in his Essays: Moral, Political, and Aesthetic (New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1868), 151. 21. Spencer, 152–­53. 22. Thomas Woolnoth, The Study of the Human Face: Illustrated by Twenty-­Six Full-­ Page Steel Engravings (London: William Tweedie, 1865), 184. 23. Woolnoth, 189. 24. Woolnoth, 244. 25. Woolnoth, 196. 26. Woolnoth, 225–­26. 27. Woolnoth, 244. 28. Grant Allen, Physiological Aesthetics (London: Henry S. King & Co, 1877), 56. 29. Allen, 151–­53. 30. William Sharpe, The Cause of Color among the Races and the Evolution of Physical Beauty (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1881), 14. 31. See Stephanie Barczewski, John Eglin, Stephen Heathorn, Michael Silvestri, and Michelle Tusan, Britain since 1688: A Nation in the World, 153–­73. 32. For an overview, see Turda, “Race, Science, and Eugenics in the Twentieth Cen­ tury,” 62–­79. 33. See Philippa Levine, “The Mobile Camera: Bodies, Anthropologists, and the Victorian Optic,” Nineteenth-­Century Contexts 37, no. 5 (2015), 473–­90; and Efram Sera-­ Shriar, “Anthropometric Portraiture and Victorian Anthropology: Situating Francis Galton’s Photographic Work in the Late 1870s,” History of Science 53, no. 2 (2015): 155–­79. 34. See Viren Swami and Eliana G. Hernandez, “A Beauty-­Map of London: Ratings of the Physical Attractiveness of Women and Men in London’s Boroughs,” Personality and Individual Differences 45 (2008): 361–­66. For Galton’s own account of this, see Francis Galton, Memories of My Life (New York: E. P. Dutton and Company, 1909), 315–­16. 35. “International Health Exhibition,” Times, January 11, 1884, 100; “Notices for the International Health Exhibition, Times, June 27, 1884, 1. 36. Francis Galton, “On the Anthropometric Laboratory at the Late International Health Exhibition,” Journal of the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 14 (1885): 205–­21. 37. “A Morning with the Anthropometric Detectives,” Pall Mall Gazette 48, no. 7385 (November 16, 1888): 2. 38. John E. Morgan, University Oars: Being a Critical Enquiry into the After Health of the Men Who Rowed in the Oxford and Cambridge Boat-­Race, from the Year 1829 to 1869, Based on the Personal Experience of the Rowers Themselves (London: Macmillan and Company, 1873), 73–­94. 39. Knight Dunlap, Personal Beauty and Racial Betterment (London: Henry Kimpton, 1920), 95.

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40. Seth Koven, Slumming: Sexual and Social Politics in Victorian London (Prince­ ton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004), 185–­227. 41. E. M. Collingham, Imperial Bodies: The Physical Experiences of the Raj, c. 1800–­ 1947 (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2001), 80–­92; and Timothy Burke, Lifebuoy Men, Lux Women: Commodification, Consumption, and Cleanliness in Modern Zimbabwe (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1996), 17–­34. 42. Alexander Ross, Angularity of the Human Face and High Cheek Bones, and Hard and Square Chins: With a Description of Mechanical Contrivances to Remedy Such (Lon­ don: A. Ross, 1880), 5. 43. Stephen Heathorn, “‘Let Us Remember That We, Too, Are English’: Construc­ tions of Citizenship and National Identity in English Elementary School Reading Books, 1880–­1914,” Victorian Studies 38, no. 3 (1995): 395–­427. 44. See Calloway and Orr, eds., The Cult of Beauty. On interiors, see Deborah Cohen, Household Gods: The British and Their Possessions (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2006), 63–­88. 45. Robert Upstone, “Edward Coley Burne-­Jones: Phyllis and Demophoon,” in Exposed, 142. 46. Michael Hatt, “Near and Far: Homoeroticism, Labour, and Hamo Thornycroft’s Mower,” Art History 26, no. 1 (2003): 26–­55; and “Thoughts and Things: Sculpture and the Victorian Nude,” in Exposed, 37–­49. 47. Edmund Gosse, “The New Sculpture, 1879–­1894,” Art Journal 56 (1894): 138–­42, 199, 203, 277–­82, 306–­11. On sculpture, see David J. Getsy, Body Doubles: Sculpture in Britain, 1877–­1905 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2004). 48. “Mr. Leighton, R.A.,” British Medical Journal 1, no. 853 (May 5, 1877): 556. 49. Hatt, “Physical Culture,” 243; and Robert Upstone, “The New Sculpture,” in The Cult of Beauty, 245. 50. Cohen, Household Gods, 71. 51. Edmund Gosse, The Place of Sculpture in Daily Life, ed. by Martina Droth (Chi­ cago: Soberscove Press, 2016), 45–­46, 77. 52. Hatt, “Thoughts and Things,” 37; Getsy, Body Doubles, 4–­5. 53. Gosse, Place of Sculpture, 46. 54. Stephen Calloway, “‘Tired Hedonists’: The Decadence of the Aesthetic Move­ ment,” in The Cult of Beauty, 224–­35. 55. Paul R. Deslandes, “Curing Mind and Body in the Heart of the Canadian Rockies: Empire, Sexual Scandal, and the Reclamation of Masculinity, 1880s–­1920s,” Gender and History 21, no. 2 (2009): 358–­79. On the Wilde case and pederasty, see Michael S. Foldy, The Trials of Oscar Wilde: Deviance, Morality, and Late-­Victorian Society (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1997), 117–­22. 56. Louise Purbrick, “The Bourgeois Body: Civic Portraiture, Public Men, and the Appearance of Class in Manchester, 1838–­50,” in Gender, Civic Culture, and Consumer­ ism: Middle-­Class Identity in Britain, 1800–­1940, ed. Alan Kidd and David Nicholls (Man­ chester: Manchester University Press, 1999), 81–­98. 57. Richard Ellmann, Oscar Wilde (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1988), 306–­33. 58. For an overview of  Wilde scholarship, see Frederick S. Roden, Oscar Wilde Studies (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004). 59. Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray and Selected Stories (New York: New American Library, 1962), 19.

n ot es to pag es 95 – 98   ‹ 352

60. Wilde, 33. 61. See David Feldman, “Conceiving Difference: Religion, Race, and the Jews in Britain, c. 1750–­1900,” History Workshop Journal 76, no. 1 (2013): 160–­86; and Anthony S. Wohl, “‘Dizzi-­Ben-­Dizzi’: Disraeli as Alien,” Journal of British Studies 34, no. 3 (1995): 375–­411. 62. Wilde, Dorian Gray, 64. 63. For a defense of  Wilde and a description of the trial, see Stuart Mason, The Priest and the Acolyte: With an Introductory Protest by Stuart Mason (London: Lotus Press, 1907). 64. Oscar Wilde to Ada Leverson, early December 1894, in The Letters of Oscar Wilde, ed. Rupert Hart-­Davis (London: Rupert Hart-­Davis, Ltd., 1962), 379. 65. On Bloxam, see Ellmann, Oscar Wilde, 428–­29. On Platonic influences, see Linda Dowling, Hellenism and Homosexuality in Victorian Oxford (Ithaca, NY: Cornell Univer­ sity Press, 1994), 67–­103. 66. My analysis is influenced by Martha Vicinus, “The Adolescent Boy: Fin de Siècle Femme Fatale?,” Journal of the History of Sexuality 5, no. 1 (1994): 90–­114. 67. Oscar Wilde [this is an example of the incorrect attributions that circulated around the time of the Wilde trials], The Priest and the Acolyte (London: Privately Printed, 1894), 5, TFRB. 68. Wilde, 18. 69. Oscar Wilde to Robert Ross, May?–­June 1892, in Letters of Oscar Wilde, 314. 70. Advertisement for Pears soap (1890), author’s personal collection. 71. Details from Catherine Wallace, “Henry Scott Tuke (1858–­1929),” Oxford Dictio­ n­ary of National Biography, (vol. 55, Tonson-­Usher), ed. H. C. G. Matthew and Brian Harrison (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 526–­28, and Catching the Light: The Art and Life of Henry Scott Tuke (Edinburgh: Atelier Books, 2008). 72. Jongwoo Jeremy Kim, “Naturalism, Labour, and Homoerotic Desire: Henry Scott Tuke,” in British Queer History: New Approaches and Perspectives (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2013), 39–­62, and Painted Men in Britain, 1868–­1918: Royal Academicians and Masculinities (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), 89–­122. 73. Henry Scott Tuke to Thomas Cooper Gotch, December 22, 1880, #117, Papers of Thomas Cooper Gotch, General Correspondence: T, TGA, 9019/2/3/18. 74. On his work with models, see Michael Hatt, “‘A Great Sight’: Henry Scott Tuke and His Models,” in Model and Supermodel: The Artist’s Model in British Art and Culture, ed. Jane Desmarais, Martin Postle, and William Vaughan (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2006), 89–­104. On the relationships with Rowling, see Jack Rowling to Henry Scott Tuke, January 15, 1890, Henry Scott Tuke Collection, TGA, 9019/1/5/10. On homoeroticism and same-­sex desire, see Kim, “Naturalism,” 58; Kim, Painted Men, 107; and Hatt, “‘A Great Sight,’” 92. One biography attempts to claim Tuke’s “gayness” in a relatively unfiltered way. See Paul Broderick, Henry Scott Tuke: “His Other Life” (Gulval: Chapel Art Publishing, 2014), 8–­11. This approach might best be labeled as a quest for gay genealogy. See Laura Doan, Disturbing Practices: History, Sexuality, and Women’s Experience of Modern War (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013), 14–­16. 75. Henry Scott Tuke, Diary Entry for June 8, 1885, reprinted in Maria Tuke Sains­ bury, Henry Scott Tuke, R.A., R.W.S.: A Memoir (London: Martine Secker, 1933), 77. 76. B. D. Price, ed., Tuke Reminiscences (Falmouth: Royal Cornwall Polytechnic Society, 1983), 66.

n ot es to pag es 99 – 1 0 6   › 353

77. Hatt, “‘A Great Sight,’” 89–­95. 78. Advertisement for Cadbury’s Cocoa, The Princess, July 26, 1890, 24. 79. J. A. Symonds to Henry Scott Tuke, October 15, 1890, reprinted in Sainsbury, Henry Scott Tuke, 106–­7. 80. Miscellaneous reviews of A Woodland Bather, Register of Paintings, etc. by Henry Scott Tuke, TGA, 9019/1/2/1. 81. Miscellaneous reviews of August Blue, Register of Paintings. 82. Marion Hepworth Dixon, “A Painter of Summer,” Lady’s Realm: An Illustrated Monthly Magazine 18 (May–­October 1905): 590. 83. John Esten, John Singer Sargent: The Male Nudes (New York: Universe, 1999); and Vajdon Sohaili, “‘The Mirror-­Like Sea’: A Bloomsbury Vision of Same-­Sex Desire in Duncan Grant’s Bathing, 1911,” British Art Studies, no. 4 (November 2016), n.p., accessed June 23, 2020, https://www.britishartstudies.ac.uk/issues/issue-­index /issue-­4/duncan-­grant-­bathing. 84. Zweiniger-­Bargiewlowska, Managing the Body, 64–­73. 85. Christopher Oldstone-­Moore, Of Beards and Men: The Revealing History of Facial Hair (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 207. 86. On Bernhardt’s career, see Marcus, Drama of Celebrity. On aspects of nineteenth-­century literary celebrity, see Paraic Finnerty, Anne-­Marie Millim, and Charlotte Boyce, Victorian Celebrity Culture and Tennyson’s Circle (Basingstoke: Pal­ grave Macmillan, 2013). On definitions of celebrity, see Chris Rojek, Celebrity (London: Reaktion Books, 2001). On the relationship between consumer culture, capitalism, and individuality, see P. David Marshall, Celebrity and Power: Fame in Contemporary Culture, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2014). 87. Michael Anton Budd, The Sculpture Machine: Physical Culture and Body Politics in the Age of Empire (New York: New York University Press, 1997); and Zweiniger-­ Bargielowska, Managing the Body. 88. Budd, Sculpture Machine, 58. 89. Gustavus Cohen, True Manhood: A Book Specially Designed for Young Men (Lon­ don: Published at the Office of the “Practical Christian,” 1885), 30. 90. Graeme Mercer Adam, ed., Sandow on Physical Training: A Study in the Perfect Type of the Human Form . . . Preceded by a Biography (London: Gale & Polden, 1894), 12. 91. Adam, 24–­25. 92. Eugen Sandow, The Construction and Reconstruction of the Human Body: A Man­ ual of the Therapeutics of Exercise (London: John Bale, Sons and Danielson, Ltd. and Francis Griffiths, 1907), image opposite 136; and “Beauty and the Beast,” Vitality and Health Culture: A Magazine for the Promotion of Mental and Physical Vigour 6, no. 2 (May 1905): 292. On before-­and-­after images, see Sander Gilman, Making the Body Beautiful: A Cultural History of Aesthetic Surgery (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999), 36–­42; and Thomas Richards, The Commodity Culture of  Victorian England: Advertising and Spectacle, 1851–­1914 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990), 189–­90. 93. Picture of F. J. W. Whalley, Vitality and Health Culture 4, no. 3 (March 1904): 69. 94. Eugen Sandow, Strength and How to Obtain It, with Anatomical Chart, Illustrat­ ing Exercises for Physical Development, Illustrated with Full Page Portraits of the Author and Some of His Pupils. Reproduced from Photographs by Falk of New York, and Warwick Brookes of Manchester (London: Gale and Polden, Ltd., 1897), 13–­14. 95. “Editorial Notes,” Health and Strength 3, no. 3 (September 1901): 119.

n ot es to pag es 1 0 6 – 111   ‹ 354

96. Cover image, Health and Strength 6, no. 11 (November 1903): cover. See also “Our Cover—­Mr. Slade Jones,” Health and Strength 6, no. 11 (November 1903): 379. 97. “Some Factors of Modern Beauty,” Sandow’s Magazine of Physical Culture and British Sport 16, no. 1 ( January 4, 1906): 21. 98. “Our Portrait Gallery,” Sandow’s Magazine of Physical Culture and British Sport 9 (1902): 146. 99. Insert in Sandow, Construction and Reconstruction, n.p. 100. Eugen Sandow, Life Is Movement: The Physical Reconstruction and Regeneration of the People (A Diseaseless World) (London: Published by “The Family Encyclopaedia of Health,” 1919), 482–­99. 101. Image of  Thomas Inch, Health and Strength 6, no. 10 (October 1903), cover. 102. “Strength by Mail!,” Vitality and Health Culture 4, no. 4 (April 1904), xxi (author’s pagination). 103. Apollo [William Bankier], Ideal Physical Culture and the Truth about the Strong Man, 3rd impression (London: Green and Co., 1900), 47. 104. Apollo, 117. 105. Prof. T. Inch, “Muscular Photography: How to Pose before the Camera,” Vital­ ity and Health Culture 3, no. 1 ( July 1903): 13. 106. Prof  T. Inch, “Muscular Photography: How to Pose before the Camera,” Vitality and Health Culture 3, no. 2 (August 1903): 33. 107. E. S. Hancox, “Physical Poses: Graceful and Otherwise,” Modern Man: A Weekly Journal of Masculine Interest, no. 15 (February 13, 1909): 4. 108. James Gardiner, Who’s a Pretty Boy Then? One Hundred and Fifty Years of Gay Life in Pictures (London: Serpent’s Tail, 1998), 34–­35. 109. Michael Hatt, “‘A Great Sight,’” 91; and Thomas Waugh, Hard to Imagine: Gay Male Eroticism in Photography and Film from Their Beginnings to Stonewall (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996), 80–­102. 110. Doan, Disturbing Practices, 21, 139, 162–­63. 111. Advertisement for Sandow’s Classical Studies, Vitality and Health Culture 2, no. 9 (1903): xiii. 112. “Do You Want Photos of Finely-­Developed Athletes?,” Health and Strength 3, no. 1 ( June 1901): 28. 113. Adam, ed., Sandow on Physical Training, 44. 114. Adam, 44. 115. “Some Handsome Men,” Hampshire Telegraph and Sussex Chronicle, June 9, 1894, 9; and Rafford Pyke [Harry Thurston Peck], “The Handsome Man,” Cosmopolitan 35, no. 6 (October 1903): 627–­34. 116. See Herbert Barraud, Men and Women of the Day: A Picture Gallery of Contem­ porary Portraiture (London: Richard Bentley and Son, 1888); George W. Bedlam and Charles B. Fry, Great Batsmen: Their Methods at a Glance (London: Macmillan Co., 1905); W. Grinton Berry, ed., Men of Grit: Narratives of Some Famous Heroic Figures Emphasising the Active and Stirring Sides of  Their Characters (London: Boy’s Own Paper Office, 1880s); Charles Donaldson, Men of Muscle and the Highland Games of Scotland, with Brief Biographies of the Leading Athletes of the Last Fifty Years (Glasgow: Printed by Carter and Pratt, 1901); and Ernest Foster, Men of Note: Their Boyhood and School Days (London: Frederick Warne and Co. 1882). 117. Marcus, Drama of Celebrity, 6–­7.

n ot es to pag es 11 2– 118   › 355

118. See John B. Osborne, “‘Governed by Mediocrity’: Image and Text in Vanity Fair’s Political Caricatures, 1869–­1889,” Victorian Periodicals Review 40, no. 4 (2007): 307–­11; and John Arlott, “Introduction,” in The Cricketers of  Vanity Fair, ed. Rus­sell March (Exeter: Webb and Bower, 1982), 7–­27. 119. Osborne, “‘Governed by Mediocrity,’” 308, 329. 120. “Mr Frederic Courtney Selous,” Vanity Fair, April 26, 1894, 263; “Statesmen—­ No. DCLXVIII. The Marquis of Bath,” Vanity Fair, April 23, 1896, 293; and “Men of the Day—­No. DCXLIV. Mr. Arthur Bourchier,” Vanity Fair, March 5, 1896, 171. 121. “Men of the Day—­no. 584. Mr. Charles Burgess Fry,” Vanity Fair, April 19, 1894, 245 (image opposite). 122. Arthur Thomson, Handbook of Anatomy for Art Students (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1896), ix. Pictures of Fry were given away by Messrs. Sharp, Walker and Co. dur­ ing a Christmas card campaign in 1904. See Advertisement for Messrs. Sharp, Walker, and Co., C.B. Fry’s Magazine of Sports and Outdoor Life 2, no. 7 (October 1904): xiii. 123. Leslie Ward, Forty Years of Spy (London: Chatto and Windus, 1915), 110–­11. 124. “Statesmen—­No. DXXV. Mr. Charles Isaac Elton, Q.C. M.P.,” Vanity Fair, August 6, 1887, 87 (image opposite); and “Men of the Day—­No. CMXL. The Earl of Donoughmore,” Vanity Fair, February 9, 1905, 191 (image opposite). 125. “Men of the Day—­No. CCCXXXIX. Mr Opfer, of Blowitz,” Vanity Fair, August 29, 1885, 121 (image opposite). 126. Deslandes, Oxbridge Men, 185, 187, 213, 221, 236. 127. Kumar Shri Ranjitsinhji, Vanity Fair (1897), in Arlott, ed., The Cricketers of Vanity Fair, 54–­55. 128. “George Alexander. Born 1858,” London Theatres: A Collection of Programmes, Press Cuttings, and Photographs, vol. 1, WCA 792-­9421. 129. “The Dashing Valentine Brown,” Play Pictorial 1, no. 4 (1902): 132; “Cyril Maude as Richard Lascelles,” Play Pictorial 12, no. 72 (1908): 65. 130. “Play Pictorial Post-­Cards: Mice and Men,” Play Pictorial 1, no. 2 (1902): 77. 131. Theatre Collection Postcards and Cartes de Visite, WCA, TC/02/001-­144; TC/02/145-­210. 132. W. J. Scott, All about Postcards (Illustrated by Permission of the Board of Inland Revenue) (Leeds: Scott and Wilson, 1903), 1. On this tendency, see Marcus, Drama of Celebrity, 110–­46. 133. Bound volumes marked “Plays I Have Seen,” assembled by Hilda L. Milford (1899–­1909), JGC, BL, ADD MSS 81322 and 81323. 134. Erika Diane Rappaport, Shopping for Pleasure: Women in the Making of London’s West End (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000), 195. 135. Deslandes, Oxbridge Men, 121–­53. 136. David L. Chapman, Sandow the Magnificent: Eugen Sandow and the Beginnings of Bodybuilding (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1994), 129–­35; and Zweiniger-­ Bargielowska, Managing the Body, 90. 137. “Physical Culture Display,” Times, September 16, 1901, 7. 138. “The Best-­Developed Man,” Penny Illustrated Paper 81, no. 2102 (September 21, 1901), 179. The illustration of the event on the same page is titled “Physical Culture at the Albert Hall.” 139. Eugen Sandow, “Physical Culture Competitions and Beauty Shows,” Sandow’s Magazine of Physical Culture, Sport, and Fiction 12, no. 70 (April 1904): 248.

n ot es to pag es 118– 1 23   ‹ 356

140. “‘Sandow, the Strong Man.’ By the Editor of Health and Strength,” Vim: A Mag­ azine of Health and Beauty 1, no. 2 ( January 15, 1903): 51. 141. John K. Walton, The British Seaside: Holidays and Resorts in the Twentieth Cen­ tury (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000). 142. “Topics of the Day from Special Correspondent in London,” Te Aroha News, May 11, 1889, 4. 143. “Male Beauty Competition,” Sandow’s Magazine of Physical Culture and British Sport 16, no. 16 (April 19, 1906), 500. 144. “Rivals of Adonis,” New Zealand Graphic, November 9, 1907, 33. 145. “Male Beauty Show at the Victoria Pier,” Folkestone Daily News, August 27, 1908, 2. 146. “Southend Male Beauty Show,” Daily Mail, September 12, 1907, 5. 147. “Handsome Men. Masculine Beauty Show,” Evening Post, November 6, 1909, 11. 148. “Pen Portraits” was the title of this type of feature in Varsity Characters. See “Pen Portrait. Mr. E. M. Jameson, Oriel. Captain O.U.A.F.C.,” Varsity Characters, no. 1 (1900), n.p. The quote is drawn from “Isis Idols. No. CCCLV. Mr. Patrick Stormonth-­ Darling, New College. Hon Sec. O.U.A.C.,” Isis, no. 379 (February 8, 1908): 194. 149. “Those in Authority. Mr. R. P. P. Rowe, Magdalen College, Oxford, President O.U.B.C.,” Granta 5, no. 82 (March 8, 1892): 251. 150. “Topics of the Week,” Beauty: An Illustrated Journal for Men and Women of the World, no. 1 (March 1889): 2. 151. “Our Competition,” Granta 19, no. 416 (February 24, 1906): 213. 152. “Those in Authority. Mr. C. C. Mountfort (Ridley Hall), C.U.H.C.,” Granta 19, no. 419 (March 14, 1906): 256. 153. “A Lady Artist and Her Model,” Illustrated Police News, no. 1782 (April 9, 1898): 3. 154. Sigel, Governing Pleasures, 119–­55.

Chapter Four 1. Brooke’s appearance is routinely noted in biographies, but rarely analyzed. See Paul Delany, Fatal Glamour: The Life of Rupert Brooke (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-­ Queen’s University Press, 2015), 6–­7, 23, 31, 33, 221; Christopher Hassall, Rupert Brooke (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, Inc., 1964); Michael Hastings, The Handsomest Young Man in England: Rupert Brooke (London: Michael Joseph, 1967); William E. Las­ kowski, Rupert Brooke (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1994), 10, 23; and John Lehmann, The Strange Destiny of Rupert Brooke (New York: Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, 1980), 3–­4, 50–­51. 2. On Whiteness as a social construct, see Angela Woollacott, To Try Her Fortune in London: Australian Women, Colonialism, and Modernity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 12–­15, 142–­43, 187–­88; and David Roediger, The Wages of  Whiteness: Race and the Making of the American Working Class, rev. ed. (London: Verso, 1999), 5–­11, 21, 66–­71. On Whiteness in imperial Britain, see Sadiah Qureshi, Peoples on Parade: Exhi­ bitions, Empire, and Anthropology in Nineteenth-­Century Britain (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2011), 275. 3. See Lorna C. Beckett, The Second I Saw You: The True Love Story of Rupert Brooke and Phyllis Gardner (London: British Library, 2015); and Keith Hale, ed., Friends and Apostles: The Correspondence of Rupert Brooke and James Strachey, 1905–­1914 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1998).

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4. For discussions of gendered imagery, see Nicoletta F. Gullace, “The Blood of Our Sons”: Men, Women, and the Renegotiation of British Citizenship during the Great War (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), 35–­51. On propaganda generally, see George Robb, British Culture and the First World War (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2002), 96–­128. 5. Ana Carden-­Coyne, Reconstructing the Body: Classicism, Modernism, and the First World War (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 85. On photography in the war, see Modris Eksteins, Rites of Spring: The Great War and the Birth of the Modern Age (London: Bantam Press, 1989), 214, 277, and 281; and Robb, British Culture and the First World War, 121. 6. Graham Dawson, Soldier Heroes: British Adventure, Empire, and the Imagining of Masculinities (London: Routledge, 1994). On the sexual allure of the soldier hero, see Matt Houlbrook, “Soldier Heroes and Rent Boys: Homosex, Masculinities, and Brit­ ishness in the Brigade of Guards, circa 1900–­1960,” Journal of British Studies 42, no. 3 (2003): 351–­88. 7. Allan Sekula, “The Body and the Archive,” October, no. 39 (1986): 6, 10. On pho­ tographs, see Suzannah Biernoff, Portraits of  Violence: War and the Aesthetics of Disfig­ urement (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2017), 11–­12. 8. On photographs and wartime experiences, see Biernoff, Portraits of  Violence, 37–­ 39. On the use of photographs in facial reconstructive surgery, see Andrew N. Bamji, “Facial Surgery: The Patients’ Experience,” in Facing Armageddon: The First World War Experienced, ed. H. Cecil and P. H. Liddle (London: Pen and Sword Paperbacks, 1996), 499. 9. Joanna Bourke, Dismembering the Male: Men’s Bodies, Britain, and the Great War (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 33. 10. For a summary of approaches to the topic of disability, see Nadja Durbach, Spec­ tacle of Deformity: Freak Shows and Modern British Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010), 14–­21; and Susan M. Schweik, The Ugly Laws: Disability in Public (New York: New York University Press, 2009), 1–­20. 11. See Bourke, Dismembering the Male, 31–­75; Deborah Cohen, The War Come Home: Disabled Veterans in Britain and Germany, 1914–­1939 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001); Seth Koven, “Remembering and Dismemberment: Crippled Children, Wounded Soldiers, and the Great War in Great Britain,” American Historical Review 99, no. 4 (1994), 1167–­202; and Jeffrey S. Reznick, Healing the Nation: Soldiers and the Culture of Caregiving in Britain during the Great War (Manchester: Manchester Uni­ versity Press, 2004). 12. See Andrew N. Bamji, “The Macalister Archive: Records from the Queen Mary’s Hospital, 1917–­1921,” Journal of Audiovisual Media in Medicine 16, no. 2 (1993): 76–­84; Biernoff, Portraits of  Violence, 55–­137; Carden-­Coyne, Reconstructing the Body, 58–­109; Sarah Crellin, “Hollow Men: Francis Derwent Wood’s Masks and Memorials, 1915–­1925,” Sculpture Journal 6 (2001): 75–­88; and Katherine Feo, “Invisibility: Memory, Masks, and Masculinities in the Great War,” Journal of Design History 20, no. 1 (2007): 17–­27. 13. While aesthetic concerns are not central in his work, see, Bamji, “Facial Surgery,” 490–­501. 14. Gabriel Koureas, Memory, Masculinity, and National Identity in British Visual Culture, 1914–­1930: A Study of  “Unconquerable Manhood” (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007). 15. Carden-­Coyne, Reconstructing the Body, 110–­59. 16. Carden-­Coyne, 160–­212. 17. J. R. Ackerley, My Father and Myself (New York: Coward and McCann, 1969), 115.

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18. Sherrill Schell, “The Story of a Photograph,” Bookman 63, no. 6 (April 1926): 689–­90. 19. Maurice Browne, Recollections of Rupert Brooke (Chicago: Alexander Green, 1927), 11. 20. Jonathan Rutherford, Forever England: Reflections on Masculinity and Empire (London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1997), 39–­69; Joseph Bristow, “Rupert Brooke’s Poetic Deaths,” ELH 81, no. 2 (2014): 663–­64; Paul Fussell, The Great War and Modern Memory (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975), 276–­78, 301–­3; George Mosse, Nationalism and Sexuality: Respectability and Abnormal Sexuality in Modern Europe (New York: H. Fertig, 1985), 116–­20. 21. On Brooke as Apostle, see William C. Lubenow, The Cambridge Apostles, 1820–­ 1914: Liberalism, Imagination, and Friendship in British Intellectual and Professional Life (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 35, 136, 253, 265, 278. 22. Rupert Brooke to James Strachey, July 10, 1912, in Hale, Friends and Apostles, 249–­52. 23. Details on Brooke in Adrian Caesar, “Rupert Chawner Brooke (1887–­1915),” Ox­ford Dictionary of National Biography (vol. 7, Box-­Browell), ed. H. C. G. Matthew and Brian Harrison (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 911–­13; and Delany, Fatal Glamour. 24. Fussell, Great War, 301–­2. On the clean-­shaven face, see Christopher Oldstone-­ Moore, Of Beards and Men: The Revealing History of Facial Hair (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 198–­234. 25. E. M. Forster, Maurice: A Novel (New York: W. W. Norton, 1971), 146–­47. 26. Delany, Fatal Glamour, 10–­29. 27. Rupert Brooke to Geoffrey Keynes, February 23, 1906, in Letters of  Rupert Brooke, ed. Geoffrey Keynes (New York: Harcourt, Brace, and World, Inc. 1968), 41. 28. Rupert Brooke to Geoffrey Keynes, March 31, 1906, in Letters of Rupert Brooke, 45–­46. 29. Delany, Fatal Glamour, 41. A good example is Leonard Woolf ’s description of Brooke. See his Beginning Again: An Autobiography of the Years 1911 to 1918 (New York: Harcourt, Brace, and World, Inc., 1963), 18. 30. Brooke to Keynes, February 23, 1906, 41. 31. “Those in Authority. Mr. Rupert Brooke (King’s College). President of the Cam­ bridge University Fabian Society,” Granta 22, no. 511 (February 5, 1910): 201. 32. Arthur C. Benson, Memories and Friends (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1924), 362. 33. Benson, 364–­65. 34. Ellery Sedgwick, The Happy Profession (Boston: Little, Brown, and Company, 1946), 328–­29. 35. On Brooke as literary celebrity, see Aaron Jaffe, Modernism and the Culture of Celebrity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 145–­50. On photography in promoting Brooke’s image, see Peter Howarth, “Rupert Brooke’s Celebrity Aesthetic,” English Literature in Transition, 1880–­1920 49, no. 3 (2006): 285–­87. 36. Woolf, Beginning Again, 19. 37. Browne, Recollections, 16–­17, 24. 38. Delany, Fatal Glamour, 159–­95. 39. Arthur Marwick, It: A History of Human Beauty (London: Hambledon and Lon­ don, 2004), 2–­24. 40. Quoted in Sandra Martin and Roger Hall, eds., Rupert Brooke in Canada (Toronto: PMA Books, 1978), 48.

n ot es to pag es 13 0 – 13 4   › 359

41. Quoted in Arthur Stringer, Red Wine of Youth: A Life of Rupert Brooke (Indiana­p­ olis: Bobbs-­Merrill Company, 1948), 203. 42. Jesse Wolfe, Bloomsbury, Modernism, and the Reinvention of Intimacy (Cam­ bridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). 43. James Strachey to Rupert Brooke, November 30, 1906, in Hale, Friends and Apostles, 26. 44. Dany Nobus, “Strachey, James Beaumont (1887–­1967), Psychoanalyst and Trans­ lator,” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, accessed June 24, 2020, https://www .oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-­9780198614128 -­e-­52777. 45. James Strachey to Duncan Grant, March 11, 1907, in Hale, Friends and Apostles, 15. 46. James Strachey to Lytton Strachey, April 7, 1909, in Hale, Friends and Apostles, 49–­50. See also Rutherford, Forever England, 48. 47. Rupert Brooke to James Strachey, February 25, 1910, in Hale, Friends and Apos­ tles, 104–­5. 48. James Strachey to Rupert Brooke, early March, 1911, in Hale, Friends and Apos­ tles, 165. 49. Phyllis Gardner to Mrs. E. A. Gardner, November 11, 1911, BL MSS ADD. 74741A. Since my initial consultation of these letters and the other Gardner manuscript, they have been published in a British Library volume. See Beckett, The Second I Saw You. 50. Phyllis Gardner, “A True History” (typescript memoir), 8–­10, BL MSS ADD. 74742. 51. Gardner, “True History,” 12. 52. On sexual knowledge and sexual attitudes during the First World War, see Laura Doan, “Gender and Sexuality,” in Gender and the Great War, ed. Susan R. Grayzel and Tammy M. Proctor (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 91–­114. 53. Gardner, “True History,” 39. 54. Gardner, 48. 55. Delany, Fatal Glamour, 264. 56. Rupert Brooke to Mrs. Gardner, January 10, 1915, BL MSS ADD. 74741A. 57. Gardner, “True History,” 86. 58. Angela Woollacott, “‘Khaki Fever’ and Its Control: Gender, Class, Age, and Sex­ ual Morality on the British Homefront in the First World War,” Journal of Contemporary History 29, no. 2 (1994): 325–­47. On same-­sex desire for military men, see Ackerley, My Father and Myself, 126. 59. On visual experiences in war, see Biernoff, Portraits of  Violence, 4–­5; Bourke, Dismembering the Male, 35; and Carden-­Coyne, Reconstructing the Body, 76, 85. 60. Gullace, “Blood of Our Sons,” 53–­69 and 99–­115; Jovanna Knezevic, “Gender and Occupation,” in Gender and the Great War, 135–­38; and Tammy M. Proctor, “Gender and Age,” in Gender and the Great War, 124–­27. 61. Bourke, Dismembering the Male, 21–­22. 62. See “Bovril to the Front in Peace and War,” Sphere, February 24, 1900, accessed February 22, 2021, https://www.alamy.com/stock-­photo-­1900s-­uk-­bovril-­magazine -­advert-­85331118.html; and “The City Imperials’ First Fight” and “Members of the Hon. Artillery Company,” City Press Souvenir of the C.I.V., no. 4 (1900), 7 and 8, LMA, CLA 051/01/1/006. 63. Advertising poster for Dunlop Cycle Tyres (1914), AAO, accessed June 24, 2020, https://www.advertisingarchives.co.uk/en/asset/show_zoom_window_popup .html?asset=49381&location=grid&asset_list=49381&basket_item_id=undefined; and

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advertisement for Wright’s Coal Tar Soap (1915), AAO, accessed June 24, 2020, https:// www.advertisingarchives.co.uk/en/asset/show_zoom_window_popup.html?asset =54897&location=grid&asset_list=87515419,54897,46129,43245,31296,25365,9139 ,761&basket_item_id=undefined 64. See Alan G. V. Simmonds, Britain and World War One (Abingdon: Routledge, 2012), 45–­49, 239. 65. E. J Kealey, “Follow Me! Your Country Needs You” (London, 1914), IWM, Art. IWM PST 1138, accessed February 19, 2021, https://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item /object/14606; and W. H. Caffyn, “Come along Boys and Join the Army” (London, 1914), IWM, Art.IWM PST 0950, accessed February 19, 2021, https://www.iwm.org.uk/col lections/item/object/4157. 66. Robb, British Culture, 121. On cameras at the front, see Richard van Emden, Tommy’s War: The Western Front in Soldiers’ Words and Photographs (London: Blooms­ bury, 2014), 1–­27; on the War Illustrated, see 9–­11. 67. “After Seventeen Months,” British Journal of Photography 62, no. 2903 (1915): 827. 68. “Soldiers’ Photographs,” Manchester Guardian, September 25, 1914, 3. 69. “Entry for Monday, December 14th, 1914,” in Vera Brittain, War Diary, 1913–­1917: Chronicle of  Youth, ed. Alan Bishop with Terry Smart (London: Victor Gollancz, 1981), 130. 70. “At Halton Camp,” Times, June 1, 1915, 15. 71. “Soldiers’ Photographs,” 3. 72. On collecting, see van Emden, Tommy’s War, 5. 73. Koureas, Memory, 143–­82. 74. For biographical details, see the online history of the Nikaean Club, which Doug­ las founded, accessed June 24, 2020, http://nikaeanclub.org.uk/history/canon-­john -­douglas/. Other details are drawn from a reading of the files in the LMA. 75. St. Luke’s Working Lads’ Club Annual Report (London, 1912), LMA, P73/LUK 71–­79. 76. See Seth Koven, Slumming: Sexual and Social Politics in Victorian London (Prince­ ton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004), 228–­81. 77. Postcard from J. Millwood addressed to Rev. J. A. Douglas, n.d., LMA, P73/LUK 71–­79 (71 I). 78. Harold G. Giles to G. Jones, May 17 1915, NA, RAIL 253/516, accessed June 24, 2020, https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/letters-first-world -war-1915/training-like-photo/. 79. Biographical details from the LMA website, accessed June 24, 2020, https:// www.cityoflondon.gov.uk/things-­to-­do/london-­metropolitan-­archives/the-­collections /Pages/thomas-­sugden.aspx. 80. Frank to Annie Sugden, 1914?, LMA, 4618/G/02/003. 81. Frank to Annie Sugden, 1914?, LMA, 4618/G/02/003. 82. Arthur Sugden to Alice Sugden, 1914?, LMA, 4618/G/02/003. 83. Brittain, War Diary, 227. 84. “After Seventeen Months,” 827. 85. Photographic Album of Rita McLaren, LMA, H01/ST/NCph/E14/1. 86. Carden-­Coyne, Reconstructing the Body, 73–­109. 87. Bamji, “Facial Surgery,” 490–­92; Biernoff, Portraits of  Violence, 18. 88. Bourke, Dismembering the Male; Carden-­Coyne, Reconstructing the Body, 219; and Biernoff, Portraits of  Violence. 89. After the war, officials at the Ministry of Pensions contemplated the creation of a facility for those suffering from such extreme facial disfigurement that they would be

n ot es to pag es 1 4 2– 150   › 361

unable to reintegrate into British society. See “Facial Disfigurement, Treatment Of—­ Special Dental Treatment,” Ministry of Pensions and National Insurance File, NA, PIN 15/1526. 90. Carden-­Coyne, Reconstructing the Body, 73–­82. 91. On nineteenth-­century America, see Schweik, Ugly Laws, 86–­87. 92. Arthur Anderson Martin, A Surgeon in Khaki (London: Edward Arnold, 1915), 12. On the tensions and ironies of war, the classic text is Fussell, The Great War. 93. Quoted in Derek Young, Forgotten Scottish Voices from the Great War (Stroud: Tempus, 2005), 112. 94. Albert Edwin Rippington to Ernie, n.d., NA, RAIL 253/516, accessed June 24, 2020, http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/wp-­content/uploads/2015/09/injury-­i -­look-­a-­pretty-­picture1.jpg. 95. Alun Withey, “Shaving in the Trenches: Washing and Grooming in the Great War,” blog post, accessed June 24, 2020, https://dralun.wordpress.com/2014/03/21/shaving -­in-­the-­trenches-­washing-­and-­grooming-­in-­the-­great-­war/. 96. Murray (no. 3), “My Personal Experiences and Reminiscences of the Great War” ( January 1922), collected by Lady Gough at Sidcup Hospital, GA. 97. Gillmore (no. 6), “My Personal Experiences and Reminiscences of the Great War” ( January 1922), collected by Lady Gough at Sidcup Hospital, GA. 98. Anon., A War Nurse’s Diary: Sketches from a Belgian Field Hospital (New York: Macmillan, 1918), 20. 99. Gillies quoted in Andrew Bamji, Queen Mary’s Sidcup, 1974–­1994: A Commemo­ ration (Sidcup: Privately Printed Pamphlet, 1994), 15. 100. Ward Muir, Observations of an Orderly: Some Glimpses of Life and Work in an English War Hospital (London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent and Co., 1917), 238. 101. Ward Muir, The Happy Hospital (London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent and Co., 1918), 27. 102. Muir, 143–­44. 103. Muir, 145. 104. F. D. Wood, “Masks for Facial Wounds,” Lancet, June 23, 1917, 949. Quoted in Crellin, “Hollow Men,” 77. 105. Lieutenant Francis Derwent Wood, Special List, NA, WO 339/55999. 106. “New Jaws for Old: The Sculptor’s Aid in War Surgery” (newspaper clipping), contained in file marked “Wood, Francis Derwent, R.A. 1871–­1926,” IWM ART/ WA1/343. 107. “Face-­Maker at Work. Masks for the Wounded” (newspaper unidentified) April 1, 1916, Folder on Francis Derwent Wood, TGA. 108. Muir, The Happy Hospital, 146. 109. Muir, 152–­53. 110. Harold D. Gillies, Plastic Surgery of the Face Based on Selected Cases of War In­ juries of the Face Including Burns with Original Illustrations (London: Henry Frowde and Hodder and Stoughton, 1920), x. 111. Gillies, Plastic Surgery, vii. 112. Biernoff, Portraits of Violence, 114–­37. 113. Harold Gillies British Patient Case Files, Capt. B. B. Green, ID 841, ARCS, MS 0513/1/1/15. 114. “The Memoirs of Captain J. K. Wilson” (typescript), IWM, PP/MCR/100, 80–­81. 115. Interview with Joseph Pickard, IWM, Recording Number 8946.

n ot es to pag es 150 – 15 4   ‹ 362

116. Wilfred Owen, “Disabled,” in World War One British Poets: Brooke, Owen, Sas­ soon, Rosenberg, and Others, ed. Candace Ward (Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 1997), 23–­25. 117. Carden-­Coyne, Reconstructing the Body, 110–­59. 118. Koureas, Memory, 186. 119. Bourke, Dismembering the Male, 19. This was also evident in memorials. See Crellin, “Hollow Men,” 81–­84. 120. Geoffrey Keynes to Arthur Stringer, June 10, 1947, Letters to Eddie Marsh on Rupert Brooke I (1915–­47), RBP, KCC, RCB/S/9/1. 121. Delany, Fatal Glamour, 264–­69, 274–­92. 122. Jeanne Perdriel-Vaissière, Rupert Brooke’s Death and Burial: Based on the Log of the French Hospital Ship Duguay-­Trouin, trans. Vincent O’Sullivan, in G. M. Bayliss and Martin Taylor, Rupert Brooke’s Death and Burial: Based on the Log of the French Hospi­ tal Ship Duguay-­Trouin. Translated from the French of  J. Perdriel-Vaissière, by Vincent O’Sullivan, and Other Pieces (London: Imperial War Museum, 1992), 68. 123. Diary, Papers of Commander H. P. Baylis, RNVR, IWM, 06/49/1. 124. Perdriel-Vaissière, Brooke’s Death. 71. 125. “Dean Inge at St. Paul’s. Spirit of the Martyr-­Patriot,” Times, April 5, 1915, 8. See also Taylor, “Introduction,” in Brooke’s Death, 36. 126. Carden-­Coyne, Reconstructing the Body, 160–­212. 127. On this, see Sharon Marcus, The Drama of Celebrity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2019), 9–­14. 128. Winston Churchill, “Rupert Brooke,” Times, April 26, 1915, in Rupert Brooke: Two Sonnets with a Memoir of Winston Churchill, 2nd ed. (London: 1945), 7. 129. H.W.N, “Rupert Brooke,” Nation, May 1, 1915, 142. In Collection of Cuttings Relating to Rupert Brooke, IWM, [O] K95/59. 130. Arthur C. Benson, “Along the Road: Rupert Brooke,” Church Family Newspaper, May 28, 1915, n.p. In Collection of Cuttings Relating to Rupert Brooke. 131. “An Athletic Poet,” Birmingham Daily Mail, in Album of Press Cuttings on Rupert Chawner Brooke, Compiled and Annotated by Edward Marsh, April 1905–­ December 1919, RBP, KCC, xd/21. 132. Carol Dyhouse, Glamour: Women, History, Feminism (London: Zed Books, 2010), 9–­28. 133. Edward Thomas, “Rupert Brooke,” English Review ( June 1915), in Album of Press Cuttings on Rupert Chawner Brooke, April 1912–­December 1915, RBP, KCC, xd/19. The word “glamour” also appears in “Rupert Brooke,” The New Statesman, in Album of Press Cuttings, . . . April 1905–­December 1919. 134. Philip Gibbs, The Soul of the War (New York: Robert M. McBride and Co., 1915), 274. 135. Sherrill Schell to Edward Marsh, June 14, 1915, Letters to Edward Marsh on Rupert Brooke, vol. 3, 1915–­47, RBP, KCC, RCB/S/9/3. 136. Arthur Shipley to Edward Marsh, June 22, 1915, Letters to Edward Marsh on Rupert Brooke, vol. 3. 137. Agnes Mannucci Capponi to Edward Marsh, February 21, 1928, Letters to Ed­ ward Marsh on Rupert Brooke, vol. 3. 138. Carden-­Coyne, Reconstructing the Body, 111–­310. 139. Lehmann, Strange Destiny, 150–­64.

n ot es to pag es 15 4 – 1 65   › 363

140. Albert A. David to Edward Marsh, November 18, 1915, Letters to Edward Marsh on Rupert Brooke, vol. 1, RBP, KCC, RCB/S/9/1. 141. “The Rupert Brooke Memorial,” Little Review 3, no. 2 (April 1916): 24. 142. Francis Cornford to Edward Marsh, November 11, 1915, Letters to Edward Marsh on Rupert Brooke, vol. 1. 143. The documents related to the Brooke Medallion at Rugby in the James Havard Thomas Papers at the Tate Gallery Archives provide a useful narrative of the monu­ ment’s erection. The quote is from Albert A. David to James Havard Thomas, Febru­ ary 12, 1917, Papers of John Havard Thomas Papers, TGA (uncataloged). 144. Henry Herbert Symonds to James Havard Thomas, March 24, 1919, Papers of James Havard Thomas. 145. Mary B. Brooke to J. Havard Thomas, August 12, 1918, Papers of James Havard Thomas. 146. Delany, Fatal Glamour, 282. 147. “Memorial to Rupert Brooke,” Times, March 29, 1919, 10. 148. From a Correspondent, “‘Men with Splendid Hearts.’ Rupert Brooke’s Village,” Times, April 6, 1921, 13; From Our Correspondent, “Rupert Brooke: Memorial Meeting in Athens,” Times April 24, 1925, 11; and “Promenade Concert. Elegy in Memory of Rupert Brooke,” Times, September 16, 1927, 8. 149. Paul Vanderborght to John Galsworthy, April 14, 1929, RBP, KCC, RCB/Xe/8. 150. Paul Vanderborght to Herman Ould, September 12, 1929, RCB/Xe/8. 151. Mary Brooke to Paul Vanderborght, September 25, 1929, RCB/Xe/8. 152. Paul Vanderborght to Mary Brooke, November 3, 1929, RCB/Xe/8. 153. Paul Vanderborght to Walter de la Mare, May 23, 1930, RCB/Xe/8. 154. Paul Vanderborght to Mary Brooke, August 31, 1930, RCB/Xe/8. 155. “The Rupert Brooke Memorial,” Sphinx, November 29, 1930, 9, in Rupert Brooke Memorial Fund Files, NA, FO 141/500/13. 156. International Rupert Brooke Memorial Committee: Unveiling of the Rupert Brooke Memorial, Winter 1931, Memorials: Greece (RB), NA, FO/286/1104/163. 157. “A Pilgrimage to Skyros,” Athens Times, April 11, 1931, 4. Contained in Papers Relating to Rupert Brooke, IWM, Misc. 230, Item 3287. 158. Sir Patrick Ramsay, “Memorandum” (April 7, 1931), Memorials: Greece (RB). 159. Our Own Correspondent, “Rupert Brooke,” Observer, April 5, 1931, 11; and “Rupert Brooke,” Manchester Guardian, April 6, 1931, 10. 160. D. Caclamanos, “Rupert Brooke,” Times, April 6, 1931, 6. 161. Oral History with Cathleen Nesbitt, British Civilian Actress in London, GB, 1914–­19, Recorded February 9, 1976, IWM, Recording Number 733.

Chapter Five 1. On the importance of personality and appearance in the US, see Warren I. Susman, Culture as History: The Transformation of American Society in the Twentieth Century (New York: Pantheon Books, 1984), 271–­85. For a more recent take, see Susan Bordo, Unbear­ able Weight: Feminism, Western Culture, and the Body, 10th anniversary ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 165–­84, 245–­75. 2. Ana Carden-­Coyne, Reconstructing the Body: Classicism, Modernity, and the First World War (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 189–­200.

n ot es to pag es 1 65 – 1 6 8   ‹ 364

3. Carden-­Coyne, 160–­212 and Ina Zweiniger-­Bargielowska, Managing the Body: Beauty, Health, and Fitness in Britain, 1880–­1939 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 151–­330. 4. On this as a global phenomenon, see Alys Eve Weinbaum, Lynn W. Thomas, Priti Ramamurthy, Uta G. Poiger, Madeleine Yue Dong, and Tani E. Barlow, eds., The Mod­ ern Girl around the World: Consumption, Modernity, and Globalization (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2008). 5. Lois Banner, American Beauty (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1983); Kathy Peiss, Hope in a Jar: The Making of America’s Beauty Culture (New York: Metropolitan Books, 1998); and Carol Dyhouse, Glamour: Women, History, Feminism (London: Zed Books, 2010). 6. Peiss, Hope in a Jar, 161–­63; and Paul R. Deslandes, “One British Thing: The Safety Razor,” Journal of British Studies 59, no. 4 (2020): 885–­88. 7. On consumer identities, see Matthew Hilton, Consumerism in Twentieth-­Century Britain (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 11. 8. Mathew Thomson, Psychological Subjects: Identity, Culture, and Health in Twentieth-­ Century Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). On the links between psy­ ch­ology and appearance in the United States, see Lynne Luciano, Looking Good: Male Body Image in Modern America (New York: Hill and Wang, 2001), 8–­9. 9. Ross McKibbin, Classes and Cultures: England, 1918–­1951 (Oxford: Oxford Uni­ versity Press, 1998), 419–­22. Cinema’s influence is discussed in Adrian Bingham, Family Newspapers? Sex, Private Life, and the British Popular Press, 1918–­1978 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 34–­37. 10. On the celebrity in print culture, see Bingham, Family Newspapers?, 229–­61. 11. See Christopher E. Forth, Masculinity in the Modern West: Gender, Civilization, and the Body (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 169–­200. 12. Paul Jobling, Man Appeal: Advertising, Modernism, and Menswear (Oxford: Berg, 2005), 90–­93. 13. James Buzzard, “Mass Observation, Modernity, and Auto-­Ethnography,” Mod­ ernism/Modernity 4, no. 3 (1997): 93–­122; and Nick Hubble, Mass-­Observation and Everyday Life: Culture, History, Theory (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006). 14. James Hinton, The Mass Observers: A History, 1937–­1949 (Oxford: Oxford Uni­ versity Press, 2013), 61–­88. 15. Emma Vickers, Queen and Country: Same-­Sex Desire in the British Armed Forces, 1939–­45 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2013). 16. Jonathan Ned Katz, The Invention of Heterosexuality, 2nd ed. (Chicago: Univer­ sity of Chicago Press, 2007), 83–­112. 17. McKibbin, Classes and Cultures, 503. 18. Bingham, Family Newspapers?, 16. 19. Lisa Z. Sigel, Making Modern Love: Sexual Narratives and Identities in Interwar Britain (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2012), 3. 20. On this shift, see Stefan Schwarzkopf, “Consumer Communication as Commo­d­ ity: British Advertising Agencies and the Global Market for Advertising, 1780–­1980,” in Consuming Behaviours: Identity, Politics, and Pleasure in Twentieth-­Century Britain, ed. Erika Rappaport, Sandra Trudgen Dawson, and Mark J. Crowley (London: Blooms­ bury, 2015), 123–­24. See also Jobling, Man Appeal, 11–­12; and Lynda Nead, Victorian Babylon: People, Streets, and Images in Nineteenth-­Century London (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000), 58.

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21. Jobling, Man Appeal, 6, 28. 22. T. R. Nevett, Advertising in Britain: A History (London: Heinemann, 1982), 150–­ 52; and Jobling, Man Appeal, 35–­57. 23. Laura Ugolini, Men and Menswear: Sartorial Consumption in Britain, 1880–­1939 (Burlington: Ashgate Publishing, 2007). 24. On circulation figures, see Bingham, Family Newspapers?, 32. For examples of Picture Post advertisements, see “Give Me Nufix,” Picture Post 3, no. 2 (April 15, 1939): 7; and “My First Shave with a Remington—­the Smoothest I’ve Ever Had!,” Picture Post 2, no. 8 (February 25, 1939): 8. 25. The Health Doctor, Health Beauty: A Practical Text-­Book on How to Guard Fam­ ily Health and Preserve Beauty (London: Lever Brothers, Ltd., ca. 1920–­29), 5. For a summary of eugenics, see Lucy Bland and Lesley A. Hall, “Eugenics in Britain: The View from the Metropole,” in The Oxford Handbook of the History of Eugenics, ed. Alison Bashford and Philippa Levine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 213–­27. 26. Health Doctor, Health Beauty, 13, 19, 28. 27. “Cut Your Own Hair,” Tit-­Bits, no. 2026 (August 14, 1920): 485. 28. “Long Life Blades of Sheffield’s New Steel . . . ,” Manchester Guardian, July 26, 1926, 5. 29. Erika Rappaport, A Thirst for Empire: How Tea Shaped the Modern World (Prince­ ton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2017), 224, 234–­37, 244–­52. 30. Biographical details are drawn from a website on Crich Parish in Yorkshire, ac­ cessed June 24, 2020, http://www.crichparish-­ww1.co.uk/ww1webpages/godfreyfred erick.html. 31. “Great National ‘Hair’ Week,” Tit-­Bits, no. 2534 (May 24, 1930): 360. 32. On this process in a colonial setting, see Timothy Burke, Lifebuoy Men, Lux Women: Commodification, Consumption, and Cleanliness in Modern Zimbabwe (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1996), 17–­62. 33. On ideas of mobility in this period, see Matt Houlbrook, Prince of Tricksters: The Incredible True Story of Netley Lucas, Gentleman Crook (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 50–­56. 34. Lori Anne Loeb, Consuming Angels: Advertising and Victorian Women (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 75. 35. “Kotalko’s Triumph as a Hair Grower,” Tit-­Bits, no. 2522 (March 1, 1930): 788. 36. “Baldness and Other Hair Troubles,” Picture Post 1, no. 5 (October 29, 1938): 71. 37. “Brylcreem Makes a Tidy Difference,” Picture Post 3, no. 1 (April 8, 1939): 60. 38. “Get Ahead of the ‘Danger Curve,’” Picture Post 4, no. 3 ( July 22, 1939): 9. 39. “Difficult Chins,” Picture Post 2, no. 11 (March 11, 1939): 83. 40. “Germolene Ended His Facial Disfigurement,” Tit-­Bits, no. 3021 (September 23, 1939): 31. 41. On this, see Zweiniger-­Bargielowska, Managing the Body, 196–­206. 42. “Let Me Build You a Virile New Body,” Tit-­Bits, no. 3010 ( July 8, 1939): 27. 43. “A Skinny Man Hasn’t a Chance . . . ,” Woman and Beauty, May 1935, 6. 44. Zweiniger-­Bargielowska, Managing the Body, 215–­23. Women were instructed to maintain their shapes, as well. See Dyhouse, Glamour, 38. 45. “We Make Our Bow,” Hairtinting and Beauty Culture 1, no. 1 (March 1, 1926): 5. 46. Gilbert A. Foan, “Hairdressing’s Future,” Hairtinting and Beauty Culture 1, no. 2 (March 15, 1926): 17.

n ot es to pag es 17 3 – 17 9   ‹ 366

47. Gilbert A. Foan, “The Gents’ Trade—­Some Figures, Facts, and Fallacies,” Hair­ dresser and Beauty Trade: The Exchange of the Hairdressing and Beauty Culture Industry 1, no. 8 (December 9 1932): 18. 48. “The Cult of Style,” Style for Men: The Men’s Wear Organiser, March 1935, 169. 49. On this in relation to home decorating, see Deborah Cohen, Household Gods: The British and Their Possessions (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2006), 125–­36. 50. “They Were Alike as Three P’s,” Hairdresser and Beauty Trade 1, no. 8 (Decem­ ber 9, 1932): 33. 51. “When the B.B.C. Announcer Broadcasts the Cup Final . . . ,” Hairdresser and Beauty Trade 9, no. 8 (April 23, 1937): 21. 52. “‘Selphast’ Shopfittings,” Style for Men, April 1932, 236. 53. “Male Polish—­D’You Sell It?,” Style for Men, January 1939, 17. 54. “The Modern Line,” Style for Men, April 1935, 321. 55. “Men’s Clothing Exhibition,” Times, March 16, 1923, 9; and Hairdressers’ Whole­ salers’ Association, Ltd., Minute Books (1931–­34 and 1937–­39), LMA, MS 16/653/3 and MS 16/653/7. For other examples, see “Minutes of Monthly Meeting Held on Wednes­ day, 6th December, 1922,” London Chamber of Commerce: Perfumery Manufacturers Section Minute Book, 1921–­25, LMA, MS 16/706/3; and File on Daily Sketch Beauty Exhibition (1927), London County Council, Holland Park Hall, LMA, AR/TH/3/13. 56. Paul Glaus, “Shampoos: Wet, Dry, and Oil—­VI. Hair Brushing and Dressing,” Hairdressers’ Weekly Journal 54, no. 2764 (April 13, 1935): 1838–­39; and “As a Mascu­ line Vogue,” Supplement to the Hairdressers’ Weekly Journal, May 4, 1935, inside back cover. 57. “Gentlemen’s Hair Styles,” Hairdressers’ Weekly Journal 59, no. 3028 (May 4, 1940): 1003. 58. “A Style Chart of Summer Sports,” Style for Men, March 1932, 158–­59. 59. “Institute of Trichologists (Inc.),” Hairdressers’ Weekly Journal 48, no. 2492 ( Jan­ uary 25, 1930): 292, 289. 60. Sparling Cut Male 1, no. 5 (1926): 22, JJC BL, Men’s Clothes 5(2). 61. “The Mere Man’s Toilet,” Manchester Guardian, March 9, 1929, 5. 62. On earlier services, see Erika Diane Rappaport, Shopping  for Pleasure: Women in the Making of London’s West End (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000), 171–­72; and Brent Shannon, The Cut of His Coat: Men, Dress, and Consumer Culture in Britain, 1860–­1914 (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2006), 64–­74. 63. Cover, Harrods News, October 18, 1920, HA. 64. Cover, Harrods News, October 15, 1923, HA. 65. “Personality in Men’s Wear,” Harrods News, September 19, 1921, 23, HA. 66. “Underwear for Men,” Harrods News, September 17, 1923, 25, HA. 67. “Clothes for Course and Court,” Harrods News, April 16, 1928, 5, HA. 68. Harrods for Everything (London: Harrods Ltd., 1911), vii; and Rappaport, Shopping for Pleasure, 171–­72. 69. “A Great Week in the Men’s Shop,” Harrods Advertising Insert (October 24, 1932), HA. 70. F. C. Borer, “Jottings for the Month,” Harrodian Gazette 18, no. 10 (November 1930): 448, HA. 71. “Your Appearance Is Important!,” Harrodian Gazette 18, no. 6 ( June 1930): 283, HA. 72. PF, “Opinion-­Forming (Fashion)” (May 15, 1940), Folder 2A “Personal Appearance and Clothes,” MOA, SxMOA 1/2/18/2/F/1.

n ot es to pag es 17 9 – 185   › 367

73. Roger Horrocks, Male Myths and Icons: Masculinity in Popular Culture (New York: Saint Martin’s Press, 1995), 16–­18. 74. Dyhouse, Glamour, 51–­54. 75. “The Arrival of Robert Taylor,” Observer, August 29, 1937, 13. 76. On one depiction of men in film, see Angus McLaren, Playboys and Mayfair Men: Crime, Class, Masculinity, and Fascism in 1930s London (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Uni­ versity Press, 2017), 166–­68. 77. Arranged by Draycot M. Dell, Cinema Stars: More than 200 Photographs of the Most Famous Film Players of the World (London: Fleetway Press, 1915), 22. 78. On aspects of his career, see Martin Francis, “Cecil Beaton’s Romantic Toryism and the Symbolic Economy of Wartime Britain,” Journal of British Studies 45, no. 1 (2006): 90–­117. 79. “A Lasting Souvenir of  Your Film Favorites,” Film Star Weekly and Girls’ Cinema 1, no. 1 (November 26, 1932): 6. 80. “Compliments and Criticism: A Column of Personal Views,” Film Star Weekly and Girls’ Cinema 1, no. 10 ( January 28, 1933): 23. 81. Keith Vaughan (KV), August 2, 1940, Keith Vaughan Journals (KVJ), vol. 3 (3) ( July 13–­August 9, 1940), Folio 03118, TGA, 200817/1/3. 82. Long Distance Shots at the Stars (London: Hatchard and Co., 1939), 5. 83. “Melodrama at Drury Lane: ‘Sanders of the River,’” Observer, June 5, 1938, 8. 84. R.H., “‘Little Africa’ in London: A Film of  Paul Robeson,” Manchester Guardian, October 10, 1934, 20. 85. Judith R. Walkowitz, Nights Out: Life in Cosmopolitan London (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012), 229–­46. 86. Yvonne Cloud, “Soho,” Picture Post 2, no. 12 (March 25, 1939): 21. 87. Barbara Scott Jordan to John Gielgud (ca. 1936–­37), JGP, BL, ADD 81313. 88. Elizabeth Wall to John Gielgud (ca. 1936–­37), JGP, BL, ADD 81313. 89. John Broom, A History of Cigarette and Trade Cards: The Magic Inside the Packet (Barnsley: Pen and Sword, 2018), 1–­10. On the role of these material artifacts, see Tom Mole, What the Victorians Made of Romanticism: Material Artifacts, Cultural Practices, and Reception History (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2017); and Geoffrey J. Giles, “Through Cigarette Cards to Manliness: Building German Character with an In­ formal Curriculum,” in Gender, Colonialism, and Education: The Politics of Experience, ed. Joyce Goodman and Jane Martin (London: Frank Cass, 2002), 73–­96. 90. R & J Hill, “Famous Cricketers” Series (1923). The cigarette cards discussed here and below are all from the author’s personal collection. 91. “Ivor Novello (#19)” and “Ralph Forbes (#12),” Will’s Cigarettes Cinema Stars: 1st Series of 25. 92. “Over-­Forty Fitness,” Picture Post 2, no. 4 ( January 28, 1939): 45–­48. 93. “Sea Life Guards,” Picture Post 4, no. 6 (August 12, 1939): 32–­33. 94. Justin Bengry, “Courting the Pink Pound: Men Only and the Queer Consumer, 1935–­39,” History Workshop Journal 68, no. 1 (2009): 122–­48; Jill Greenfield, Sean O’Connell, and Chris Reid, “Fashioning Masculinity: Men Only, Consumption, and the Development of Marketing in the 1930s,” Twentieth Century British History 10, no. 4 (1999): 457–­76; and Jobling, Man Appeal, 59–­76. 95. On early female models, see Valerie Mende and Amy de la Hoye, Fashion since 1900, 2nd ed. (London: Thames and Hudson, 2010), 60. 96. “German Fashion Show,” Times, November 18, 1920, 11.

n ot es to pag es 185 – 191   ‹ 368

97. “More about Male Mannequins,” Sartorial Gazette 46, no. 549 (September 1939): 315. 98. “Men and Mannequin,” Sartorial Gazette 46, no. 548 (August 1939): 277. 99. “More about Male Mannequins,” Sartorial Gazette 46, no. 549, 315. 100. “Men’s Merchandise Display” (May 9, 1939), Clothing/Fashions (1919–­39), B663, Folder Marked “Fashion-­Men Only,” DHC, NMM. 101. “Report by Mass Observation on Personal Appearance, Part I: Hands, Face, and Hair” ( July 1939), MOA, 1–­2, File A 21 7.39. 102. “Mass Observation: Clothes for Men (May 1939),” Topic Collection: Personal Appearance and Clothes, MOA, 18/2/5. 103. “Report by Mass Observation on Personal Appearance, Part I,” 7. 104. The comments are Bronislaw Malinowski’s, cited in Gary Cross, “Introduction: Mass-­Observation and Worktowners at Play,” in Worktowners at Blackpool: Mass-­ Observation and Popular Leisure in the 1930s, ed. Gary Cross (London: Routledge, 1990), 4. On class, see Peter Gurney, “‘Intersex’ and ‘Dirty Girls’: Mass-­Observation and Working-­Class Sexuality in England in the 1930s,” Journal of the History of Sexuality 8, no. 2 (1997): 256–­90; and Hinton, The Mass Observers, 62, 270–­72. 105. Respondent no. 1118, “Response to April 1939 Directive on Personal Appearance” (hereafter “Response”) (April 1939), MOA-­MOAO, accessed in September 2014, https://www.massobservation.amdigital.co.uk/. 106. Respondent no. 1404, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 107. “Report on Clothes ( July 13, 1939),” 4, Folder on Personal Appearance and Clothes, MOA, SxMOA 1/2/18/1/F, Folder 1/C. 108. “Report on Clothes (by C.) (April 22, 1939),” 2, Folder on Personal Appearance and Clothes, MOA, SxMOA 1/2/18/F/1, Folder 2/F. 109. On the relationship between M-­O and the popularization of psychology, see Thomson, Psychological Subjects, 244–­47. 110. Respondent no, 1129, “Response” (April 19, 1939), MOA-­MOAO. 111. Joanna Bourke, Dismembering the Male: Men’s Bodies, Britain, and the Great War (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 199–­209; and Zweiniger-­Bargielowska, Managing the Body, 223–­35. 112. Respondent no. 1108, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 113. Respondent no. 1122, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 114. Respondent no. 1151, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 115. Ross McKibbin, The Ideologies of Class: Social Relations in Britain, 1880–­1950 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), 231. 116. “Extracts on Shaving (October 12, 1937),” Folder on Personal Appearance and Clothes, 2–­3, MOA, SxMOA/1/2/18/2/F/1/, Folder 2F. 117. “Extracts on Shaving,” 4. 118. Respondent no. 1235, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 119. Respondent no. 1200, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 120. Respondent (Assistant Buyer/Salesman, Stanmore, Middlesex), “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 121. Respondent no. 1178, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 122. “Beauty Culture for Males: Sunburnt Hair,” Manchester Guardian, September 20 1937, 6. 123. Justin Bengry, “Courting the Pink Pound”; Matt Houlbrook, Queer London: Perils and Pleasures in the Sexual Metropolis, 1918–­1957 (Chicago: University of Chicago

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Press, 2005), 139–­66, and “‘The Man with the Powder Puff ’ in Interwar London,” Historical Journal 50, no. 1 (2007): 145–­71. 124. Respondent no. 1190, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 125. Respondent no. 1103, “Response” (April 27, 1939), MOA-­MOAO. 126. Respondent no. 1161, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 127. Respondent no. 1208, “Response” (n.d.), and Respondent 1225, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 128. Respondent no. 1324, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 129. Respondent no. 1312, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 130. Respondent no. 1337, “Response” (April 23, 1939), MOA-­MOAO. 131. Respondent no. 1108. 132. Respondent no. 1328, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 133. Respondent no. 1151. 134. Respondent no. 1206, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 135. On Dillon, see Pagan Kennedy, The First Man-­Made Man: The Story of Two Sex Changes, One Love Affair, and a Twentieth-­Century Medical Revolution (New York: Bloomsbury, 2007). 136. Respondent no. 1206. 137. Respondent no. 1194, “Response” (n.d.), MOA-­MOAO. 138. Martin Francis, The Flyer: British Culture and the Royal Air Force, 1939–­1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). 139. Sonya O. Rose, Which People’s War? National Identity and Citizenship in Britain, 1939–­1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 151–­96. 140. See “American Troops Here,” Manchester Guardian, June 22, 1942, 5; and “Amer­ ican Troops: A Manchester Parade,” Manchester Guardian, September 5, 1942, 3. For elements of this history, see Barbara G. Friedman, From the Battlefront to the Bridal Suite: Media Coverage of British War Brides, 1942–­1946 (Columbia: University of Mis­ souri Press, 2007), 52–­58. 141. Wendy Webster, Mixing It: Diversity in World War Two Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 197–­222. 142. Jobling, Man Appeal, 109. 143. Quoted in Tim Fulford, “Sighing for a Soldier: Jane Austen and Military Pride and Prejudice,” Nineteenth-­Century Literature 57, no. 2 (2002): 64. 144. Webster, Mixing It. 145. On popular photography, see Penny Tinkler, Smoke Signals: Women, Smoking, and Visual Culture (Oxford: Berg, 2006), 155–­84. 146. “Brylcreem Your Hair,” Picture Post 8, no. 1 ( July 6, 1940): 6. 147. “Handsome, Courageous, Smart, and Bright . . . ,” Picture Post 8, no. 2 ( July 13, 1940): 3. 148. “He Swings into Action,” Picture Post 5, no. 6 (November 11, 1939): 59; and Francis, Flyer, 14–­31. 149. “This Means Good Fortune . . . ,” Picture Post 7, no. 7 (May 18, 1940): 4. 150. The contested nature of the “People’s War” is discussed in Rose, Which People’s War?, 1–­28. See also Angus Calder, The Myth of the Blitz (London: Jonathan Cape, 1991); and Lucy Noakes, War and the British: Gender, Memory, and National Identity (London: I. B. Tauris, 1998). 151. “Did you maclean your Teeth To-­day?,” Picture Post 5, no. 3 (October 1939): 5. 152. “Brylcreem if Your Hair Is ‘All at Sea,’” Picture Post 8, no. 6 (August 10, 1940): 4.

n ot es to pag es 19 6 – 199   ‹ 370

153. “Men of Action Need Brylcreem,” Picture Post 6, no. 11 (March 16, 1940): 52. 154. “Smartness Counts . . . ,” Picture Post 6, no. 9 (March 2, 1940): 54. 155. On aspects of Lifebuoy marketing in Africa, see Burke, Lifebuoy Men. 156. “Hi, Chums! Lifebuoy Toilet Soap,” Picture Post 16, no. 9 (August 29, 1942): 2. 157. “You Can’t Fight Infection for Him . . . ,” Picture Post 6, no. 7 (February 17, 1940): 2. 158. For examples, see James Hinton, Women, Social Leadership, and the Second World War: Continuities of Class (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002); Noakes, War and the British; Rose, Which People’s War?; and Penny Summerfield, Reconstructing Women’s Lives: Discourse and Subjectivity in Oral Histories of the Second World War (Man­ chester: Manchester University Press, 1998). 159. “Valet Autostrop Safety Razor,” Picture Post 5, no. 8 (November 25, 1939): 14. 160. “Why, Jim! You’re Going Thin on Top!,” Picture Post 7, no. 2 (April 13, 1940): 6. 161. Houlbrook, Queer London, 190–­94. On this history see, Marcus Collins, Modern Love: Personal Relationships in Twentieth-­Century Britain (Newark: University of Dela­ ware Press, 2006); and Claire Langhamer, The English in Love: The Intimate Story of an Emotional Revolution (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). 162. Eric Newton, ed., War through Artists’ Eyes: Paintings and Drawings by British War Artists (London: John Murray, 1945), 7. 163. Newton, 10. 164. Newton, 50. 165. “War Artist at Work,” Picture Post 8, no. 13 (September 28, 1940): 26. 166. Samuel Gorley Putt, Men Dressed as Seamen (illustrated by Roger Furse) (Lon­ don: Christophers, 1943). 167. Cover image, Picture Post 8, no. 9 (August 31, 1940): cover. 168. Chris Waters, “Disorders of the Mind, Disorders of the Body Social: Peter Wilde­ blood and the Making of the Modern Homosexual,” in Moments of Modernity: Recon­ structing Britain, 1945–­1964, ed. Becky Conekin, Frank Mort, and Chris Waters (London: Rivers Oram, 1999), 134–­51; and “The Homosexual as Social Being in Britain, 1945–­ 1968,” in British Queer History: New Approaches and Perspectives, ed. Brian Lewis (Man­ chester: Manchester University Press, 2013), 188–­218. 169. KV, June 1, 1940, KVJ, vol. 3 (2) (May 16, 1940–­July 5, 1940), Folio 0359, TGA, 200817/1/3. 170. Biographical details are drawn from my own reading of the journals and the fol­ lowing sources: Kenneth Garlick, “Vaughan, ( John) Keith (1912–­1977), Painter and Book Illustrator,” (revised), Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, accessed October 12, 2015, http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/31784; and Philip Vann and Gerard Hastings, Keith Vaughan (Farnham: Lund Humphries, 2012). 171. Vann and Hastings, Keith Vaughan, 9. 172. On Tuke, see Paul R. Deslandes, “Exposing, Adorning, and Dressing the Body in the Modern Era,” in Routledge History of Sex and the Body, 1500 to the Present, ed. Sarah Toulalan and Kate Fisher (London: Routledge, 2013), 186–­89; and Jongwoo Jeremy Kim, “Naturalism, Labour and Homoerotic Desire: Henry Scott Tuke,” in Brit­ish Queer History, 39–­62. On Cézanne’s influence, see Vann and Hastings, Keith Vaughan, 20. 173. KV, March 4, 1946, KVJ, vol. 31 (March 4–­October 31, 1946), No Folio Number, TGA, 200817/1/31, and February 6, 1940, KVJ, vol 2. (October 26–­March 31, 1940), Folio 0240, TGA, 200817/1/2.

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174. Gerard Hastings, Keith Vaughan: The Photographs (Pagham: Pagham Press, 2013), 17. 175. Two Figures by the Shore (ca. 1940), in Vann and Hastings, Keith Vaughan, 152. 176. Vann and Hastings, Keith Vaughan, 149. 177. Vann and Hastings, 158. 178. Vann and Hastings, 150–­51. 179. On baths, see Houlbrook, Queer London, 93–­108. For an account of bath patron­ age, see “An Exile’s Life,” in Between the Acts: Lives of Homosexual Men, 1885–­1967, ed. Jeffrey Weeks and Kevin Porter (London: Rivers Oram, 1998), 163. 180. KV, April 4, 1940, KVJ, vol. 3 (1) (April 4–­August 9, 1940), Folio 034, TGA, 200817/1/3. 181. KV, August 30, 1939, KVJ, vol. 1 (August 24–­October 25, 1940), Folio 0110, TGA, 200817/1/1. 182. KV, October 1, 1939, KVJ, vol. 1, Folio, 0123. 183. KV, January 31, 1940, KVJ vol. 2, Folio 0226. 184. KV, May 9, 1940, KVJ, vol. 3 (1), Folio 0349. 185. KV, August 23, 1940, KVJ, vol. 4 (August 11–­December 1940), Folio 0440, TGA, 200817/1/4. 186. KV, December 7, 1940, KVJ, vol. 4, Folio 0452. 187. KV, January 21, 1944, KVJ, vol. 18 (December 25, 1943–­February 12, 1944), Folios 185–­186, TGA, 20817/1/18. 188. KV, May 19, 1944, KVJ, vol. 21 (May 19, 1944–­June 16, 1944), Folio 212, TGA, 200817/1/21. 189. KV, January 12, 1941, KVJ, vol. 5 ( January 3–­April 24, 1941), Folio 0153, TGA, 200817/1/5. 190. KV, July 5, 1941, KVJ, vol. 6 (May 13–­August 29, 1941), Folio 0616, TGA, 20817/1/6. 191. KV, March 24, 1944, KVJ, vol. 19 (February 12, 1944–­March 24, 1944), Folios 1919–­1920, TGA, 200817/1/19. 192. KV, May 16, 1942, KVJ, vol. 10 (April 25–­May 21, 1942), Folio 0815, TGA, 200817/1/10. 193. KV, October 30, 1941, KVJ, vol. 7 (August 30, 1941–­November 3, 1941), Folios 0729–­0730, TGA, 200817/1/7. 194. KV, July 2, 1942, KVJ, vol. 11 (May 23–­July 2, 1942), Folio 1116, TGA, 200817/1/11.

Chapter Six 1. On this history, see Mark Donnelly, Sixties Britain (Harlow: Pearson, 2005), 28–­ 34; Paul Jobling, Advertising Menswear: Masculinity and Fashion in the British Media since 1945 (London: Bloomsbury, 2014), 15–­32; and Ina Zweiniger-­Bargielowska, Aus­ terity in Britain: Rationing, Controls, and Consumption, 1939–­1955 (Oxford: Oxford Uni­ versity Press, 2000). 2. On this in the United States, see Lynne Luciano, Looking Good: Male Body Image in Modern America (New York: Hill and Wang, 2001). On male consumers and teenage markets, in particular, see Jobling, Advertising Menswear, 70–­84. On queer markets, see, Justin Bengry, “Peacock Revolution: Mainstreaming Queer Styles in Post-­War Britain, 1945–­1967,” Socialist History, no. 36 (2010): 55–­68, and “Who Is the Queer Consumer? Historical Perspectives on Capitalism and Homosexuality,” in Con­suming Behaviours: Identity, Politics, and Pleasure in Twentieth-­Century Britain,

n ot es to pag es 20 6 – 207   ‹ 372

ed. Erika Rappaport, Sandra Trudgen Dawson, and Mark J. Crowley (London: Blooms­ bury, 2015), 21–­36; Shaun Cole, “Don We Now Our Gay Apparel”: Gay Men’s Dress in the Twentieth Century (Oxford: Berg, 2000); Matt Houlbrook, Queer London: Perils and Pleasures in the Sexual Metropolis, 1918–­1957 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005), 68–­92; and Clare Lomas, “‘Men Don’t Wear Velvet You Know!’: Fashionable Gay Masculinity and the Shopping Experience, London, 1950-­Early 1970s,” in The Men’s Fashion Reader, ed. Peter McNeil and Vicki Karaminas (Oxford: Berg, 2009), 168–­78. 3. On this tendency in British culture, see Becky E. Conekin, The Autobiography of a Nation: The 1951 Festival of Britain (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2003), 46–­79. On advertising at this time, see Frank Mort, Culture of Consumption: Masculin­ ities and Social Space in Late Twentieth-­Century Britain (London: Routledge, 1996), 128–­33. 4. Respondent no. L2393, “Response to Spring 2001 Directive, Part One: Hair and Hairdressing (May 11, 2001),” MOA, SxMOA2/1/62/1/1/108. 5. On elements of this, see Cole, “Don We Now Our Gay Apparel,” 71; Paul R. Des­ landes, “Health and Hygiene: Meanings, Images, and Politics,” in A Cultural History of Hair, vol. 6, ed. Geraldine Biddle-­Perry (London: Bloomsbury, 2019), 99; and Frank Mort, Cultures of Consumption: Masculinities and Social Space in Late Twentieth-­Century Britain (London: Routledge, 1996), 137. 6. London Press Exchange, Ltd., The London Press Exchange, Ltd. and Its Associated Companies (London: London Press Exchange, Ltd., 1950), 3. 7. Bengry, “Peacock Revolution.” 8. A. Rosset (Marcel Rochas), “For Men,” Guardian, November 17, 1964, 13. 9. For an overview on marketing, see Thomas A. B. Corley, “Consumer Marketing in Britain, 1914–­1960,” Business History 29, no. 4 (1987): 65–­83. For a general history and case studies, see Hartmut Berghoff, Philip Scranton, and Uwe Spiekerman, eds., The Rise of Modern Market Research (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012). For specific manifestations, see Jobling, Advertising Menswear, 60–­64; and Erika Rappaport, A Thirst for Empire: How Tea Shaped the Modern World (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Uni­ versity Press, 2017), 280–­90, 369–­73. 10. Mark Abrams, The Teenage Consumer (London: London Press Exchange, Ltd., 1959), 10. 11. On conditions, generally, see Donnelly, Sixties, 22–­34. For a contemporary study of market expansion, see Pearl and Dean, Ltd., The Young Market—­1971: A Definitive Report and Analysis of Teenagers in Great Britain (London: Pearl and Dean, Ltd., 1971). On consumption and youth culture, see Rappaport, Thirst for Empire, 383–­85. This area of study emerged in the sixties as scholars began to pay more attention to what was re­ ferred to as subcultures (particularly those associated with youth). The classic study is Dick Hebdige, Subculture: The Meaning of Style (London: Methuen, 1979). 12. For a contemporary view, see Peter Laurie, The Teenage Revolution (London: Anthony Bland, 1965). For general histories, see David Fowler, Youth Culture in Modern Britain, c. 1920–­1970: From Ivory Tower to Global Movement—­A New History (Basing­ stoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008); and Arthur Marwick, The Sixties: Cultural Revo­ lution in Britain, France, Italy, and the United States, c. 1958–­c. 1974 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 67–­80. On specific features of this culture, see Adrian Horn, Juke Box Britain: Americanisation and Youth Culture, 1945–­60 (Manchester: Manches­ ter University Press, 2009); and Penny Tinkler, “Teenagers, Photography, and Self-­ Fashioning, 1956–­65,” in Consuming Behaviours, 87–­101.

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13. On elements of this transition in fashion, see Cole, “Don We Now Our Gay Apparel,” 71–­81. 14. On the postwar Western world, see Christopher E. Forth, Masculinity in the Mod­ ern West: Gender, Civilization, and the Body (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 201–­28. 15. Eve Perrick, “The Ten Most Unbeautiful Men,” Daily Mail, November 28, 1958, 4; and “One Dozen Dreamboats,” Daily Mail, December 12, 1958, 4. 16. Physique magazines are fairly well studied in the American context, less so in the British. On the US, see David K. Johnson, “Physique Pioneers: The Politics of 1960s Gay Consumer Culture,” Journal of Social History 43, no. 4 (2010): 867–­92, and Buying Gay: How Physique Entrepreneurs Sparked a Movement (New York Columbia University Press, 2019); Kenneth Krauss, Male Beauty: Postwar Masculinity in Theater, Film, and Physique Magazines (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2014), 205–­73; and Thomas Waugh, Hard to Imagine: Gay Male Eroticism in Photography and Film from Their Beginnings to Stonewall (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996), 176–­283. On Britain, see Rupert Smith, Physique: The Life of  John S. Barrington (London: Serpent’s Tail, 1997). 17. See Donnelly, Sixties, 28–­45; Tinkler, “Teenagers”; and Selina Todd and Hilary Young, “Baby-­Boomers to ‘Beanstalkers’: Making the Modern Teenager in Post-­War Britain, Cultural and Social History 9, no. 3 (2012): 451–­67. 18. See Marwick, The Sixties, 417–­21, and It: A History of Human Beauty (London: Hambledon and London, 2004), 200–­206. For more nuance, see Becky E. Conekin, “Eugene Vernier and Vogue Models in Early ‘Swinging London’: Creating the Fashion­able Look of the 1960s,” WSQ: Women’s Studies Quarterly 41, nos. 1–­2 (2013): 89–­107. 19. On shifts in sexual attitudes, see Frank Mort, Capital Affairs: London and the Making of the Permissive Society (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010). On psychology and new views of sexuality, see Ivan Crozier, “(De-­)Constructing Sexual Kinds since 1750,” in Routledge History of Sex and the Body: 1500 to the Present, ed. Sarah Toulalan and Kate Fisher (London: Routledge, 2013), 142–­60; Liz Stanley, Sex Sur­ veyed, 1949–­1994: From Mass Observation’s “Little Kinsey” to the National Survey and the Hite Reports (London: Taylor and Francis, 1995), 158; Mathew Thomson, Psychological Subjects: Identity, Culture, and Health in Twentieth-­Century Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006); and Chris Waters, “Disorders of the Mind, Disorders of the Body Social: Peter Wildeblood and the Making of the Modern Homosexual,” in Mo­ ments of Modernity: Reconstructing Britain, 1945–­1964, ed. Becky Conekin, Frank Mort, and Chris Waters (London: Rivers Oram, 1999), 141. For a summary of some approaches to the history of heterosexuality, see George Robb, “Marriage and Reproduction,” in Palgrave Advances in the Modern History of Sexuality, ed. H. G. Cocks and Matt Houl­ brook (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), 87–­108. 20. On gender performance, see Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (London: Routledge, 1990), 24–­25, 134–­39. On the popularity of the pin-­up in this period, see Adrian Bingham, Family Newspapers? Sex, Private Life, and the British Popular Press, 1918–­1978 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 201–­ 27. On this in queer culture, see Richard Hornsey, The Spiv and the Architect: Unruly Life in Postwar London (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2010), 199–­200. 21. For a (primarily) American perspective, see Susan Bordo, The Male Body: A New Look at Men in Public and in Private (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1999), 153–­225.

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22. See “Festival Fun-­Fair: To Be Open in Time for Whitsuntide,” Manchester Guardian, April 26, 1951, 5; “Festival Gardens ‘Look Good’,” Manchester Guardian, May 28, 1951, 5; and Conekin, Autobiography, 203–­23. 23. Conekin, Autobiography, 205. 24. Contract between Festival Gardens Limited and Automatic Hair Cream Vending Machines (April 25, 1951), LMA, FGL/310. 25. Marwick, Sixties, 80. 26. Frank Mort, “The Commercial Domain: Advertising and the Cultural Manage­ ment of Demand,” in Moments of Modernity, 75. See also Jobling, Advertising Menswear, 60–­69. 27. London Press Exchange, Ltd., The London Press Exchange, Ltd. and Its Associated Companies, 3. 28. Frederick Radford, “Report on Publicity for the Hairdressing Manufacturers’ and Wholesalers’ Association ( June 11, 1957),” Hairdressing Exhibition of Great Britain (1959)—­Press Cuttings, LMA, MS 16/655/1. 29. See Hairdressing Exhibition of Great Britain (1959)—­Press Cuttings; and National Festival of Hairdressing Exhibition (1957)—­Press Cuttings, LMA, MS 16/655/2. 30. “The Perfected Shave,” Picture Post 33, no. 1 (October 5, 1946): 5. 31. Jobling, Advertising Menswear, 66. 32. “Are People Shocked at Your Scurfy Hair?,” Picture Post 47, no. 9 (May 27, 1950): 58. 33. Christopher Oldstone-­Moore, Of Beards and Men: The Revealing History of Facial Hair (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 213–­34. 34. Denzil Batchelor, “The Only Beard in Football,” Picture Post 58, no. 5 ( January 31, 1953): 28. 35. “Beards Galore,” Picture Post 74, no. 6 (February 11, 1957): 28. 36. On symbolism, see Oldstone-­Moore, Of Beards and Men, 240. On bohemianism, see Mrs. V. Patrak, “Art, Not Beards,” Picture Post 72, no. 9 (September 1, 1956): 46. 37. “The Gift That Makes All the Difference,” Picture Post 73, no. 10 (December 10, 1956): 12. 38. “New Design for Good Grooming,” Observer, April 10, 1960, 7. 39. Barry Leonard, “Interview with Maureen Gregson,” Tit-­Bits, no. 4076 (April 18, 1964): 25. 40. “My Rashes and Pimples Went,” Tit-­Bits, no. 3634 ( July 2, 1955): 47. 41. Claire Langhamer, The English in Love: The Intimate Story of an Emotional Revo­ lution (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 3–­4, 9. 42. “‘Dateless Dave’ Clears Up His Problem . . . the Man’s Way!,” Tit-­Bits, no. 4140 ( July 10, 1965): 16. 43. “Short-­Back-­and-­Sides,” Picture Post 60, no. 10 (September 5, 1953): 6; and Caro­ line Cox, Good Hair Days: A History of British Hairstyling (London: Quartet Books, 1999), 189. 44. Respondent no. D1602, “Response to Spring 2001 Directive, Part One: Hair and Hairdressing (May 11, 2001),” MOA, SxMOA2/1/62/1/1/53. 45. “Not Just ‘Back and Sides’ Now: Multiplicity of Hair Styles for Men,” Manchester Guardian, March 16, 1954, 5. On 1957 and 1959, see National Festival of Hairdressing Exhibition, 1957—­Press Cuttings and Hairdressing Exhibition of Great Britain (1959)—­Press Cuttings. 46. “Brisk Business in Men’s Styles,” Hairdressers’ Journal 76, no. 3909 ( June 20, 1957): 29.

n ot es to pag es 215 – 218   › 375

47. “Dawn of a Golden Era in Men’s Service,” Hairdressers’ Journal 76, no. 3912 ( July 11, 1957): 42–­44; illustration on 44. See also “Professional Waving in the Men’s Salon,” Hairdressers’ Journal 76, no. 3941 ( July 25, 1957): 26–­29. 48. Eric Dunn, “Controlling the Personality,” Supplement to “Hairdressers’ Journal,” April 6, 1961, 45–­46. 49. “A Fabulous ‘Elephant Trunk’ Quiff,” (1956), British Pathé, accessed July 3, 2018, https://www.britishpathe.com/video/mens-­hair-­styles/query/teddy+boy+hair. 50. On “teddy boys,” see Marwick, The Sixties, 233–­34; and Mort, Capital Affairs, 86–­89. 51. Hugh Latimer, “The ‘Teddies,’” Observer, June 19, 1955, 14; “Miscellany,” Man­ chester Guardian, June 16, 1955, 5. 52. Cox, Good Hair Days, 189–­207. 53. The Diarist, “The Men’s Craft at War with Show Business,” Hairdressers’ Journal 84, no. 4293 ( January 8, 1965): 8–­9. 54. Robert James, “Mod Becomes Model,” Hairdressers’ Journal (Magazine Section), January 15, 1965, 2–­3. 55. Oldstone-­Moore, Of Beards and Men, 235–­56. 56. “Service Haircuts Criticized,” Times, April 4, 1961, 4. 57. “No Dole for a Man with Long Hair,” Times, September 9, 1964, 12. 58. “Schoolboy ‘Mohican’ Wears a Beret,” Times, March 31, 1960, 6. 59. Our Correspondent, “‘Son’s Hair Cut in Class’ Complaint,” Times, January 20, 1962, 5. 60. “Youth with Long Hair Wins Dole Fight,” Times, September 10, 1964, 6. 61. Our Correspondent, “Swimming Baths Ultimatum to Long-­Haired Youths,” Guardian, June 18, 1964, 4. 62. “College Ban on Long Hair,” Guardian, September 11, 1964, 9. 63. See, for instance, “Court Question of Youth’s Hair-­Cut,” Times, January 28, 1965, 8; “Haircut at School ‘Not Assault,’” Times, September 20, 1967, 3; and “Head Cuts Alan’s Hair So He Can Sit His GCE,” Daily Mirror, June 11, 1966, 9, Newspaper Clippings from the 1960s, LMA, LMA/4442/03/03/05/006. 64. See Marc Matera, Black London: The Imperial Metropolis and Decolonization in the Twentieth Century (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2015); Kathleen Paul, Whitewashing Britain: Race and Citizenship in the Postwar Era (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997); Kennetta Hammond Perry, London Is the Place for Me: Black Britons, Citizenship, and the Politics of Race (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015); and Chris Waters, “‘Dark Strangers’ in Our Midst: Discourses of Race and Nation in Britain, 1947–­1963,” Journal of British Studies 36, no. 2 (1997): 207–­38. 65. “‘Colour Bar’ Report by Hairdressers,” Guardian, November 24, 1960, 5; and “‘No Colour Bar’ at Hairdresser’s,” Guardian, July 6, 1968, 4. On the impact of migra­ tion and decolonization on the lived experience of everyday life see, Jordanna Bailkin, The Afterlife of Empire (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012). 66. From a Correspondent, “Where English Barbers Fail,” Times, October 1, 1960, 8. 67. The consumer culture of the 1950s from an immigrant perspective is discussed in Sam Selvon’s 1956 novel, The Lonely Londoners (New York: Saint Martin’s Press, 1956). 68. “Serving Coffee to a Haircutting Client” (1954); and “This Barber Shop Serves Beer” (1958), Men’s Hairdressing File, DHC, NMM. On the Upper Grosvenor Street establishment, see “Male Beauty Spot,” Observer, September 12, 1965, 36.

n ot es to pag es 218– 22 4   ‹ 376

69. Mort, Cultures of Consumption, 137; and Jobling, Advertising Menswear, 107, 144. 70. On Vince and Stephen, see Bengry, “Peacock Revolution,” 55–­68; Cole, “Don We Now Our Gay Apparel,” 71–­81; Alistair O’Neill, London—­A fter a Fashion (London: Reaktion Books, 2007), 127–­53; and Jeremy Reed, The King of Carnaby Street: The Life of  John Stephen (London: Haus Publishing, 2010). 71. See Sir Laurence Dunne, M.C., “Memorandum,” 2, Departmental Committee on Homosexual Offences and Prostitution, NA, HO 345/7; and British Medical Asso­ ciation, “Memorandum on Homosexuality and Prostitution” (November 1955), 8, DCOHOP, NA, HO 345/9. 72. Bengry, “Peacock Revolution,” 58–­61. 73. “For Men Only,” Observer, January 9, 1955, 5. 74. Bengry, “Peacock Revolution,” 59–­60; and Justin Bengry, “Films and Filming: The Making of a Queer Marketplace in Pre-­Decriminalisation Britain,” in British Queer History: New Approaches and Perspectives, ed. Brian Lewis (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2013), 244–­66. 75. On Ark, see https://flashbak.com/soho-­italianate-­gordon-­moores-­adverts-­for -­vince-­mans-­shop-­in-­ark-­magazine-­1957-­383388/, accessed June 25, 2020. 76. Vince Man’s Shop 1959, HCA, LSE, HCA Ephemera 1101. 77. Advertisement for Mars Menswear, Man Alive: The Magazine of Britain’s Top Physique Photographers, no. 11 (August/September 1960): 20–­21. On the bulge, see Bordo, The Male Body, 84–­104. 78. Reed, King, 50. 79. O’Neill, London 130. 80. “Publicity That Pays,” Style for Men, September 1961, 15, JSC, VAAAD, AAD/ 1998/5/1. 81. “Casual Column: So What Do They Wear Off-­Stage?,” Big Beat (1964), JSC, VAAAD, AAD 1998/5/3. 82. Bengry, “Peacock Revolution,” and “It Seems We Support the Peacock Look,” Chichester Observer, October 3, 1969, JSC, VAAAD, AAD 1998/5/12. 83. Advertisements for John Stephen of London appeared in What’s on in London, July 12, 1957, accessed June 25, 2020, http://www.paulgormanis.com/?p=6568. 84. Photograph of Stern Brothers Department Store Fashion Show (1966), JSC, VAAAD, AAD/1998/5/14. 85. See, for example, “Fancy a Highland Fling,” Kensington Post, August 2, 1968, JSC, VAAAD, AAD/1998/5/7. Stephen’s good looks and status as a celebrity designer was also discussed in “Dashing Designer,” Woman’s Magazine, January 4, 1964, JSC, VAAAD, AAD/2004/2/1. 86. Article on John Stephen, New York Herald Tribune, October 20, 1965. Quoted in O’Neill, London, 139. 87. This point was also made in “Inside Every Male Boutique . . . ,” She, January 1966, JSC, VAAAD, AAD/2004/2/2. 88. Interior shots of Stephen’s Scottish Highland Shop, London, JSC, VAAAD, AAD/2004/2/1. 89. T. W. Standwell to P. Vince, March 31, 1950, File on Bodybuilding, Diet, and Fitness, MOA, SxMOA1/2/12/16/C; and “Muscle-­Building” (advertisement for Max­ alding Books, Shepherdswell, Dover, Kent), Tit-­Bits, no. 3772 (April 19 1958): 45. 90. “How Wallflower Ron Walked Off with the Prettiest Rose!,” Tit-­Bits, no. 3758 ( January 11, 1958): 47.

n ot es to pag es 22 4 – 22 8   › 377

91. On concerns about middle-­age spread, see Ina Zweiniger-­Bargielowska, Manag­ ing the Body: Beauty, Health, and Fitness in Britain, 1880–­1939 (Oxford: Oxford Univer­ sity Press, 2010), 215–­23. 92. “Vita-­form,” Picture Post 70, no. 9 (March 3, 1956): 32; and advertisement for Lyle and Scott Underwear, Picture Post 67, no. 5 (April 30, 1955): 6. 93. Zweiniger-­Bargielowksa, Managing the Body, 212–­14. 94. See John D. Fair, “Oscar Heidenstam, the Mr. Universe Contest, and the Amateur Ideal in British Bodybuilding,” Twentieth Century British History 17, no. 3 (2006): 396–­423. 95. “Mr South Britain Date,” Health and Strength, March 9, 1950, 18, File on Body­ building, Diet, and Fitness, MOA. 96. Arthur Shuttlewood, “When Muscles Grow Too Big,” Picture Post 53, no. 2 (Octo­ ber 13, 1951): 13. 97. “Strong Men: As Two Women See Them,” Picture Post 52, no. 12 (September 22, 1951): 16. 98. Garry Saunders, “Body Business,” Picture Post 59, no. 8 (May 23, 1953): 33. 99. Johnson, Buying Gay, 30–­31. 100. On cinema attendance in its heyday, see Ross McKibbin, Classes and Cultures: England, 1918–­1951 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 419–­23. On the 1950s and 1960s, see Joanna Bourke, Working-­Class Cultures in Britain, 1890–­1960: Gender, Class, and Ethnicity (London: Routledge, 1994), 186–­87. 101. “The Perfect Man” (1941), British Pathé, accessed July 10, 2018, https://www .britishpathe.com/video/the-­perfect-­man/query/the+perfect+man. 102. “Britain Looks around for Mr. Apollo” (1950), British Pathé, accessed July 10, 2018, https://www.britishpathe.com/video/britain-­looks-­around-­for-­mr-­apollo/query /Mr+Apollo. 103. “Mr. and Miss Britain” (1954), British Pathé, accessed July 10, 2018, https://www .britishpathe.com/video/mr-­and-­miss-­britain/query/Mr+Britain. 104. “Meet Mr. Universe” (1963), British Pathé, accessed July 10, 2018, https://www .britishpathe.com/video/meet-­mr-­universe/query/Mr+Universe. 105. Jack Clayton, dir., A Room at the Top (1959). 106. Bengry, “Peacock Revolution.” 107. Hal Warner [Wally McMannis], “Why Are You Physique Conscious?,” Young Physique 1, no. 1 (November 1958): 17. The attribution to McMannis is found in Waugh, Hard to Imagine, 250. 108. Body Beautiful: Studies in Masculine Art 2, no. 1 (1956): cover. 109. On consumerism and social identity, see Johnson, Buying Gay. 110. Smith, Physique, 117, 121. 111. John S. Barrington, “Editorial,” Male Model Monthly, no. 1 (November 1954): 2. 112. Both Johnson and Waugh refer to these various forms of circumspection. See Johnson, “Physique Pioneers,” 873; and Waugh, Hard to Imagine, 219–­27. 113. On the use of this term to discuss sex between men, see Houlbrook, Queer London, xiii. 114. Waters, “Disorders of the Mind,” 138. 115. “. . . And Man was Made Alive,” Man Alive: The Magazine of Britain's Top Physique Photographers, no. 1 (1958): 1. 116. “Editorial,” Modern Adonis, no. 27 (October 1964): 2. On aesthetic types in the 1950s, see “What Do You Mean by Body Beautiful,” Body Beautiful 3, no. 3 ( January 1958?): 3, 60–­61.

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117. See Linda Dowling, Hellenism and Homosexuality in Victorian Oxford (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1994). 118. “. . . And Man Was Made Alive,” 1–­2. 119. John Barrington, “Editorial,” 2. 120. “Editorial,” Male Classics, no. 3 (Autumn 1957): 2. On this aspect of queer culture, see Matt Cook, London and the Culture of Homosexuality, 1885–­1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 33–­34. 121. Weider Publications, Ltd., “September 1957,” 1957 Calendar, HCA, LSE, HCA Ephemera. 122. “Freedom and Restraint” and “Classical and Modern,” Male Model Monthly, no. 1 (November 1954): 12–­13. 123. “John Walton by Scott,” Man Alive, no. 3 (1959): 3. 124. Cover image, Man Alive, no. 11 (August/September 1960). 125. On the appeal of California, see William R. Scott, “California Casual: Lifestyle Marketing and Men’s Leisure Wear, 1930–­1960,” in The Men’s Fashion Reader, ed. by Peter McNeil and Vicki Karaminas (Oxford: Berg, 2009), 153–­67. 126. Cover image, Man Alive, no. 8 ( January/February 1960): cover. 127. On this earlier in the century, see Houlbrook, Queer London, 85–­86. 128. On London cosmopolitanism, see Judith R. Walkowitz, Nights Out: Life in Cos­ mopolitan London (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012), 3–­8, 152–­53. There is a rich theoretical literature on this topic. For examples, see Garrett Wallace Brown and David Held, eds., The Cosmopolitanism Reader (Cambridge: Polity, 2010); and Pheng Cheah and Bruce Robbins, eds., Cosmopolitics: Thinking and Feeling beyond the Nation (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1998). 129. These tensions, in relation to the tea industry, are discussed in Rappaport, Thirst for Empire, 377. 130. “AMG,” Man Alive, no. 24 (n.d. [1960s]): 30–­31. 131. “Art Gallery,” Body Beautiful, no. 19 ( June 1963): 16–­19; image on 17. 132. See Forth, Masculinity in the Modern West, 141–­68; and E. M. Collingham, Im­ perial Bodies: The Physical Experience of the Raj, c. 1800–­1947 (Cambridge: Polity, 2001). 133. “Brian Lamprill,” Man Alive, no. 14 (May 1961): 27–­29. 134. “On Camera: Peter Dobing,” Body Beautiful, no. 16 (December 1961): 15, image on 18; and “Cover Man,” Body Beautiful, no. 14 ( July 1961): 5, image on 6. 135. On the desire for “trade,” see Houlbrook, Queer London, 169–­70, 210–­13. 136. Doddy Hay, “Weights Rise Slowly to Fame,” Observer, April 15, 1962, 18. 137. On this, see Perry, London Is the Place for Me. 138. “Honest Injun,” Body Beautiful 4, no. 4 (March 1959): 4–­7, 50. 139. Robert Aldrich, Colonialism and Homosexuality (London: Routledge, 2003). 140. “Full Color Physique Studies of 8 Great Stars,” Body Beautiful 2, no. 1 ( June 1956): 47. 141. “He-­Men from Hussar,” Man Alive, no. 16 (September 1961): 10. 142. Advertisements for Larry Oz, Marathon Studio, and Sir Gee, Male Classics, no. 35 (February 1965): 37. 143. “Editorial,” Body Beautiful, no. 16 (December 1961): 3. 144. Houlbrook, Queer London, 68–­92; and Bengry, “Courting the Pink Pound,” 122–­48. 145. Abrams, The Teenage Consumer, 9–­10. 146. Abrams, 10 and 19.

n ot es to pag es 23 4 – 239   › 379

147. Peter Laurie, The Teenage Revolution, 50–­51. 148. Laurie, 65–­66. 149. Connie Alderson, Magazines Teenagers Read: With Special Reference to Trend, Jackie, and Valentine (Oxford: Pergamon Press, 1968), 5. 150. “Dirk Bogarde, a Bank Organisation Star” (1958), File on Dirk Bogarde, Films; and “Lau­rence Harvey and ‘Walk-­Ons,’” (1958), File on Laurence Harvey, Portraits and Film Stills, DHC, NMM. 151. Alderson, Magazines, 74–­75. 152. See Langhamer, The English in Love. 153. Adrian Bingham, Family Newspapers?, 120–­24; and Mort, Capital Affairs, 200. 154. “Leyton-­Dream and Reality,” in Boyfriend’s Startime Extra (London: City Maga­zines, 1963), 44–­45; and “Ten Best Boys to Meet,” in Trend Boyfriend 67 Book (London: City Magazines, 1966), 98–­99. 155. “Hi, Goodlooking! Or Is He?,” Boyfriend, no. 61 (August 20, 1960): 12–­13. 156. “Cliff ’s Column,” Boyfriend, no. 49 (May 28, 1960): 13; and “Cliff ’s Column,” Boyfriend, no. 146 (April 7, 1962): 13. 157. “The Top Pop Boxer: Handsome . . . Hefty . . . and Riding High,” Boyfriend, no. 154 ( June 2, 1962): 10–­11. 158. “The Gentle Invaders,” in Boyfriend’s Startime Extra, 62. 159. “Tall, Dark, Handsome—­Bunk!,” Boyfriend, no. 133 ( January 6, 1962): 25. 160. “The Way You Live: British Boys Are Best,” Boyfriend, no. 139 (February 17, 1962): 27. 161. “Undiscovered British Boyfriend,” Boyfriend, no. 259 ( June 6, 1964): 17. 162. “Emile Ford, Singer—­Obituary,” Daily Telegraph, May 18, 2016, accessed July 12, 2018, https://www.telegraph.co.uk/obituaries/2016/05/18/emile-­ford-­singer-­obituary/. 163. “Dance with Me,” Boyfriend, no. 37 (March 5, 1960): 6. 164. “Emile Ford,” in Boyfriend Book 61 (London: City Magazines, 1961), 13. 165. Christine Bowler, “The Stars Have Eyes,” in Trend Boyfriend 67 Book, 7. On the appeal of men of color to British women and the dangers they were thought to present, see Matera, Black London, 100–­137. 166. “Drinka Pinta Milka Day,” Tit-­Bits, no. 4097 (September 12, 1964): 22. On Fury’s appeal, see “Touring’s Terrific if You Can Stand It Says Bill Fury,” in Boyfriend Book 61, 107. 167. “The New Tarzan Is Swingin’,” Tit-­Bits, no. 4142 ( July 24, 1965): 7; and “The Man Who Took a Sporting Chance,” Tit-­Bits, no. 4147 (August 28, 1965): 4–­5. 168. Mrs. Edward Pearce (Peter Lumley, Ltd.) to R. G. Richards (Ministry of Labour), December 30, 1955, File on Policy Governing the Employment of Fashion Models by Agencies: Peter Lumley, Ltd., NA, LAB 8/1946. 169. Conekin, “Eugene Vernier,” 89. 170. Cherry Marshall, Fashion Modelling as a Career (London: Arthur Baker, Ltd., 1957), 10, 40. 171. “Miscellany: Model Men,” Manchester Guardian, November 27, 1958, 5. 172. On Moore’s modeling career, see “Bond Comes of Age,” Daily Mirror, Decem­ ber 4, 1972, 16, File of Press Cuttings, JFC, VAAAD, AAD/1979/9/SU 21. 173. Iris Ashley, “But Who Wants a Handsome Husband?,” Daily Mail, November 12, 1956, 8. 174. Ashley, 8. 175. Richard Wiggan and H. J. Summers, So You Want to Be a Model (London: Colin Venton, 1958), 48.

n ot es to pag es 239– 2 47   ‹ 380

176. John and Pamela Dixon, Fashion Modelling (London: Robert Hale Limited, 1963), 46. 177. “Models Makyth Men,” Observer, May 13, 1962, 12. 178. Biographical sketch drawn from Alexia Bleathman, “French, (Leonard) John (1907–1966), Photographer,” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, accessed Feb­ ruary 20, 2021, https://www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128 .001.0001/odnb-­9780198614128-­e-­55917. 179. Roger Moore in a fashion shoot with Pat Goddard from Vanity Fair (August 1952), Scrapbook, April 1952–­December 1953, JFC, VAAAD, AAD/1979/9/SU17. 180. Fashion spread from Vanity Fair ( January 1957), Scrapbook, January 1957–­ October 1957, JFC, VAAAD, AAD/1979/9/SU18. 181. Tommy Kyle in Kangol berets (late 1940s), F572 File on Roger Moore, Tommy Kyle, Pierre Hogard, and Jack Challenge, JFC, VAAAD, AAD/1979/9/SU19. 182. Photograph of Michael Bentley in dressing gown (ca. 1958–­60), File on Men: Hair, Sweaters, Clothes, Accessories, JFC, VAAAD, AAD 9/1979/SU 22; and portrait of Michael Bentley wearing a fake beard and holding a cigarette (ca. 1963–­65), File on Portraits and Men, JFC, VAAAD, AAD/1979/9/PL23. 183. Photograph of two men for Daily Express (ca. 1965), File on Men: Hair, Sweaters, Clothes, Accessories. 184. Photograph of a man in denim with a woman behind him for Daily Express (ca. 1965), F 6880/4; and photograph of man, woman, and perambulator for Woman’s Own (ca. 1960), F 5425/2, File on Men: Hair, Sweaters, Clothes, Accessories. 185. “Models Preparing for a Fashion Show” (1955), File on Men’s Wear, 1955, B669; and “Models at a Pierre Cardin Show in Paris” (1965), File on Men’s Wear, 1965, DHC, NMM. 186. Tom Hustler, Tom Hustler on Photography (London: Evan Brothers, Ltd., 1963), 90. 187. “Stanley Rymer,” Models Directory (London: Modern Fiction, Ltd., 1959), 115. 188. “Trevor Barnett,” Models Directory (London: Modern Fiction, Ltd., 1960), 142. 189. Dixon, Fashion Modelling, 45. 190. Biddy V. Martin, “Preface,” in International Model, 1958, ed. Biddy V. Martin (London: World’s Press News Publishing, Ltd., 1958), 7. 191. “Models Makyth Men,” 12. 192. “Models Makyth Men,” 12. 193. “John Lorrell” and “Bruce Wyllie,” in International Model, 1960, ed. Biddy V. Martin. (London: World’s Press News Publishing, Ltd., 1960), 313, 343. 194. “David West,” in International Model, 1960, 354. 195. “Brad Forest,” in International Model (London: WPN and Advertisers’ Review, 1965), 207M; and “Ted Dawson,” in International Model (London: WPN and Advertisers’ Review, 1966), 179. 196. “What He’ll Be Wearing in 1962,” in Boyfriend Book 61, 116. 197. On this in the United States, see Johnson, Buying Gay, 20.

Chapter Seven 1. On these changes, see Hera Cook, The Long Sexual Revolution: English Women, Sex, and Contraception, 1800–­1975 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004); Marcus Collins, Modern Love: Personal Relationships in Twentieth-­Century Britain (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2006); and Claire Langhamer, The English in Love: The

n ot es to pag es 2 47 – 2 4 8   › 381

Intimate Story of an Emotional Revolution (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013). On pornography, see Paul R. Deslandes, “The Cultural Politics of Gay Pornography in 1970s Britain,” in British Queer History: New Approaches and Perspectives, ed. Brian Lewis (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2013), 267–­96; and “Pornography,” in Global Encyclopedia of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer (LGBTQ ) History, ed. Howard Chiang. (Farmington Hills, MI: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 2019), 1260–­68. 2. Stephen Brooke, Sexual Politics: Sexuality, Family Planning, and the British Left from the 1880s to the Present Day (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 10. 3. For overviews, see Joanne Entwistle, The Fashioned Body: Fashion, Dress, and Modern Social Theory (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2000); and Joanne Entwistle, “The Dressed Body,” in Body Dressing (Oxford: Berg, 2001), 33–­58. On gay men, see Shaun Cole, “Don We Now Our Gay Apparel”: Gay Men’s Dress in the Twentieth Century (Oxford: Berg, 2000). 4. See Stephanie Barczewski, John Eglin, Stephen Heathorn, Michael Silvestri, and Michelle Tusan, Britain since 1688: A Nation in the World (London: Routledge, 2015), 280–­338; and Scott Newton, The Reinvention of Britain, 1960–­2016: A Political and Eco­ nomic History (London: Routledge, 2018). 5. See Kennetta Hammond Perry, London Is the Place for Me: Black Britons, Citizen­ ship, and the Politics of Race (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015), 153–­86. On the politics of race in the 1970s, see Paul Gilroy, “There Ain’t No Black in the Union Jack:” The Cultural Politics of Race and Nation, 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 114–­52. 6. See Brian Lewis, Wolfenden’s Witnesses: Homosexuality in Postwar Britain (Basing­ stoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016). On 1967, see Matt Cook, “Queer Conflicts: Love, Sex, and War, 1914–­1967,” in A Gay History of Britain: Love and Sex between Men since the Middle Ages, ed. Matt Cook (Oxford: Greenwood World Publishing, 2007), 172–­77; and Brooke, Sexual Politics, 176–­82. 7. Brooke, Sexual Politics, 185–­224. 8. On Powell, see Gilroy, “There Ain’t No Black,” 44–­51, 85–­89. On concerns about immigration, see Kathleen Paul, Whitewashing Britain: Race and Citizenship in the Post­ war Era (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997); and Perry, London Is the Place for Me, 48–­88. 9. Deslandes, “Cultural Politics,” 281–­83; and Marcus Collins, “Introduction: The Permissive Society and Its Enemies,” in The Permissive Society and Its Enemies: Sixties British Culture, ed. Marcus Collins (London: Rivers Oram Press, 2007), 28–­33. 10. See Frank Mort, Capital Affairs: London and the Making of the Permissive Society (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010), 1–­24. See also Marcus Collins, “Intro­ duction,” 1–­40. 11. On erotic entrepreneurship in the 1950s and 1960s, see Mort, Capital Affairs, 243–­80. David K. Johnson has recently argued that physique entrepreneurs in the 1950s and 1960s United States were important to the articulation of gay identities and social movements. See his Buying Gay: How Physique Entrepreneurs Sparked a Movement (New York: Columbia University Press, 2019). On entrepreneurship and cinematic pornography, see Jeffrey Escoffier, Bigger than Life: The History of Gay Porn Cinema from Beefcake to Hardcore (Philadelphia: Running Press, 2009). 12. Christopher Oldstone-­Moore, Of Beards and Men: The Revealing History of Facial Hair (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015), 235–­44.

n ot es to pag es 2 4 9– 25 5   ‹ 382

13. Geoffrey Wansell, “Elton John, a Long Way from a Pound a Night, plus Tips, in Northwood,” Times, June 21, 1975, 13. 14. Nick Crossley, Networks of Sound, Style, and Subversion: The Punk and Post-­Punk Worlds of Manchester, London, Liverpool, and Sheffield, 1978–­80 (Manchester: Man­ chester University Press, 2015), 24. On footwear, see Josh Sims, Icons of Men’s Style (London: Laurence King, 2011), 83–­87. 15. Andy McSmith, No Such Thing as Society: A History of Britain in the 1980s (Lon­ don: Constable, 2010), 220–­24. 16. Euromonitor, Men’s Toiletries and Shaving Markets 1978/79: A Euromonitor Spe­ cial Report (London: Euromonitor Publications, 1979); and Paul Callan, “Ladies, We’re Joining You: No Sneers from Me,” Daily Mail, November 29, 1971, 13. 17. Jane Hammond, “How West Indians Help Themselves,” Guardian, September 5, 1980, 17. 18. Gilroy, “There Ain’t No Black,” 90–­91, 171–­87. 19. On this tension, see Collins, “Introduction,” 11–­15; Matt Cook, “AIDS, Mass Ob­ servation, and the Fate of the Permissive Turn,” Journal of the History of Sexuality 26, no. 2 (2017): 239–­72, and “From Gay Reform to Gaydar, 1967–­2006,” in A Gay History of Britain, 179–­214. 20. Carol Dyhouse, Glamour: Women, History, Feminism (London: Zed Books, 2010), 133–­36. 21. Cover image, Cosmopolitan, March 1972. 22. Carin Simon, “100 Men—­The Best in Britain,” Honey, February 1971, 18–­21. 23. Nicholas Owen, “Men and the 1970s British Women’s Liberation Movement,” Historical Journal 56, no. 3 (2013): 801–­26. 24. Shaun Cole, “Don We Now Our Gay Apparel,” 85. 25. Johnny Black ( JB), May 17, 1974, Johnny Black Diaries ( JBD), Notebook 1 (March 1974–­May 1976), 24, MOA, SxMOA99/5/1/2. 26. For another example, see JB, Spring 1978, JBD, Notebook 3 (November 1977–­ March 1979), 73–­74, MOA, SxMOA99/5/1/4. 27. JB, June 15, 1974, JBD, Notebook 1, 33. 28. JB, July 12, 1974, JBD, Notebook 1, 51. 29. JB, March 11, 1975, JBD, Notebook 1, 132. 30. JB, June 15, 1976, JBD, Notebook 2 (May 1976–­November 1977), MOA, SxMOA99/ 5/1/3. 31. JB, March 6, 1977, JBD, Notebook 2, 58. 32. JB, February 1978, JBD Notebook 3, 37. 33. On self-­presentation, see Penny Tinkler, “Teenagers, Photography, and Self-­ Fashioning, 1956–­65,” in Consuming Behaviours: Identity, Politics, and Pleasure in Twentieth Century Britain, ed. Erika Rappaport, Sandra Trudgen Dawson, and Mark J. Crowley (London: Bloomsbury, 2015), 87–­101. 34. JB, February 20, 1976, JBD, Notebook 1, 224. 35. Rodney Bennett-­England, As Young as You Look: Male Grooming and Rejuvena­ tion (London: Peter Owen, 1970), 1–­2. 36. Bennett-­England, 2. 37. Bennett-­England, 5. 38. Bennett-­England, 106–­7; and Caroline Cox, “White Hair Right Now: Styling the London Man,” London: From Punk to Blair, 2nd ed., ed. Joe Kerr and Andrew Gibson (London: Reaktion Books, 2012), 79.

n ot es to pag es 25 5 – 26 0   › 383

39. Bennett-­England, As Young as You Look, 70. On the rise of gender transition narratives in the press, see Alison Oram, Her Husband Was a Woman! Women’s Gender-­ Crossing in Modern British Popular Culture (London: Routledge, 2007), 11–­12, 157. On the 1960s and 1970s, see Pagan Kennedy, The First Man-­Made Man: The Story of Two Sex Changes, One Love Affair, and a Twentieth-­Century Medical Revolution (New York: Bloomsbury, 2007), 191–­94. 40. “Hair Today-­Gone Tomorrow,” Tit-­Bits, February 22, 1969, LAGNA, File AK. 41. Ian Brown, “What Women Stopped Men Wearing,” Daily Mail, April 28, 1971, 6. 42. “Sweet Smell of Success,” Daily Mail, January 4, 1971, 15. 43. Men’s Toiletries and Shaving Markets, 1978/79, 3,6. 44. “Who’s a Pretty Boy, Then,” Sunday Times, April 3, 1977, LAGNA, File AK. 45. Men’s Toiletries and Shaving Markets, 1978/79, 34. 46. Oldstone-­Moore, Of Beards and Men, 244–­56. 47. John Taylor, “John Taylor Looks at 25 Years of Fashion for Men,” Sunday Mirror, February 6, 1977, LAGNA, File AK. 48. Oldstone-­Moore, Of Beards and Men, 235–­40. 49. Ronald Faux, “Barbers Face Up to the Year of the Beard,” Times, April 16, 1974, 2. See also Christine Dunn, “Girls Like Men with Beards, but Beards Grow Better without Girls,” Daily Mail, April 16, 1974, 11. 50. Michael Wale, “David Bowie,” Times, July 10, 1972, 7. 51. David Bowie, “We Reinvented Culture the Way We Wanted It—­With Great Big Shoes,” Guardian, April 2, 2001, B12. 52. Jeremy Bugler, “How Punk Became a Four-­Letter Word,” Guardian, December 5, 1976, 3. 53. Interview of Sex Pistols with Bill Grundy, host of Thames Television Today show (December 1, 1976), accessed May 5, 2019, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0kn FHyDD150. 54. McSmith, No Such Thing as Society, 63–­77. 55. “Parade of the Peacocks,” Daily Star, July 1, 1982, LAGNA, File AK. 56. Dianne Robinson, “Make-­Up Maketh Man?,” Liverpool Echo, January 21, 1985, 8 LAGNA, File AK/Makeup. 57. Robinson; and Wayne Winder, Gerardine Winder, and Christina Saunders, Boy George Fashion & Make-­Up Book (London: Hamlyn Publishing Group, Ltd., 1984), 6. 58. Jean Dobson, “Return of the Handsome Rugged Man!,” Daily Mail, August 24, 1981, 12. 59. Jane Withers and Anthony Fawcett, “Real Men Are Back in Fashion,” Times, July 30, 1984, 10. 60. Perry, London Is the Place for Me, 132–­33; Claudia Jones, Caribbean Carnival Sou­venir, 1960 (London: West Indian Gazette, 1960), 3–­4, 2, 5; and Claudia Jones, Caribbean Carnival Programme (1960), BL, accessed May 5, 2019, https://www.bl.uk /collection-­items/claudia-­jones-­caribbean-­carnival-­souvenir-­programme-­1960. 61. Martin Adeney, “Black Pages,” Guardian, June 9, 1972, 13. On the dynamics and importance of Black image-­making, see Brenna Wynn Greer, Represented: The Black Imagemakers Who Reimagined African American Citizenship (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2019). 62. Rosemary Collins, “Young Blacks Caught in the Family Firing Line,” Guardian, February 15, 1973, 7.

n ot es to pag es 26 0 – 26 4   ‹ 384

63. For some examples, see Ekow Eshun, Steve Lazarides, and Jake Cunningham, Seen: Black Style UK (London: Booth-­Clibborn Editions, 2001). 64. Gilroy, “There Ain’t No Black,” 187–­92. 65. “Home Office Sees Rastafarians as Hippies or Teddy Boys,” Guardian, October 5, 1981, 3. 66. “Prison Haircuts ‘Not Hard on Rastafarians,’” Guardian, April 18, 1981, 2. 67. Clifford M. Reed, “Letters to the Editor: When the Home Office Gives Cause to Equate Britain with Babylon,” Guardian, October 7, 1981, 14. 68. “Scarman Report,” Oxford Reference, accessed May 5, 2019, http://www.oxford reference.com.ezproxy.uvm.edu/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100444708. On the limits of the report, see Yasmin Alibhai-­Brown, Imagining the New Britain (New York: Routledge, 2001), 84. 69. Stephen Cook, “Prisons to Get New Rules on Rasta Inmates,” Guardian, Decem­ ber 21, 1981, 3. 70. Kobena Mercer, “Black Hair/Style Politics,” in Black British Culture and Society: A Text Reader, ed. Kwesi Owusu (London: Routledge, 2000), 115. 71. See Matt Cook, “From Gay Reform to Gaydar,” 179–­214. 72. Rupert Smith, Physique: The Life of  John S. Barrington (London: Serpent’s Tail, 1997), 187–­96. 73. Celia Braufield, “Sexy! Yes, but What Exactly Does It Mean?,” Daily Mail, June 11, 1971, 10. 74. Suzy Menkes, “Fashion: The Male Sex Object,” Times, April 9, 1985, 11. 75. See Peter Burton, Parallel Lives (London: GMP, 1985), 106–­7. On the political and community-­building functions of gay publications, see Stephen Jeffery-­Poulter, Peers, Queers and Commons: The Struggle for Gay Law Reform from 1950 to the Present (London: Routledge, 1991), 97, 107; and Jeffrey Weeks, Coming Out: Homosexual Politics in Britain from the Nineteenth Century to the Present, rev. ed. (London: Quartet Books, 1990), 219–­22. 76. Alan Purnell, “Editorial Introduction,” Him Exclusive, no. 1 (1974): 3. 77. Deslandes, “The Cultural Politics of Gay Pornography,” 279–­86. 78. Some of this is from “Zipper Magazine,” Gay Erotic Archives, accessed May 5, 2019, http://www.gayeroticarchives.com/02_pubs/Z/i/Zipper/index.html. 79. “The Gay Liberation Front Demands” (1970), HCA, LSE, HCA/GLF/1. 80. Bill Lemmer, “What the Gay Papers Say . . . and What They Don’t, in One Man’s View,” Gay News, no. 44 (March 1974): 10–­11. 81. Michael [Anderson], “The Other Editor,” Jeffrey, issue 4, no. 1/73 (1973): 3. 82. [Anderson], “The Other Editor,” 3. 83. “Hey! Handsome: Groovy Guy Contest 1973,” Jeffrey, issue 5, no. 2/73 (1973): 26. 84. Respondent no. 114, “Response to Directive J(a): Pornography” (February 1989), National Lesbian and Gay Survey, MOA, SxMOA16/1/1/9/10. 85. “This Is How You Collect Paul,” Jeffrey, issue 5, no. 2/73 (1973): 3. 86. On pre-­1967 history, see Lisa Z. Sigel, Governing Pleasures: Pornography and Social Change in England, 1815–­1914 (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2002); and Thomas Waugh, Hard to Imagine: Gay Male Eroticism in Photography and Film from Their Beginnings to Stonewall (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996). 87. Various articles reflected this perspective. See Paul Marshall, “A Bit of a Mouth­ ful: How You Can Do More than Pay Lip Service to Gay Oral Sex,” Him Exclusive, no. 3

n ot es to pag es 26 4 – 26 9   › 385

(1975): 4–­5; Alan Purnell, “Pleasure and Pain,” Him Exclusive, no. 4 (1975): 4–­6; “If You Care for ‘Cottaging,’” Him Exclusive, no. 3 (1975): 7–­8; and “Gay Movies for Lon­ don,” Him International, no. 8 (1977): 16. On the importance of pornography in under­ standing gay culture, see Lucas Hildebrand, “Historical Fantasies: 1970s Gay Male Pornography in the Archives,” in Porno Chic and the Sex Wars: American Sexual Repre­ sentation in the 1970s, ed. Carolyn Bronstein and Whitney Strub (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2016), 327–­48. 88. C. H. Rolph, “Introduction,” in Does Pornography Matter?, ed. C. H. Rolph (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1961), 103, quoted in H. G. Cocks, “Saucy Stories: Pornography, Sexology, and the Marketing of Sexual Knowledge in Britain, ca. 1918–­ 1970,” Social History 29, no. 4 (November 2004): 473. 89. Cocks, “Saucy Stories,” 465–­84. See also, Marcus Collins, ‘The Pornography of Permissiveness: Men’s Sexuality and Women’s Emancipation in Mid Twentieth-­ Century Britain,” History Workshop Journal 47, no. 1 (1999): 99–­120, and Modern Love. 90. Michael Denneny, “Gay Politics: Sixteen Propositions (1981),” in We Are Every­ where: A Historical Sourcebook of Gay and Lesbian Politics, ed. Mark Blasius and Shane Phelan (New York: Routledge, 1997), 490. This idea also appears in Escoffier, Bigger than Life, 5. 91. “Editorial,” Him Exclusive, no. 1 (1974): 19. 92. See H. L. Malchow, Special Relations: The Americanization of Britain? (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2011). 93. Peter York, “Machomania,” Harpers and Queen, February 1979, 59, LAGNA, File AK/Style. 94. Geoff Stout, “Editor’s Perks,” Him Exclusive, no. 14 (1976): 4. 95. “Hey Mister—­Know Any Hunks?,” Zipper, no. 9 (1978): 5. 96. “Wanna Be in Movies!,” Zipper, no. 20 (1980): 3. 97. “Beefy Ben!,” Zipper, no. 21 (1980): 54–­56. 98. Houlbrook, Queer London, 166–­94, 210–­15. 99. “Robert Glynn,” Zipper, no. 29 (1981): 29–­31. 100. “When You Feel Like a Skinhead: Larry Harris Is Your Man,” Zipper, no. 28 (1981): 9–­12. 101. Cover image, Zipper, no. 24 (1980); image of man in athletic shorts, Zipper, no. 25 (1980): 2; and “Bodybuilder of the Month,” Zipper, no. 46 (1983): 27. 102. “Alex’s Pitch,” Zipper, no. 28 (1981): 3; Gluy Scott, “Match of the Day,” Zipper, no. 9 (1978): 11–­13; and Terry, “Gym Fantasy,” Zipper, no. 21 (1980): 7–­8. On the appeal on the athlete in gay culture, see Brian Pronger, The Arena of Masculinity: Sports, Homo­sexuality, and the Meaning of Sex (New York: Saint Martin’s, 1990). 103. Scott, “Match of the Day,” 11. 104. Alex McKenna, “Alex’s Pitch: It’s Spring, So Get Your Sap Rising!,” Zipper, no. 29 (1981): 3. 105. Advertisement for Sports Locker, Zipper, no. 29 (1981): 36–­37. 106. Cook, “From Gay Reform to Gaydar” 187–­88. 107. “Carnival,” Him Exclusive, no. 10 (November 1975): 46–­47. 108. “Mombasa & Amsterdam: Gay Holidays—­Blow Hot and Cold,” Him Exclusive, no. 12 (1976): 25–­26. 109. “Black and White: Multi-­Racial Sex,” Him International, no. 12 (1978): 23, 26. 110. “Big, Bad, Beautiful,” Zipper, no. 25 (1980): 10.

n ot es to pag es 26 9– 274   ‹ 386

111. John S. Barrington, “Black Penis-­Power,” Man-­to-­Man: International Focus 1, no. 2 (1975): 6. 112. On this, see Marcus Collins, “Pride and Prejudice: West Indian Men in Mid-­ Twentieth-­Century Britain,” Journal of British Studies 40, no. 3 (2001): 391–­418; and Matt Cook, Queer Domesticities: Homosexuality and Home Life in Twentieth-­Century London (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 220; and Sonya Rose, Which People’s War? National Identity and Citizenship in Wartime Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 76. 113. Alex McKenna, “180 Pounds of . . . Steve Kopler,” Zipper, no. 23 (1980): 8–­9. 114. Mike Arlen, “Back from the Front,” Zipper, no. 23 (1980): 21–­23. On criticism, see Alex McKenna, “Alex’s Pitch: That Nazi Cover!,” Zipper, no. 24 (1980): 3. 115. “Big, Bad, Beautiful!,” 10. For another example, see “John Bright,” Zipper, no. 22 (1980): 12. 116. Alwyn Turner, Rejoice, Rejoice!: Britain in the 1980s (London: Aurum, 2010), 90–­95. 117. “Man Talk: Chat,” Him Exclusive, no. 4 (1975): 18. 118. Advertisement for the Mr. Playguy Contest, Him Exclusive, no. 5 (1975): 47. On drag, see Betty Luther Hillman, “‘The Most Profoundly Revolutionary Act a Homo­ sexual Can Engage In’: Drag and the Politics of Gender Presentation in the San Fran­ cisco Gay Liberation Movement, 1964–­1972,” Journal of the History of Sexuality 20, no. 1 (2011): 153–­81. 119. See Houlbrook, Queer London, 1–­13, 139–­66. 120. “Heaven’s Beach Party Nite,” Zipper, no. 31 (1981): 12. 121. Alex McKenna, “Mister Hardware Finals ’83,” Zipper, no. 45 (1983): 7. For pic­ tures, see “Pictures from the Mister Hardware Contest 1983,” Zipper, no. 45 (1983): 32–­34. 122. For examples, see “Preview: Footballin’,” Him Monthly, no. 13 (1978): 32–­36; “Beach Boy ’75,” Him Exclusive, no. 6 (1975): 16–­19; and “Hercules Undressed,” Him Exclusive, no. 4 (1975): 22. 123. For a general history of personal advertisements, see H. G. Cocks, Classified: The Secret History of the Personal Column (London: Random House, 2009). On this period, see 143–­73. 124. “Private and Personal,” Him Exclusive, no. 5 (1975): 44. 125. “Him Cruising Classified,” Him International, no. 1 (1976): 39. 126. “Zipper Ads,” Zipper, no. 9 (1978): 48. 127. Alan Cartwright, “Letter to the Editor,” Him Exclusive, no. 3 (1975): 20. 128. “Man Talk: Letters,” Him Exclusive, no. 4 (1975): 18. 129. “Man Talk: Letters,” Him Exclusive (Special Edition), no. 8 (September 1975): 35. On the appeal of military uniforms, see Matt Houlbrook, “Soldier Heroes and Rent Boys: Homosex, Masculinities, and Britishness in the Brigade of Guards, circa 1900–­ 1960,” Journal of British Studies 42, no. 3 (2003): 351–­88. 130. “Readers’ Letters,” Zipper, no. 48 (1984): 7. 131. Gregg Blachford, “Looking at Pornography: Erotica and The Socialist Morality,” Gay Left: A Gay Socialist Journal, no. 6 (Summer 1978): 19. 132. On the history of the Williams Committee, see Alan Travis, Bound and Gagged: A Secret History of Obscenity in Britain (London: Profile Books, 2000), 262–­67. 133. M. G. Colgate to Jon Davey, Submission to Departmental Committee on Ob­ scenity and Film Censorship (hereafter DCOFC) (September 25, 1977), NA, HO 265/ 77/41.

n ot es to pag es 274 – 27 9   › 387

134. Sean Barker to Jon Davey, Submission to DCOFC (n.d.), NA, HO 265/86/103. 135. McSmith, No Such Thing as Society, 225; and Cook, “From Gay Reform to Gaydar,” 195. 136. “What the Gay Plague Did to Handsome Kenny,” Sunday People, June 20, 1983, LAGNA, File CE—­HIV-­AIDS 1980s (1). 137. Frank Mort, Dangerous Sexualities: Medico-­Moral Politics in England since 1830, 2nd ed. (London: Routledge, 2000), 166–­67. On the role of the press in presenting AIDS to the British public, see Simon Watney, Policing Desire: Pornography, AIDS, and the Media (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987), 77–­96. 138. Respondent no. 432, “Response to Directive A: Perceptions of Homosexuality” (October 1993), National Lesbian and Gay Survey (NLGS) MOA, SxMOA16/1/4/19/1. 139. Respondent no. 299, “Response to Directive D: Received Images” (August 1986), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/1/84/4. 140. Matt Cook, “AIDS, Mass Observation, and the Fate of the Permissive Turn,” Journal of the History of Sexuality 26, no. 2 (2017): 239–­72, and “‘Archives of Feeling’: The AIDS Crisis in Britain 1987,” History Workshop Journal 83, no. 1 (2017): 51–­78. 141. Carolyn Day, Consumptive Chic: A History of Beauty, Fashion, and Disease (Lon­ don: Bloomsbury, 2017). 142. Simon Watney, Imagine Hope: AIDS and Gay Identity (London: Routledge, 2000), 5. 143. Rebecca Jennings, Tomboys and Bachelor Girls: A Lesbian History of Post-­War Britain, 1945–­71 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007), 3. 144. Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray (1891; New York: Oxford University Press, 1974), 224. Quoted in Simon Watney, “The Spectacle of AIDS,” October, no. 43 (Winter 1987): 78. See also, Cook, “‘Archives of Feeling,’” 69. 145. The traditional narrative was established most clearly in physical culture. See “How Sandow Made Me Strong: A Remarkable Physical Transformation,” Harmsworth Monthly Pictorial Magazine 1, no. 1 (1898): 23. 146. Dominic Janes, Picturing the Closet: Male Secrecy and Homosexual Visibility in Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 187. 147. “Living Like,” publication title not included, October 30, 1986, LAGNA, File CE—­HIV-­AIDS 1980s (1). 148. See cover image, Him Exclusive, no. 8 (September 1975); cover image, Him Ex­ clusive, no. 12 (1976). 149. Paul Hallam, “Young Flesh Had Never Seemed So Vulnerable,” New Statesman, December 19–­26, 1986, 18–­19, LAGNA, File CE—­HIV-­AIDS 1980s (2). 150. “Princess in Rush to Hospital after Ballet Friend Dies of AIDS,” Guardian, Au­ gust 23, 1991, 13. 151. “Diana Visiting Mildmay Hospice,” in “Prince Harry to Follow in Diana’s Foot­ steps by Campaigning against HIV in Hospital Visit,” Express Online, accessed Novem­ ber 7, 2016, http://www.express.co.uk/news/royal/626562/Prince-­Harry-­Princess -­Diana-­of-­Wales-­Mildmay-­Hospital-­HIV-­Aids-­Royal-­Family-­London. 152. Respondent no. D1627, “Spring Directive 1987: The Campaign against AIDS,” MOA SxMOA 2/1/21/2/1/146. 153. Respondent no. 430, “Response to Directive B: Gay Men and Health” (1992?), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/4/17/2. 154. Respondent no. 407, “Response to Directive B: Gay Men and Health” (1992?), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/4/6/2.

n ot es to pag es 27 9– 2 86   ‹ 388

155. “Facing Up to the Fight,” Observer Magazine, April 12, 1987, 60. 156. “The Law & Gay Sex Mags,” Him Monthly, no. 51 (October 1982): 7. 157. “Zipper Magazine,” Gay Erotic Archives. 158. “Style,” Him Monthly, no. 51 (October 1982): 18; and “Peter,” Him Monthly, no. 61 (September 1983): 18. 159. Cover image, Him Monthly, no. 51; and “Him’s New Face,” Him Monthly, no. 51, 4–­6. 160. “Him Gym and Sport,” Him Monthly, no. 51 (October 1982): 26–­27. Features of this sort were also ubiquitous in the free monthly magazines that were distributed in bookstores and bars. Men in Town noted, for instance, its focus on lifestyle and at­ tempts to minimize discussions of AIDS as a coping strategy. See “Editorial,” Men in Town, August–­September 1987, 1; and John Wooton, “Muscle,” Men in Town, August–­ September 1987, 7. 161. Gay Men’s Press, Postcards of David Hutter Paintings (1983–­85), HCA, HCA Ephemera 414. 162. Christine Painell, “The Male Body Beautiful . . . ,” Times, July 17, 1984, 11; and Sara Barrett, “The Body Beautiful Boom,” Daily Mail, November 10, 1986, 7. 163. Respondent no. 301, “Response to Directive C: Gay Men and Health” (Winter 1989), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/2/13/2. 164. Respondent no. 318, “Response to Directive C: Gay Men and Health” (Winter 1989), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA16/1/2/20/2. 165. Respondent no. 325, “Response to Directive C: Gay Men and Health” (Winter 1989), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA16/1/2/26/2. 166. On this, see Mort, Dangerous Sexualities, 170. 167. Watney, Policing Desire, 131. 168. “Directive C: Gay Men and Health” (February 1990), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA16/ 2/1/2. 169. Respondent no. 335, “Response to Directive C: Gay Men and Health” (Winter 1989), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA16/1/2/30/2. 170. Peter Dean, “Simitar Releasing ‘Explicit’ Gay Sex Ed Vid,” Billboard Magazine, June 20, 1992, 71. 171. Respondent no. 375, “Response to Directive P: Naked Truths” (November 1994), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/3/16/17. 172. Respondent no. 430 “Response to Directive H: Received Images” (Spring 1993), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/4/17/4. 173. Tony Whitehead, “Five Years Ago I Was Planning My Funeral. Now I’m Won­ dering How I’ll See in the Millennium,” Guardian, December 1, 1998, A15. 174. Susan Sontag, AIDS and Its Metaphors (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1989), 4. On the role of metaphor, see also Watney, Imagine Hope, 197. 175. Simon Watney encourages us to think inclusively when assessing the cultural impact and aesthetics of AIDS. See Watney, Imagine Hope, 151; and Policing Desire, 122–­32.

Chapter Eight 1. Susan Bordo, The Male Body: A New Look at Men in Public and Private (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1999), 174–­75. 2. Film studies scholars developed some of these themes in scholarship in the early 2000s. For example, see Kelly Farrell, “Naked Nation: The Full Monty, Working-­Class Masculinity, and the British Image,” Men and Masculinities 6, no. 2 (2003): 119–­35; and

n ot es to pag es 2 86 – 2 89   › 389

Estella Tinknell and Deborah Chambers, “Performing the Crisis: Fathering, Gender, and Representation in Two 1990s Films,” Journal of Popular Film & Television 29, no. 4 (2002): 146–­55. 3. On aspects of this history, see Scott Newton, The Reinvention of Britain, 1960–­2016 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2018). 4. Beatrix Campbell, “Good Riddance to the Patriarch,” Guardian, April 15, 1996, 11. 5. Michael Ignatieff, “Men Find a New Fire in Their Bellies,” Observer, June 23, 1991, 17. 6. This history work was encouraged in Joan W. Scott, Gender and the Politics of History (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988). For examples, see Joanna Bourke, Dismembering the Male: Men’s Bodies, Britain, and the Great War (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996); Michael Roper and John Tosh, eds., Manful Assertions: Mas­ culinities in Britain since 1800 (London: Routledge, 1991); Lynne Segal, Slow Motion: Changing Masculinities, Changing Men (London: Virago, 1990); and John Tosh, A Man’s Place: Masculinity and the Middle-­Class Home in Victorian England (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1999). On variability and the lack of fixity, see Christopher E. Forth, Masculinity in the Modern West: Gender, Civilization, and the Body (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 3–­5. 7. Cosmo Landesman, “Gym’ll Fix It,” Guardian, April 20, 2000, 6, LAGNA, File AK. 8. Forth, Masculinity in the Modern West, 219–­28. 9. Mark Simpson, “Here Come the Mirror Men: Why the Future Is Metrosexual,” Independent, November 15, 1994, 22. 10. Peter Jackson, Nick Stevenson, and Kate Brooks, Making Sense of Men’s Maga­ zines (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2001). 11. Frank Mort, Cultures of Consumption: Masculinities and Social Space in Late Twentieth-­Century Britain (London: Routledge, 1996), 10; and Stephanie Barczewski, John Eglin, Stephen Heathorn, Michael Silvestri, and Michelle Tusan, Britain since 1688: A Nation in the World (London: Routledge, 2015), 344–­45. 12. See Paul Jobling, Advertising Menswear: Masculinity and Fashion in the British Media since 1945 (London: Bloomsbury, 2014), 162–­81. 13. On this in an American context, see Bordo, The Male Body, 168–­225. 14. Jobling, Advertising Menswear, 8. 15. Rebecca Loncraine, “Bosom of the Nation: Page Three in the 1970s and 1980s,” in Rude Britannia, ed. Mina Gorji (Abingdon: Routledge, 2007), 96–­112. 16. Adrian Bingham, Family Newspapers? Sex, Private Life, and the British Popular Press, 1918–­1978 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 225. 17. Forth, Masculinity in the Modern West, 141–­68. 18. Jobling, Advertising Menswear, 165–­73; Mort, Cultures of Consumption; and Sean Nixon, Hard Looks: Masculinities, Spectatorship, and Contemporary Consumption (New York: Saint Martin’s Press, 1996). 19. Mort, Cultures of Consumption, 128. 20. See Annette Lynch and Mitchell D. Strauss, Changing Fashion: A Critical Intro­ duction to Trend Analysis and Meaning (Oxford: Berg, 2007), 127–­50; and Valerie Steele, Fashion and Eroticism: Ideals of Feminine Beauty from the Victorian Era to the Jazz Age (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 23. 21. Pat Kane, “Making a Man of  Yourself,” Guardian, September 12, 1994, A2. 22. Bordo, Male Body, 224, 282–­98. 23. Peter Baker, “Exposing the Shape of  Things to Come,” Guardian, May 26, 1992, 31; and Roger Tredre, “The New Power of Male Shots,” Observer, October 31, 1993, C14.

n ot es to pag es 2 89– 293   ‹ 390

24. Sarah James, “Battle of the Bulge: Trinity College, Oxford,” Guardian, Novem­ ber 26, 1996, C4. 25. Tanya Evans, “Knowledge and Experience: From 1750 to the 1960s,” in Rout­ ledge History of Sex and the Body: 1500 to the Present, ed. Sarah Toulalan and Kate Fisher (London: Routledge, 2013), 256; and Simon Sretzer and Kate Fisher, Sex before the Sexual Revolution: Intimate Life in England, 1918–­1963 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer­ sity Press, 2010), 364–­83. 26. Bordo, Male Body, 32, 171, 181, 186; Jobling, Advertising Menswear, 176–­81; and Mort, Cultures of Consumption, 108–­13. On the Marks and Spencer campaign, see Vir­ ginia Creer, “IPA Effectiveness Awards (1994): Marks and Spencer’s Sales Success—­an Undercover Story,” accessed August 21, 2020, https://www.warc.com/fulltext/ipacases /4510.htm. 27. Michael Bracewell, “Panting,” Guardian, July 30, 1994, A35. 28. “Battle of the Bulge,” Observer, September 9, 2007, n.p., LAGNA, File AK. 29. James Delingpole, “Larging It Up for Brief Encounters,” Times (T2 Supplement), February 21, 2005, 10, LAGNA, File AK. 30. Lisa O’Kelly, “Body Talk,” Observer, October 23, 1994, D30. 31. Baker, “Exposing,” 31. 32. Simon Sebag Montefiore, “Body Blow to the Ego,” Daily Mail, April 10, 1993, 31. 33. “Pumped to Bursting,” Daily Mail, March 9, 1995, 15. 34. Rachel Shabi, “Muscle Mania,” Guardian Weekend, July 21, 2001, 26, 20. 35. “Whose Body Is It Anyway? Advertising and Male Body Imagery,” British Psycho­ l­ogical Society website (2001), no longer active; see also “Magazines ‘Harm Male Body Image,’” BBC News website, March 28, 2008, accessed May 13, 2019, http://news.bbc .co.uk/2/hi/health/7318411.stm. 36. Hadley Freeman, “Hello, Girls . . . ,” Guardian, March 5, 2002, A5. 37. Shabi, “Muscle Mania,” 26. 38. Patrick Collinson, “Modern Man Pays to Clean Up His Act,” Guardian, Octo­ ber 23, 1999, H12. 39. Ros Snowdon, “Handsome Profits Ahead from a Booming Market in Men’s Groom­ ing Products,” Yorkshire Post (online), July 15, 2010, accessed Feb­r uary 21, 2021, https:// www.yorkshirepost.co.uk/business/handsome-­profits-­ahead-­booming-­market-­mens -­grooming-­products-­1979523. 40. Ed West, Male Grooming: Every Bloke’s Guide to Looking Great (Chichester: Summerdale Publishers, 2006), 8. 41. “. . . But the Hirsute Hierarchy Is Unrepentant,” Daily Mail, March 25, 1993, 38. 42. Joseph Connolly and Robert Crampton, “Is It Weird Not to Have a Beard?,” Times, October 28, 1992, 15. 43. Jessica Davies, “Hairless Rapture,” Daily Mail, January 28, 1992, 14. 44. Peter Foster, “The Real Monty Is More than Just a Comic Strip,” Times, August 30, 1997, 5. 45. Jane Kelly, “Are Smooth Men Really Much Sexier?,” Daily Mail, June 25, 1993, 25. 46. Victoria Mather, “My Heroes Are Always Hirsute,” Daily Mail, June 25, 1993, 25. 47. Jaci Stephen, “A Sidelong Look at Sex . . . and the Sexes,” Daily Mail, February 21, 1991, 32; and Chloe George, “Olympic Body-­Ogling—­Why It’s Different for Women,” Vagenda, Part of the “Guardian” Comment Network, August 6, 2012, accessed May 11, 2019, https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2012/aug/06/olympic-­body -­ogling-­different-­women.

n ot es to pag es 293 – 298   › 391

48. Germaine Greer, The Beautiful Boy (New York: Rizzoli, 2003), 11. 49. David Lister, “Should Real Men Get Things Off Their Chest?,” Times, February 5, 2005, 34. 50. Simpson, “Here Come the Mirror Men.” 51. Paul R. Deslandes, “Pornography,” in Global Encyclopedia of Lesbian, Gay, Bi­ sexual, Transgender, and Queer (LGBTQ) History, ed. Howard Chiang. (Farmington Hills, MI: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 2019), 1267. 52. Mark Simpson, “Meet the Metrosexual,” Salon, July 22, 2002, accessed June 25, 2020, https://www.salon.com/2002/07/22/metrosexual/. 53. Gurinder Chadha, dir., Bend It Like Beckham (2002). 54. Warren St. John, “Metrosexuals Come Out,” New York Times, June 22, 2003, ST1. 55. Matt Keating, “The Man of the Moment Is Metrosexual,” Guardian, July 16, 2003, 22. 56. “Because He’s Worth It Too,” Marketing, February 13, 2008, 24; and Sam Delaney, “The Skincare and All the Smooth Lines,” Guardian, July 31, 2006, n.p., LAGNA, File AK. On the blurring of lines, see Tracy Moran, “Masculinity: On the Wane in the U.K.,” Ozy: Acumen, September 20, 2016, accessed May 13, 2019, https://www.ozy.com/acumen /masculinity-­on-­the-­wane-­in-­the-­uk/71765. 57. Max Jones, “What Should Historians Do with Heroes? Reflections on Nineteenth-­ and Twentieth-­Century Britain,” History Compass 5, no. 2 (2007): 439–­54, ac­cessed June 25, 2020, doi:10.1111/j.1478-­0542.2007.00390.x. 58. George, “Olympic Body-­Ogling.” 59. Elements of this are discussed in David Coad, The Metrosexual: Gender, Sexual­ ity, and Sport (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 2008); and Brian Pronger, The Arena of Mascu­ linity: Sports, Homosexuality, and the Meaning of Sex (New York: Saint Martin’s, 1990). 60. Stella Bruzzi, “The Italian Job: Football, Fashion, and That Sarong,” in The Men’s Fashion Reader, ed. Peter McNeil and Vicki Karaminas (Oxford: Berg, 2009), 187–­96. 61. Brian McNair, Porno? Chic! How Pornography Changed the World and Made It a Better Place (London: Routledge, 2013). 62. Geoff Dyer, “Passion Players,” Guardian, June 13–­14, 1992, 20. For another example, see Michael Billington, “The Lesson That Art Should Learn from Sport,” Guardian, July 2, 1992, 24. 63. Christopher Dodd, “Golden Pair Take Their Partners in Coxless Four,” Guardian, April 23, 1997, 27. 64. Pete Nichols, “100 British Olympic Medal Hopefuls,” Guardian, June 5, 2000, A6. 65. See cover image and Tim Lewis and Andy Hall (photographer), “The Final Lap,” Observer Magazine, July 24, 2011, cover and 16–­24; and cover image and “Ready for Lift Off,” Observer Magazine, June 26, 2016, cover and 12–­20. 66. Simon Jones, “Injuries and Insults: Why Nothing Daunts Me Any More,” Inde­ pendent on Sunday, July 25, 2004, Sportsweek 3. 67. “Simon Jones: Cosmo Centrefold,” Cosmopolitan (UK Version), August 2005, 61. 68. Cover image and Adrian Deevoy (with photographs by Jim Naughten), “England Suits Up for Battle,” Observer Sport Monthly, no. 112 ( June 2009): cover and 36–­45. 69. Ashley Armstrong, “Unilever Puts Brylcreem Up for Sale,” Daily Telegraph (online), June 28, 2014, accessed June 25, 2020, https://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/newsby sector/retailandconsumer/10933266/Unilever-­puts-­Brylcreem-­up-­for-­sale.html. 70. Deevoy, “England Suits Up,” 41 and 45. 71. Advertisement for Hugo Boss, Observer Sport Monthly, no. 112 ( June 2009): 2–­3.

n ot es to pag es 29 8– 3 0 4   ‹ 392

72. Paul O’Connell, “How I Got My Body,” Observer Sport Monthly, no. 112 ( June 2009): 7–­8. 73. Coad, The Metrosexual, 19–­36; and Momin Rahman, “David Beckham as a His­ torical Moment in the Representation of Masculinity,” Labour History Review 69, no. 2 (2004): 219–­33. 74. Philip Delves Broughton, “Posh Spouse for David Beckham,” Times, January 26, 1998, 1. 75. Advertisement for “Intimately Yours,” Hello! no. 1155 ( January 3, 2011): 136. 76. Bingham, Family Newspapers?, 229–­61. 77. Matt Haig, “A Brand Of . . . ,” Times Magazine, December 11, 2004, 32. 78. Entry on Sam Taylor-­Wood (now Sam Taylor-­Johnson), “David Beckham (‘David’),” National Portrait Gallery website, accessed May 21, 2019, https://www.npg.org.uk /collections/search/portrait/mw73998/David-­Beckham-­David?LinkID=mp14188 &search=sas&sText=Sam+Taylor-­Wood&role=art&rNo=1. 79. Richard Dorment, “Beckham, the Sleeping Beauty,” Daily Telegraph (online), April 28, 2004, accessed May 21, 2019, https://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/art/3616013 /Beckham-­the-­sleeping-­beauty.html. 80. Emma Sibbles, “Crowds Gather to Hail Emperor Beckham’s New Pants,” Guardian (online), June 11 2009, accessed May 21, 2019, https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2009 /jun/11/david-­beckham-­armani-­underwear-­selfridges. 81. Suzy Menkes, “Splay It Like Beckham,” New York Times Men’s Fashion Magazine, March 9, 2008, 114. 82. Sibbles, “Crowds Gather to Hail Emperor Beckham’s New Pants.” 83. “David Beckham at Selfridges,” View London website ( June 2009), accessed February 27, 2013, www.view.co.uk/london/e/david-­beckham-­at-­selfridge (website now down). 84. Suzy Menkes, “Men’s Fashions: Sportswatch,” Times, July 17, 1984, 11. 85. June Couch, ed., Male, Macho, and Magnificent (London: Columbus Books, 1986). 86. For examples, see Charles Castle, Model Girl (Newtown Abbot and London: David and Charles, 1977); Fleur Hogarth, Careers in Modelling, 2nd ed. (London: Kogan Page, 1988); Nicki Household, Working as a Model (London: Batsford Academic and Educational, Ltd., 1981); and Gay Search (in association with the London Academy of Modelling), Fashion Model: A Career Guide (London: New Bond Books, Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1976). 87. Ann Chubb, “Who’s a Pretty Boy, Then?,” Sunday Times, April 4, 1977, 26, LAGNA, File AK. 88. Sandie Laming, “Perils of the Male Model,” and Celeste Mitchell, “Nigel Learned to Grin and Bear It,” News of the World, May 30, 1982, n.p., LAGNA, File AK/Model­ ing. On sexual danger and male models, see Joanne Entwistle, “From Catwalk to Cata­ logue: Male Fashion Models, Masculinity, and Identity,” in The Men’s Fashion Reader, 207–­8. 89. Careers in Modelling: Your Questions and Answers (Richmond: Trotman and Co. Ltd., 1995), 28. 90. “New Faces,” Scene: The Modelling Magazine, Autumn 1995, 65, 67. 91. Andrew Anthony, “And the Model of this Story Is . . . Me!,” Observer, October 27, 1997, C1. 92. Cole Moreton, “The Double Standard,” Independent on Sunday, July 30, 2000, 11.

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93. Simon Mills, “The Question: Why Have Male Models Got So Skinny?,” Guardian, July 9, 2007, 3; Aline Nassif, “Ban on Skinny Men to Fight ‘Manorexia,’” Evening Stan­ dard, October 7, 2008, 17; and Iain R. Webb, “Where’s the Beef?,” Daily Telegraph Maga­zine, April 12, 2008, 50. 94. Tracy McVeigh, “Skinny Male Models and New Fashions Fuel Eating Disorders among Men,” Observer (online), May 16, 2010, accessed May 22, 2019, https://www .theguardian.com/society/2010/may/16/skinny-­models-­fuel-­male-­eating-­disorders. 95. Entry on David Gandy, Models.com, accessed May 22, 2019, https://models .com/models/David-­Gandy; interview with David Gandy on This Morning” ( June 22, 2011), accessed May 22, 2019, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UaxK4LAogQc; Lisa Armstrong, “This Year’s Model,” Times, July 23, 2007, 4[S]; and Benji Wilson, “Q&A with the Fashion Industry’s Favourite Male Supermodel, Essex Boy David Gandy,” Daily Mail Online, May 18, 2013, accessed June 25, 2020, https://www.dailymail.co.uk/home /you/article-­2324298/David-­Gandy-­white-­pants-­Dolce—­Gabanna-­hes-­Essex-­boy -­heart.html. 96. Erica Davies, “Meet Bronzed Adonis in New D & G Advert,” Sun, July 25, 2007, n.p. 97. Joely Chilcott, “Gandy’s £4M Package,” Sun (online), July 27, 2017, accessed May 22, 2019, https://www.thesun.co.uk/fabulous/4115361/essex-­male-­model-­david -­gandy-­rich-­list/. 98. “Interview: David Gandy, Model,” Scotsman (online), July 4, 2011, accessed May 22, 2019, https://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle-­2-­15039/interview-­david-­gandy -­model-­1-­1727939. 99. Carol Midgley, “Cor, What a Modern Take on Renaissance Man,” Times, Janu­ ary 15, 2008, 2[S]. 100. “David Gandy for Autograph: Only M & S” (2014), accessed May 22, 2019, https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=NNr-­GC8WeA0. 101. Peter Howarth and Mariano Vivanco (photographer), David Gandy by Dolce and Gabbana: The Male Icon (New York: Rizzoli, 2011). 102. David Gandy, “David Gandy: The Book,” Vogue (online), May 25, 2011, accessed May 22, 2019, https://www.vogue.co.uk/article/david-­gandy-­the-­book. 103. Alex Clark, “My Week with the Most Beautiful Man in Britain,” Times Maga­ zine, April 24, 2010, 33. 104. Mr. Gay UK ’97: Souvenir Programme, Grand Final 1997 (Leeds: Mr. Gay UK, Ltd., 1997), HCA, LSE, HCA Journals/429E (Miscellaneous). On modeling contests, see “How Guys Can Storm to the Top as a Model,” Sun, July 25, 2007, n.p.; and Saskia Quirke, “Dom Wins Your Male Model Vote,” Sun, January 29, 2008, n.p. 105. Mr. Gay UK website, accessed May 22, 2019, http://www.mrgayuk.co.uk/. 106. “Sports Masseurs/Sensual Masseurs/Escorts,” Boyz, May 28, 2009, 58; and “Independent Escorts,” QX Magazine, no. 1007 ( June 26, 2014): 106. 107. Mark Simpson, “Objectify Yourself,” Out 23, no. 5 (February 2015): 82–­83. 108. Mark Simpson, “The Metrosexual Is Dead. Long Live the ‘Spornosexual,’” Daily Telegraph (online), June 10, 2014, accessed May 22, 2019, https://www.telegraph.co.uk /men/fashion-­and-­style/10881682/The-­metrosexual-­is-­dead.-­Long-­live-­the-­sporno sexual.html. 109. Mark Simpson, “Sporno,” Out (online), June 19, 2006, accessed February 21, 2021, https://www.out.com/entertainment/2006/06/19/sporno. 110. Simpson, “Objectify Yourself,” 83.

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111. Jobling, Advertising Menswear, 189–­96. 112. “Up Close & Personal with Taye Diggs,” Pride Magazine (online), July 28, 2010, accessed February 21, 2021, http://pridemagazine.com/2010/07/up-­close-­personal -­with-­taye-­diggs/. 113. “London Barber Creates UK’s First Black-­Owned Grooming Line,” Voice Online, February 3, 2016, accessed May 22, 2019, https://www.voice-­online.co.uk/article/london -­barber-­creates-­uk%E2%80%99s-­first-­black-­owned-­grooming-­line. 114. “Meet the Man Building a Male Grooming Empire,” Voice Online, August 17, 2018, accessed May 22, 2019, https://www.voice-­online.co.uk/article/meet-­man-­building -­male-­grooming-­empire. 115. “This Male Model Is Ready to Hit It Big,” Voice Online, June 10, 2017, accessed May 22, 2019, https://www.voice-­online.co.uk/article/male-­model-­ready-­hit­it-­big. 116. Ben Arogundade, “Black Male on the Catwalk,” Guardian, March 2, 1998, B8. 117. Ian MacKinnon, “Sikhs Put Macho Image Back in Fashion,” Times, August 11, 2003, 12; and Eva Wiseman, “Battle of the Bulge,” Observer, September 9, 2007, LAGNA, File AK. 118. On aspects of this, see Evan Moffitt, “Rotimi Fani-­Kayode’s Ecstatic Antibodies: Libidinal Politics, Race, and Desire,” Transition, no. 118 (2015): 74–­86. 119. Rotimi Fani-­Kayode, “Traces of Ecstasy,” Reading the Contemporary: African Art from Theory to the Marketplace (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1999), 276–­81. 120. Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (London: Routledge, 1990), 24–­25, 134–­49. 121. On Ajamu X, see Matt Cook, Queer Domesticities: Homosexuality and Home Life in Twentieth-­Century London (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 218–­25. 122. David A. Bailey, “Foreword,” in Ajamu, Black Bodyscapes: Photographs by Ajamu (Birmingham: David A. Bailey, 1994), 3. 123. Kobena Mercer, “The Camera as Kinky Machine: Notes on Ajamu’s Photographs,” in Black Bodyscapes, 4–­8. 124. Black Bodyscapes, 10–­15. 125. Ajamu X and Anita Naoko Pilgrim, “In Conversation: Photographer Ajamu and Cultural Critic Anita Naoko Pilgrim,” Paragraph 26, nos. 1–­2 (March–­July 2003): 108, 112. 126. Zinzi Minott, “Fierce and That: Ponderings on the Work of Ajamu X. An Orig­­ inal Afro Punk,” AfroPunk, March 27, 2013, accessed May 22, 2019, https://afropunk .com/2013/03/fierce-­and-­that-­ponderings-­on-­the-­work-­of-­ajamu-­x-­an-­original-­afro -­punk/. 127. Ekow Eshun, “Fine and Dandy,” Guardian, July 5, 2016, G2/12. 128. See Forth, Masculinity in the Modern West, 1–­18; and Chris Shilling, The Body and Social Theory, 3rd ed. (London: Sage, 2012), 107–­14. 129. “Directive D: Gay Men and Health” (Series 3, Spring 1991), National Lesbian and Gay Survey (NLGS), MOA, SxMOA16/2/1/3. 130. Respondent no. 717, “Response to Directive A—­Early Perceptions of Homo­ sexuality” ( July 1994), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA16/1/9/47/1. 131. Respondent no. 614, “Response to Directive C—­Health” (May 1994), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA16/1/9/37/2. 132. Respondent no. 808, “Response to Directive B—­Gay Men and Health” (Series 8, November 1995), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/8/8/2.

n ot es to pag es 3 15 – 3 18   › 395

133. Respondent no. 432, “Response to Directive B—­Gay Men and Health” (Series 4, 1993?), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/4/19/2. 134. Respondent no. 345, “Response to Directive C—­Gay Men and Health” (Series 2, Winter 1989), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/2/36/2. 135. Respondent no. 447, “Response to Directive B—­Gay Men and Health” (Series 4, 1993?), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/4/31/2. 136. On aging, see Charlotte Greenhalgh, Aging in Twentieth-­Century Britain (Berke­ ley: University of California Press, 2018). 137. Respondent no. 375, “Response to Directive D—­Gay Men and Health” (Series 3, Spring 1991), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/3/16/2. 138. Respondent no. 447, “Response to Directive B—­Gay Men and Health.” 139. Respondent no. 301, “Response to Directive C—­Gay Men and Health” (Series 2, Winter 1989), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/2/13/2. 140. Respondent no. 715, “Response to Directive D—­Gay Men and Health” (Series 7, October 1995), NLGA, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/9/46/2. 141. Respondent no. 367, “Response to Directive D—­Gay Men and Health” (Series 3, Spring 1991), NLGA, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/3/12/2. A similar perspective is revealed in Respondent no. 806, “Response to Directive B—­Health” (Series 8, November 1995), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/8/7/2. 142. Respondent no. 407, “Response to Directive B—­Gay Men and Health” (Series 4, 1993?), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/4/6/2. 143. Respondent no. 806. “Response to Directive B—­Gay Men and Health.” 144. Respondent no. 325, “Response to Directive C—­Gay Men and Health” (Series 2, Winter 1989), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/2/26/2. 145. Respondent no. 307, “Response to Directive C—­Gay Men and Health” (Series 2, Winter 1989), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/2/16/2. 146. Respondent no. 430, “Response to Directive B—­Gay Men and Health” (Series 4, 1993?), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/4/17/2. 147. Respondent no. 382, “Response to Directive D—­Gay Men and Health” (Series 3, Spring 1991), NLGS, MOA, SxMOA 16/1/3/23/2. 148. O’Kelly, “Body Talk,” 32. 149. Respondent no. B2238, “Response to Summer Directive 1997, Part 2—­Being Overweight,” MOA, SxMOA 2/1/51/2/1/28. 150. Respondent no. A883, “Response to Summer 1997 Directive, Part 2—­Being Overweight,” MOA, SxMOA 2/1/51/2/1/1. 151. Respondent no. B2785, “Response to Summer 1997 Directive, Part 2—­Being Over­ weight,” MOA, SxMOA 2/1/51/2/1/38. 152. Respondent no. W2803, “Response to Summer 1997 Directive, Part 2—­Being Overweight,” MOA, SxMOA 2/1/51/2/2/262. 153. Respondent no. R2809, “Response to Summer 1997 Directive, Part 2—­Being Overweight,” MOA, SxMOA 2/1/51/2/2/199. 154. Respondent no. C2203, “Response to Spring 2001 Directive, Part 1—­Hair & Hairdressing,” MOA, SxMOA 2/1/62/1/1/42; Respondent no. P2915, “Response to Spring 2001 Directive, Part 1—­Hair & Hairdressing,” MOA, SxMOA 2/1/62/1/1/150. 155. Respondent no. B2914, “Response to Spring 2001 Directive, Part 1—­Hair & Hairdressing,” MOA, SxMOA 2/1/62/1/1/28. 156. Respondent no. D1602, “Response to Spring 2001 Directive, Part 1—­Hair & Hairdressing,” MOA, SxMOA 2/1/62/1/1/53.

n ot es to pag es 3 20 – 3 23   ‹ 396

Epilogue 1. Justin Myers, “Makeup for Men: Will Blokes Ever Go Big for Bronzer?,” Guardian (online), August 22, 2017, accessed May 27, 2019, https://www.theguardian.com/fashion /2017/aug/22/makeup-­men-­bronzer-­asos. 2. “Buff Hunks Out, Skinny Dudes In!,” DailyMail.com (September 23, 2016), ac­ cessed May 27, 2019, https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-­3804669/Buff-­hunks -­skinny-­dudes-­fashion-­industry-­s-­idea-­perfect-­male-­model-­went-­muscular-­manly -­slim-­androgynous.html. 3. Holly Baxter, “Out of the Woods, Here He Comes: The Lumbersexual,” Guardian (online), November 14, 2014, accessed May 27, 2019, https://www.theguardian.com /commentisfree/2014/nov/14/lumbersexual-­beard-­plaid-­male-­fashion. 4. On the variability of meaning, see Susan Bordo, The Male Body: A New Look at Men in Public and in Private (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1999), 15–­104. 5. John Taylor, “John Taylor Looks at 25 Years of Fashion for Men,” Sunday Mirror, February 6, 1977, LAGNA, File AK. 6. See https://www.beautifulpeople.com/en-­UK, accessed May 27, 2019. 7. A commentary piece in the Times noted the restrictive nature of some internet dating sites such as BeautifulPeople.com, which it said were “as strict at protecting the reputation of their matchmaking and the virtue of their charges—­mostly female—­as any Victorian matron.” See “Date Expectations: Putting the Net into Nuptial Networking,” Times, January 5, 2006, 19. On the rise of internet dating in Britain, see H. G. Cocks, Classified: The Secret History of the Personal Column (London: Random House, 2009), 177–­89. 8. Catherine Nixey, “A Date for Your Diary: The Ugly Bug Ball,” Times, December 6, 2010, 2 [S1]. 9. Elements of this are beginning to be analyzed by social scientists and media studies scholars. It strikes me that historians might be able to provide some insights about im­ portant continuities as well as breaks with the past. For examples, see William C. Goedel, Paul Krebs, Richard E. Greene, and Dustin T. Duncan, “Associations between Perceived Weight Status, Body Dissatisfaction, and Self-­Objectification on Sexual Sensation Seek­ ing and Sexual Risk Behaviors among Men Who Have Sex with Men Using Grindr,” Behavioral Medicine 43, no. 2 (2017): 142–­50; Rusi Jaspal, “Gay Men’s Construc­tion and Management of Identity on Grindr,” Sexuality and Culture 21, no. 1 (2017): 187–­204; Tom Penney, “Bodies under Glass: Gay Dating Apps and the Affect-­Image,” Media International Australia 153, no. 1 (2014): 107–­17; Elwood Watson and Marc E. Shaw, eds., Performing American Masculinities: The Twenty-­First Century Man in Popular Culture (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2011); and Michele White, The Body and the Screen: Theories of Internet Spectatorship (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2006). 10. Again, social scientists have started to study the impact of internet images on body image. See Ingela Lundin Kvalem, Bente Traeen, and Alex Iantaffi, “Internet Por­ nography Use, Body Ideals, and Sexual Self-­Esteem in Norwegian Gay and Bisexual Men,” Journal of Homosexuality 63, no. 4 (2016), n.p., online version, accessed June 25, 2020, https://doi.org/10.1080/00918369.2015.1083782; and Brandon Miller, “Textually Pres­enting Masculinity and the Body on Mobile Dating Apps for Men Who Have Sex with Men,” Journal of Men’s Studies 26, no. 3 (2018): 305–­26. 11. Elaine O’Flynn, “Are These Britain’s Sexiest MPs?,” DailyMail.com ( June 30, 2015), accessed May 27, 2019, https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-­3145052/Most-­pop

n ot es to pag es 3 23 – 3 2 4   › 397

ular-­banned-­website-­Parliament-­one-­rates-­sexy-­MPs-­half-­million-­attempts-­view-­sexy mp-­uk.html. 12. “Banned Sexy MP Website ‘Was a Bit of  Joke,’ Says Founder,” video clip from BBC Two’s Daily Politics show ( July 6, 2015), accessed May 27, 2019, https://www.bbc.co.uk /programmes/p02wfg1f. 13. Tim Teeman, “Forget the Scandal, Feel the Pecs,” Times, June 9, 2011, 2 [S] 14. Alison Oram, Her Husband Was a Woman! Women’s Gender-­Crossing in Modern British Popular Culture (London: Routledge, 2007); Pagan Kennedy, The First Man-­ Made Man: The Story of Two Sex Changes, One Love Affair, and a Twentieth-­Century Medical Revolution (New York: Bloomsbury, 2007); and Jacob Bloomfield, “Splinters: Cross-­Dressing Ex-­Servicemen on the Interwar Stage,” Twentieth Century British History 31, no. 1 (2019): 1–­28. 15. Eve Barlow, “Laith Ashley: Sometimes I Hate Having the Trans Title on My Head,” British GQ (online), November 19, 2018, accessed May 27, 2019, https://www.gq-­mag azine.co.uk/article/transgender-­model-­laith-­ashley-­interview. Cover image, Attitude, June 2016; and cover image, Gay Times, January 2018. 16. Charlotte Greenhalgh has explored some of these issues in her Aging in Twentieth-­ Century Britain (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2018).

Index

Page numbers in italics refer to figures. 219, 220; for Vinolia shaving cream, 172; for Wright’s Coal Tar Soap, 134, 196; for Yardley, 174 advertising: development of, 168; hairdressers’ techniques, 71; and ideas of business or professional success, 71–­72, 210; and ideas of romantic success, 72, 172, 212, 214; and ideas of transformation, 71, 77, 170–­72; and ideas of well-­ being, 172, 206; male gaze in, 209; and market research, 168, 207, 209; and promotion of  beauty ideals, 23, 35, 162; and psychology, 207; responses to, 186; and spectacle, 73; and use of military images, 134, 193, 209; and use of pho­tography, 168, 193; and use of testimonials, 170 Advertising World (magazine), 168 aestheticism, 51, 85, 92, 94–­95 aesthetics: of disease, 276; merger of queer and normative, 227. See also AIDS AIDS: antiretroviral treatments for, 283; attempts to counter, 280; and bodily transformation, 248, 274, 277, 284, 315; and body positivity, 279; and compromise of male beauty, 248, 274; depiction in media as threat, 276; and Diana, Princess of  Wales, 277, 278; and “Hand­ some Kenny” narrative, 274, 275, 276; Kaposi’s sarcoma lesions and, 277, 278; negative characterizations of victims, 279; safer sex campaigns, 282; in Sun­ day People, 274; views of people with, 277; and vulnerability, 277

able-­bodiedness, 5, 142 Abrams, Mark, The Teenage Consumer, 233 Ackerley, J. R, My Father and Myself, 125 actors, aesthetic appeal of, 114, 129, 152, 174. See also Black: actors Adonis Complex, The (Pope et al.), 286 advertisements: for Arthur J. Pye hair consulting services, 172; before and after images, 77, 81; for Bovril, 134; for Brylcreem, 172, 194, 196; for Cadbury’s Cocoa, 79, 97, 99; for cartes de visite, 42; for Dr. Gallinger’s Valitone Bonbons, 172; for Dunlop Cycle Tyres, 134; for Eucryl Tooth Powder, 194; featuring cinema starts, 166; for Fortune chocolates, 194; for Fry’s Cocoa, 194; for Germolene Aseptic Ointment, 172; handsomeness in, 134; instructive purposes of, 167; for Kauzeroon Moustache Prep­ aration, 80; for Kotalko’s True Hair Grower, 170; for Ku-­Bist, 170, 171; for Lifebuoy, 168, 196; for Linea belts, 172; for MacLean’s toothpaste, 196; for Marks and Spencer underwear, 290; as objects of admiration, 205; for Pears soap, 50, 78; and the promotion of occupational readiness, 80; for Remington shavers, 212; for Renuhair, 170; for Sargol, 172, 173; and scientific principles, 169–­70; for Silvikrin, 197, 198, 210, 211; for Tackle, 214; for Tatcho, 80; for Valderma, 212; for Valet Autostrop safety razors, 197; for Vince Man’s Shop, 399

i n d e x   ‹ 400

Ainley, Henry, 116, 180. See also celebrity culture: and theater Ajamu X, 313; Black Bodyscapes, 313; Fierce, 313 albumen print paper, 27 Alderson, Connie, 234 Alexander, George, 115, 117. See also celebrity culture: and theater Allen, Grant, 89 Amies, Hardy, 240; with models, 241 Anderson, Michael, 264 Anthony, Peter, 242, 243. See also male models anthropology, 19 anti-­Catholicism, 30 Arogundade, Ben, 310. See also male mod­ els: Black Artemis (fragrance), 309 artist models, 97, 98. See also Tuke, Henry Scott Ashley, Laith, 324 Associated British Pathé Newsreels: on body-­building contests, 225; on hairstyling, 216 athleticism, 66; admiration for, 315; and bodily vitality, 91; in British culture, 295; and eroticism, 295; and pornography, 268 Atlas, Charles, 224 attractiveness, 3; celebrations of, 126; mea­ surement of, 1; normative standards of, 142; as social asset, 75. See also good looks Automatic Hair Cream Vending Machines, Ltd., 209. See also Festival of Britain, and grooming products Bailey, David, 313 balding and baldness, 35, 37, 53–­54, 64, 80, 318; cures for, 77; fears of, 190; and ideas of impotence, 293; impact of, 211 Bankier, William (pseud. Apollo), 107–­8, 109. See also celebrity culture: physical culture stars Bannister and Co., 32 Barker, Sean, 274 Barnett, Trevor, 241

Barrington, John, 227–­28, 261, 269. See also physique magazines Barrow, Kenneth, 275. See also National Lesbian and Gay Survey Barter, John, 23 bathing, 53, 56; nude, 97–­99, plate 3 Baughan, Rosa, Handbook of Physiognomy, 21–22 Baxter, Nigel, 302 Bayard, Vane, and Co., 57–­58 Baylis, H. P., 151 Baynes, Aubrey, 259 Bear, Jordan, 14 Beard, Richard, 27–­28, 37–­38 Beard and Moustache Movement, 64 beards, 66; appeal of, in the 1970s, 250, 256; debates about, 292–­93; and employment, 212; as exceptional, 212; history of, 53; and masculine appeal, 64; and masculinity, 53; as means of differentiating men, 256; removal, 69; resurgence of, in 2010s, 321; as sign of bohemianism, 212; as sign of gender nonconformity in the 1930s, 256, 321; unpopularity of, 67 Beatles, 212, 220 Beaton, Cecil, 180 beautiful people: in the 1970s, 246, 255; Vaughan’s reaction to, 203 BeautifulPeople.com, 322, 396n7 beauty: ancient Greek ideals, 20, 22, 26, 33, 53, 67, 76, 88, 94, 110, 128, 228, 315; ancient Roman ideals, 282; assessment of, 13, 22, 26, 106, 117; and capitalism, 4–­5, 13, 59; and character, 21; and complexion, 21; and consumer culture, 50; Enlightenment ideas of, 17; and happiness, 165; and healthfulness, 55, 59, 65, 165, 318; measurement of, 26; and moderation, 64–­65; observation of, 85–­87, 89; in periodicals, 52; and philosophy, 4; privileges of, 5, 123; redemptive power of, 161; rules of, 20; scientific principles and, 56; self-­assessment of, 25; sensual experiences of, 125; and success, 50; and symmetry, 20, 22, 23, 30, 50, 63, 112; terminology, 3; vocabular-

i n d e x   › 401

ies of, 7, 13, 15, 22, 26, 28, 30–­31, 33, 35, 49, 50, 86, 128 Beauty Culture (Bayard, Vane, and Co.), 57–­58 beauty industry, 3, 51, 55, 60, 67, 73, 76, 80, 172, 292; and fashion consciousness, 174; racial disparities in, 217–­18, 309–­10 beauty manuals, treatises, and guides, 6, 50, 52–­64, 253, 292; authored by medical men, 55–­56 Beckford, Tyson, 310. See also male mod­ els: Black Beckham, David, 3; Adams and, 299; and Armani, 300–­301; Coad on, 298; and histories of looking and display, 299; as metrosexual, 294; as modern man, 299; Rahman on, 298, 301; and Selfridges billboard, 299–­301, 301; Simpson on, 298; and the valorization of the athlete, 294 Bede, Cuthbert, 37, 39 beefcake, 225, 228 Begiato, Joanne, 335n11 Bend it Like Beckham (film), 294 Benjamin, Harry, The Transsexual Phe­ nomenon, 255 Bennett, Tony, and the “exhibitionary complex,” 29 Bennett-­England, Rodney, As Young as You Look, 6, 246, 253, 255 Benson, Arthur Christopher, 129, 152 Bentley, Michael, 240 Bernhardt, Sarah, 103 “bigorexia,” 291 binaries, gender and sexual, 249, 257, 284, 286 Bingham, Adrian, 288 Black: actors, 182; aesthetics, 249, 260; entertainers, 182; experiences of white beauty culture, 217–­18; male body, 182, 232, 232, 271, 310; masculinity, 313; perceptions of media images, 316; press, 309 Black, Johnny, 8; comments on gender, 252; engagement with popular culture, 252–­53, 254; journals, 250, plate 8; media influences on, 253; perceptions of

personal appearance, 252–­53; personal life, 250; photo-­booth photographs of, 252 Black Bodyscapes (Ajamu), 313 Blackpool, 23, 272 Blaine, William Fleming, 44, 45 Blakeway, Phil, 268 blind men, aesthetics of, 144–­45 Bloomsbury Group, 130 Blyth, Charles, 67 body: on display, 102; ideal measurements of, 66; image, 289, 314–­16, 317; improvement of, 108; obsessions with, 84. See also male body bodybuilding and bodybuilders, 206, 224; admiration for, 225, 226, 268; and AIDS, 280; and body images, 289; obsessions with, 291; Reg Park, 225, 226 body hair removal, debates about, 293 body-­oriented goods, 75, 82, 84, 90, 167–­68, 170, 174, 177, 207, 209, 249; Black engagement with, 217–­18; Black-­ specific, 309; male engagement with, 186, 189, 292, 320 Body Positive, 279 Bogarde, Dirk, 234 Bopara, Ravi, 298 Boss, Hugo, 298; use of cricketers in promoting products, plate 13 Boulle, Francis, 323 Bourke, Joanna, 151 Bowie, David, androgyny and gender nonconformity of, 256–­57, plate 9 Bowles, Thomas Gibson, 112 Boyfriend (magazine): American influences in, 236; Britishness in, 236–­37; celebrity focus of, 235; creation of, 234; definitions of masculine attractiveness, 234–­37, 235; female sexuality in, 234; and promotion of heterosexual sociability, 234. See also racial and ethnic difference Bracken, Hugh, 231 Bradbury, Harriet Bowker, 60 Brisson, Carl, 182 Britain: as center of beauty, 89; as multi-­ racial and multicultural country, 259, 310

i n d e x   ‹ 402

British Board of Film Classification, 283 British Hairdressers’ Benevolent and Provident Institution, 68 Brittain, Vera, and Roland Leighton, 135, 141 Brixton Riots, 260 Brooke, Rupert: admirers of, 125, 132; association with Greece, 152; burial on Skyros, 151; at Cambridge, 128–­29; as celebrity, 129, 153, 160–­61; death of, 151; descriptions of personal beauty, 123, 126–­27, 129, 130, 152–­53, 155, 157; as exemplar and symbol, 3, 127, 151, 152, 161; funeral service for, 151; and glamour, 153; as Greek god, 129, 131; Letters from America, 129; as masculine, 130; memorial in Rugby Chapel, 154–­55, 156, 157, 161; memorial on Skyros, 154, 157–­58, 159, 160, 160, 161; as Norse god, 130; papers of, 8; photographs of, 124, 126, 153–­54, 157–­58; as pivotal figure in the history of male beauty, 127; remem­ bering, 125, 150–­51, 154; sexual desire for, 127–­28, 129, 131–­32; and sexual identities, 130–­31, 151; sexual life of, 127; “The Soldier,” 152; travels to North America, 129, 133, 161; travels to the South Seas, 129. See also Gardner, Phyllis; Strachey, James Brooke, Ruth Mary (Cotterill), 154–­55, 157–­58 Browne, Maurice, 123, 127 Browne, Thomas Brookes, 168 Brummel, Beau, 2, 221, 257 Bruzzi, Stella, 295 Bryan, Eric Richard, 43 Brylcreem, 206, 209, 210, 219, 295, 298 Bumble, 322 bums and buttocks, 199–­200, 285, 290, 293, 313, 315 Burns, Bobby, 204 Burton’s (tailor), 188, 218 Butler, Judith, 313 Butler, Kit, 323. See also male models “Buy British” campaigns, 170 Cain, J. H., 69, 75 cameras, 27–­28, 124

Cameron, Julia Margaret, 32–­35 Campbell, Beatrix, 286 Canale, Philip, 215 Capsuloids, 80, 81 Carden-­Coyne, Ana, 125 Carnaby Street, 7, 218–­19, 262; as fashion center, 221 Carroll, Peter, 257, 258 cartes de visite, 7, 26–­27, 36, 37, 38, 40–­46, 47, 48, 49; and athletes, 45; of bodybuilders, 110; and celebrity culture, 179; of cricketers, 46, 48; at Oxford and Cambridge, 42, 44–­45, 45; of rowers, 46, 47 Cattaneo, Peter, 285 celebrity culture: and athletes, 294; and the cinema, 166; and classification, 182; and displays of the male face and body, 166; impact on conceptions of beauty, 206; influence on self-­presentation, 137, 315; influence on sexual fantasies, 315; and love of idols, 111; and magazines, 115, 166, 194, 234–­38; and physical culture stars, 110; and theater, 115, 116, 117, 183 Cézanne, Paul, 199 Chapter on Noses, A (Story), 7, 20 Chesebrough Manufacturing, 210 Chisolm, Jack, 212 Christian Science, 60, 345n64 Churchill, Winston, 151–­52 Churchman, W. A. and A. C., 183. See also cigarette cards cigarette cards, 183–­84, 205, 268; actors in, 184; cricketers in, 184; footballers in, plate 6; rowers in, 184 cinema: attendance, 166, 225; influence on fashion, 179–­80; magazines about, 166, 179–­80; portraits of stars, 180–­81; stars as exemplars of masculine beauty, 180. See also celebrity culture City Imperial Volunteers, 134 Clark, Alex, 306 Clarke, A., and Son, 43, 44. See also cartes de visite cleanliness, 25, 51, 54–­55, 91, 168; and war­ time preparedness, 193, 196 clean-­shaven face: in advertising, 212, 213; as aesthetic ideal, 82, 112, 189, 242; and

i n d e x   › 403

masculine conformity in the 1950s, 207, 212; and modernity, 212; as social expectation, 189 Cockney, 18, 18, 98 Cohen, Gustavus, 103–­4, 104 Colclough, David, 256 Colgate, M. G., 274 collection: of brochures, 269; of photographs, 36, 41, 49, 51, 54, 110, 116, 141, 183, 264, 268, 301–­2, 321; of physical culture and physique magazines, 108, 233; and same-­sex desire, 85 Collie, Arthur, 94 cologne, gendered implications of wearing, 256 commercialization, of male images, 68 commodification: of faces and bodies, 49, 67, 106, 183, 227, 287, 305–­6; and male beauty, 85 competition: culture of, 60, 117, 209; impulse toward, 323; sport and, 117; value of, 118–­19, 148; and value of good clothing, 175 Compton, Denis, 295 Connery, Sean, 220, 220, 293 Connolly, Joseph, 293 consumerism: cultivation of male customers, 64, 173; emergence of mass, 84; and gender and sexual expression, 165–­ 66, 207–­8, 233; masculine embrace of, 68, 165; in the 1970s and 1980s, 247; personal appearance and, 108; redemp­ tive and transformative power of, 63, 76, 166–­67, 170, 177 contests and shows, 85; beauty, 1, 118–­19, 144; bodybuilding, 224–­26; Find a Male Model, 304; gay men, 1; Groovy Guy, 264; Handsomest Men, 1, 84, 118, 120; Mr. Britain, 224–­25; Mr. Gay UK, 307; Mr. Hardware, 272, 307; Mr. Playguy, 270; Mr. South Britain, 224; Mr. Universe, 224; physique, 1, 117–­19 “Cool Britannia,” 287 Cooper, Jilly, 250 Cornford, Francis (Darwin), 155 Cosmopolitan (magazine), 249; assessment of men in, 250, 296 Cotton, Henry John Stedman, 33, 34

Crampton, Robert, 293 Crawford, Joan, 180 Craze, Gary, 255 Crichton, the Admirable, 76 crisis of masculinity, 286 cult of the athlete, 85 Curtis, Tony, 215 Daguerre, Louis, 27 Daily Herald (newspaper), 7, 186; features on male models, 240; photographs of celebrities in, 234 Daisychain, 280 dandies and dandyism, 38, 67, 191, 192, 298 Darwin, Charles, 7, 33, 86, 89; The De­ scent of Man, 87; The Expression of the Emotions in Man, 87; On the Origin of Species, 86; and sexual selection, 85–­ 87; views on physiognomy, 19 David, Albert Augustus, 154–­55. See also Brooke, Rupert: memorial in Rugby Chapel Davidson, John Thain, 65 Davies, Jessica, 293 De Blowitz, Henry Opper, 114 Debord, Guy, 51. See also spectacles and spectacularization de la Mare, Walter, 158 Department of Health and Social Security, 282 department stores, and the cultivation of male markets, 177 dermatology, 57–­59 Dick, Robert, 55 Dickens, Charles, Household Words, 16, 53. See also beards; physiognomy Diggs, Taye, 309. See also Black: actors digitization of images, 322 Dillon, Michael, 192 Director of Public Prosecutions, 263 disability, 125, 142, 144, 150, 172 dismemberment, 141, 150 Dixon, John, and Pamela, Fashion Model­ ling, 239 Dixon, Marion Hepworth, 101–­2 Dobing, Pete, 231 Dodd, Christopher, 295 Doré and Sons, 82, plate 2

i n d e x   ‹ 404

Douglas, John Albert, 137 Douglas, Lord Alfred, as beautiful man, 96–­97, 96 du Maurier, George, 57, 58 Dunlap, Knight, 91 Dunn, Eric, 215 Dyhouse, Carol, 153 Eau Lodois, 77 Edwards, Ollie, 323. See also male models effeminacy, and the dangers of fashionability, 65, 67, 130, 191–­92, 246, 255–­56, 292, 302 El-­Gindi, A., 226–­27. See also bodybuilding and bodybuilders Elliot and Fry, 41–­42, 49. See also cartes de visite Ellis family (Frank, Ida, and Albert), 22; and Guide to Success, 23 Ennever, William Joseph, 60 Eshun, Ekow, 313 eugenics, 4, 90–­91, 168–­69 Eureka Toilet Saloon, 66 exhibitions: colonial, 29; world’s fairs, 29 eyes, 21, 22, 56, 237 Face as Indicative of Character, The (Story), 13, 21 facial appearance: and angularity, 75; and circulation, 25; commercial value of, 59; description of ideals, 76; and diges­ tion, 25; as marker of distinctiveness, 60; and ruddy complexion, 66; scrutiny of, 59 facial injuries, 141–­50; and conceptions of the self, 125; coping with, culturally, 152; descriptions of, 123, 142–­45; expe­ riences of, 125, 135, 143–­44; images of, 145; masks used to obscure, 146; memoirs about, 148–­49; Ministry of Pensions, 142, 360n89; numbers of, 124; nurses’ reactions to, 144; observations on, 125; oral histories about, 149–­50; reactions to, 125, 150; and reconstructive surgery, 125, 147. See also plastic surgery facial shape, 21 facial types, 60

Facts and Faces (Woolnoth), 20 Fani-­Kayode, Rotimi, 310, 312, 313 Fashion (magazine), 6, 65. See also men’s lifestyle press fashion photographs, and the male gaze, 240 fatness, 4, 32, 57, 114, 172, 291, 317–­18, plate 1; sexual appeal of, 316–­17 Festival of Britain, and grooming products, 208–­9 Field, Mortimer and Son, 43 Fierce (Ajamu), 313 Fifty Shilling Tailors, 188, 218 Fimmel, Travis, 292 First World War: commemoration of, 125, 150, 161; images of soldiers in, 133–­34, 136–­37, 138–­39; impact of, 123; and injuries, 141; medical inspectors in, 142; memorial cards during, 136; and photography, 124, 134–­35, 276; and physical appearance, 142; Rupert Brooke volunteers for, 124, 133; and stresses on the male body, 161; as visual conflict, 124, 134; women’s contributions to, 133, 161 Foan, Gilbert A., 173 Forbes, Ralph, 184 Ford, Emile, 237 Forster, E. M, Maurice, 128 For Women (magazine), 289 Foster, Mark, 296, 297. See also swimmers Fowler, L. N., 21 Francis, Martin, 194 French, John, 7, 239–­40; photographs of Roger Moore and Pat Goddard, 240; photographs of Tommy Kyle, 240. See also male models Freud, Sigmund, 188–­89 Fry, Charles Burgess, 112, 113, 295, plate 4 Full Monty, The (film), 285–­86 Fury, Billy, 237 Gall, Franz Joseph, 19 Gallard, Chris, 291 Gallipoli, 151 Galton, Francis, 7, 90–­91; beauty map, 90; and measurement, 90–­91; and photography, 90

i n d e x   › 405

Gandy, David, 3; and Autograph collection for Marks and Spencer, 305, 306; discovery on This Morning, 1, 304; Dolce and Gabbana book featuring, 305; Dolce and Gabbana’s Light Blue campaign, 304; female sexual desire for, 305, 306; reflections on his “look,” 304–­5, 320–­ 21; and Select Model Management; and social media, 305; Testino, image of, plate 14; Vivanco, photos of, 305. See also male models Gardner, J. C., 84, 120 Gardner, Phyllis, 127: memoir and letters, 131–­33; relationship with Rupert Brooke, 132; sexual experimentation with Rupert Brooke, 132 Gay Left (journal), 273 Gay Liberation Front, 263 gay men: and acquisition of images of male beauty, 261; and AIDS, 248; appeal of sports attire to, 280; Black, 310, 313; and body envy, 280; and bookstores, 261, 262; and claims to masculinity, 270; culture and worldviews of, 248; as entrepreneurs, 262; expression of aesthetic preferences, 272; personal experiences of pornography, 246; and self-­fashioning, 276 gay pornographic magazines, 263; Amer­ ican influence on, 265; athletic ideal during the AIDS crisis, 279–­80, 281; and depictions of men of color, 269, 271; erotic stories in, 266, 269; and gay identities, 263–­64; and hypermasculinity, 265; importance of photography in, 263; letters to the editor, 272–­73; and looking, 273; and muscular aesthetics, 265, 266, 267; pleasures of, 273–­74; polit­ ical significance of, 265; racist assumptions in, 269; and sexual education, 264; working-­class aesthetics in, 268 gender-­blurring, and fashion, 249 gender fluidity, 32 genitals: appeal of, 220, 272, 287; celebration of, by gay men, 248; Gandy’s, 305; as sign of attractiveness, 175; size, 265 Gentleman’s Companion to the Toilet, 6, 52–­53

George, Boy, 257–­58 Gielgud, John, 8, 183 Giles, Harry, 84 Gillies, Harold, 144–­49, 326; as practi­ tioner of plastic surgery, 146–­47. See also facial injuries; Queen’s Hos­ pital, Sidcup Girvan, Arthur, 80, 82 glam rock, 257 Glitter, Gary, 256 Godfrey, Frederick, 170 good looks: and agreeableness, 64; assessment of, 235; commercial value of, 63; and financial and professional success, 59, 66, 67, 80, 82, 148, 175, 177, 187, 210, 211, 212, 253; and personal initiative, 80; and sexual identities, 167, 208 Gosse, Edmund, 92, 94 Grant, Cy, 259 Grant, Duncan, 102, 130. See also swimmers Great Exhibition, 16, 28, 51, 208 Great International Exhibition, 28 Green, Bernard Blackwell, 148, 149. See also facial injuries Greer, Germaine, 293 Grindr, 323 grooming: discussions of, 167; and gender identities, 186; importance of, 246; and pleasure, 167; rituals, 189–­90; and self-­ esteem, 166, 186; as social asset, 187; and social class, 189; and success, 184, 186, 210–­11, 255 gyms, 103, 231, 233, 255, 268, 291, 307, 316 Hackenschmidt, George, 103 Hamilton, Sir Ian, 155, 157 Hancox, Terry, 237 Handbook of Physiognomy (Baughan), 21–22 hair: afros and Black Power, 249, 260; age-­ related rituals, 54; American influence, 215; Arthur Scargill’s, 318; crew cuts, 215; curling, 73; DA (or duck’s arse), 215; David Mellor’s, 318; dreadlocks and Black resistance, 249, 260–­61; and gender identities, 190, 214–­15; gray, 80; health, 54; intergenerational tensions about, 214, 216–­17; length and cleanliness, 67,

i n d e x   ‹ 406

hair (cont.) 73; luxuriant, 77; Mohicans, 217; and occupational and economic success, 80; as ornament, 73; parts, 35; and politics, 261, 318; “Rolling Stones” style, 217; and sex­ ual identities, 190–­91, 289; “short back and sides,” 214, 259, 288; trends in the 1950s, 209, 214–­15; use of fixatives, 190 hairdressers, 51, 59, 68; as beauty-­culturists, 173 Hairdressers’ Journal, 215–­16 Hairdressers’ Weekly Journal, 6, 68, 173; and the promotion of new styles, 174 Hairdressers’ Wholesalers’ Association, 174 Hairdressing Exhibition of Great Britain, 215 Hairdressing Manufacturers’ and Wholesalers’ Association, 209 hairdressing salons, 68, 173, 177, 178, 179; Clifford’s Hairdressing Saloon, 218, 219; as masculine spaces, 68, 177; Professor (Frederick) Browne’s Hair Cutting Saloon, 70 Hairtinting and Beauty Culture (journal), 6, 165, 172 Hallam, Paul, 277 Halop, Billy, 182 Harrodian Gazette (newspaper), 177 Harrods, 175–­79 Harrods News (newspaper), 175 Harvey, Laurence, 227, 234 Hathaway, R. H, 129–­30 Heads of the People or Portraits of the En­ glish (Meadows and Smith), 17 Health, Beauty, and Toilet Exhibition, 119 Health and Strength, 106, 108, 110, 224 Health and Strength League, 103 Heaven (club), 272 Heidenstam, Oscar, 224 height, 80, 82 Heighway, William, 35 Henry, Cyril, 235. See also celebrity culture: and theater heterosexual attraction and courtship, 21, 22, 38, 71, 146, 150, 212, 214, 238 heterosexuality: as ideal in wartime, 197; in 1950s and 1960s, 208, 216; in teenage magazines, 233–­34, 245

Hicks, Seymour, 115 hierarchies of beauty, 5, 21, 36, 60, 114; based on age, 31–­32, 38, 43–­44, 44, 184, 316, 324; based on class, 18, 38, 56–­57, 112, 317–­18; based on race, 19, 87, 88–­ 91. See also racial and ethnic difference Higgins, Terrence, 274; Trust, 283 Hill, R., and J., 183–­84. See also cigarette cards Hills and Saunders, 41–­42. See also cartes de visite Him Exclusive (magazine), 1, 7, 263–­65, 266, 268–­69, 270, 272–­73, 277, 279; and leather and denim, 265 Him International (magazine), 263, 272, 274 Him Monthly (magazine), 263, 279–­80 HIV, 279–­80 Hoare, Charles Noel, 158 Hogg, Jabez, 37, 38 homoeroticism, 95, 110, 120, 183–­84, 200, 209 homosexuality: as criminal offense, 199; decriminalization of, 247, 261; as identity category, 208 Honey (magazine), 249; assessment of men in, 250, 251 Houlbrook, Matt, 197, 268 Hudson, Rock, 277 Hutter, David, 280 hydrotherapy, 76 Ignatieff, Michael, 286 Illustrated London News (magazine), 7, 14, 17, 28, 79 Illustrated Police News (newspaper), 120, 121, 122 immigration, opposition to, 247–­48; post­ war, 247 imperialism: and bodily vitality, 14, 26, 85, 106, 288; and the British economy, 17, 51; and categorization of human types, 73, 85, 86, 89–­90, 106; and ideas about grooming, 91; and periodical publications, 114 Imperial War Museum, 136, 149 Impy, H. B., 67 Inch, Thomas, 103, 107–­8 Incognito, 261, 263

i n d e x   › 407

Incorporated Guild of Hairdressers, Wigmakers, and Perfumers, 68 individuality, 2, 35, 247; and dress, 174 inferiority complex, 189 Inge, William Ralph, 152 Instagram, use of, by male models, 305, 323 International Health Exhibition, 90 International Model (Martin), 242–­44 Irish, depictions of, 19 Jagger, Mick, 255 Janes, Dominic, 277 Jantzen swimwear, 175, 176 Jeffrey (magazine), 263; Groovy Guy Contest, 264; Male Poster Boy promotion, 264. See also contests and shows Jermyn Street, 200, 218 Jerrold, Douglas William, 18 Jews, depictions of, 19, 95, 114 John, Elton, 249, 256 Johnson, Daniel, 309 Jones, Simon, semi-­nude photos of, 296 Jordan, Barbara Scott, 183 Kallos (Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons), 56–­57, 59 Kane, Pat, 289 Keegan, Kevin, 273 Kelly, Frederick Septimus, 157 Kelly, Jane, 293 Kilner, Thomas Pomfret, 150 King’s College, Cambridge, 127, 157 Klein, Calvin, 292 Kneen, Sam (Mr. Gay UK, 2011), plate 15 Kopler, Steve, 270 La Lanterne Sourde, 157 Lamb, Henry, portrait of Trooper Owen, 197, plate 7 Lamont, L. P., 52 Lamprill, Brian, 231 Landesman, Cosmo, 286 Lang, Matheson, 115 Laughton, Charles, as example of an ugly man, 206 Laurie, Peter, 234 Lavater, Johann Caspar, 15–­16, 19, 73; Es­ says on Physiognomy, 15

Laynard, Boyd, 59–­60, 61, 62; Secrets of Beauty, Health, and Long Life, 59, 61, 62 Leigh, Vivien, 8, 183 Lesage, Adolphe, 29 Lettermen, 235 Lever Brothers, 168, 196 lifeguards, 184 Liverpool Amateur Photographic Asso­ ciation, 30 London: as center of masculine good looks, 250; as fashion capital, 238–­39 London Press Exchange, 209 Lord Leighton, Frederic, 91–­92, 93, 102 Lorrell, John, 242 lumbersexual, 321, 324 Lumley, Peter Hope, 242 macaronis, 2 MacCaffrey, Joe, 231 Made You Look, 313 Major, John, 279 male beauty: aesthetics of, 66; attention to, 65; and contrasts, 104; as cultural preoccupation, 82; cycles of, 288; dangers of, 65, 120, 121, 122; and diet, 66; and gender fluidity, 320–­21; and identity, 3; and imperialism, 14–­15, 112; looking at, 106, 117, 285; in middle age, 75; as object of scrutiny and fascination, 37, 52, 68, 92, 247, 285, 306; reactions to, 97; and sexual desire, 112, 161, 285; and sexual identities, 161, 183, 245, 248; South Asian examples of, 298; as symbol, 3; types of, 112 male body: admiration of, 119, 272, 285, 296, 315; anxieties and insecurities about, 285–­86, 289, 291, 296, 314–­18, plate 12; Black, 311, 313; Black male display of, 259; dis­play of as prerogative of manhood, 207–8, 317; eroticization and sexualization of, 208, 218–­19, 287, 305; exposed, 122; exposure of, in British culture, 224, 240, 288, 296; idealized representations of, 160; as marketing device, 221–­23; media images of, 314–­ 16; scrutiny of in the 1970s and 1980s, 247; and sexual desire, 112, 120, 122, 221,

i n d e x   ‹ 408

male body (cont.) 306; and social change, 247, 321; standards in 2000, 304 male figure in art, 85, 94, 97, 102 male models, 166; beauty secrets of, 302; Black, 309–­10; celebrity status of, 239, 244, 302; demand for, 239; excessive thinness of, in early 2000s, 304; growth of, in the 1950s and 1960s, 208, 234; market value of, 241–­42; in 1920s and 1930s, 184–­86; as objects of desire, 302; as sexually suspect, 244, 292, 302; South Asian, 310, 311; superhunks in the 1990s, 302 male toilet, 73 male vanity, 22, 71 manliness, and self-­control, 14 Manning, John, 231–­32 Man-­to-­Man (magazine), 269 Man-­to-­Man store, 262 Manyan, Winston, 232 Marsh, Edward, 132, 153, 154 Marshall, Cherry, Fashion Modelling as a Career, 239 Martin, Biddy V., 242 Martins, Errol, 270, 271 Marwick, Arthur, 1 masculinity: athletic, 45–­46, 294; body-­ oriented conceptions of, 14, 287–­88, 314, 319; cultural obsession with, 314, 319; discussion in the press, 286; and gender play, 321; historians of, 286; martial, 41, 124, 134, 138, 139, 193, 196; naval, 18, 19, 99, 100, 140; working-­class, 231, 268 Mass-­Observation (M-­O), 8, 167, 186–­92, 205, 314–­18; directive on personal appearance, 186, 188 masturbation, dangers of, 25, 102–­3 Mather, Victoria, 293 Maude, Cyril, 115. See also celebrity culture: and theater M’Baye, Tidiou, 310. See also male models: Black McCartney, Paul, 255 McKenna, Alex, 263, 265, 268–­69, 279; and assessment of male bodies, 272; Millivres Ltd. and, 280. See also Zipper (magazine) McLachlan, J. E., 25

McLaren, Rita, 141. See also photographic albums Meadows, Joseph Kenny, 17, 19; Heads of the People or Portraits of the English, 17 Memoirs of the Unemployed (Lambert), 189 men, and the renunciation of physical adornment, 67 Menkes, Suzy, 262; on the sexualization of men, 300 “Men of Note” books, 36, 111 Men Only (magazine), 64, 184, 193. See also men’s lifestyle press Men’s Clothing Exhibition, 174 men’s dress: androgyny in the 1970s, 248; and challenges to gender conventions, 249; and class anxieties, 188; and the cult of style, 174; influence of American and Continental styles on, 218; personal views on, 187–­88; sexual identities and, 218; tighter styles in the 1950s and 1960s, 207 men’s lifestyle press, 64, 66 Menswear by Mars, 220 menswear trade: and display techniques, 174; and photographic advertisements, 174; and use of catalogs and newsletters, 175–­77, 176 mental culture, impact on beauty, 60, 63 Mercer, Kobena, 261 Mercier, Charles, 57 Mercury, Freddie, 279 Merseybeats, 221 metrosexual, 4, 6, 287–­88, 298; and grooming obsession, 294; use of commodities, 294. See also Beckham, David; Simpson, Mark Midgley, Clare, 305 Milford, Hilda, 116–­17. See also celebrity culture: and theater modeling: agents, 242; as industry, 208, 239–­40; as profession for men, 239, 242; Whiteness of, in the 1950s and 1960s, 242 models, 1, 310 Models Directory, 240–­41 modernity, 51, 73; in advertising, 170; of Brooke, 123; and negative impact on beauty, 64; technological, 206

i n d e x   › 409

Modern Man (magazine), 6, 66–­67, 108. See also men’s lifestyle press mods, 216 Montague, James, 280 Montgomery, Robert, 181 Moore, Roger, 213; as model, 239. See also male models Moreton, Cole, 304 Mort, Frank, 209, 288 Mosse, George, 3 Mountfort, Charles Clayton, 120 Muir, Ward: The Happy Hospital, 144–­45; Observations of an Orderly, 144 muscularity, 25, 45, 57, 85, 102, 112; in advertisements, 175; in art, 92, 93, 94; and Britishness, 114; celebration of, 224, 226, 227–­28, 237–­38, 238, 314; lack thereof, 66; in pornography, 265; resurgence of in the 1980s, 259; and sexiness, 289 museums, 29 mustaches, 66; Eden’s, 191; Gable’s, 191; Kitchener’s, 67; as marker of sexual and gender nonconformity, 191 National AIDS Trust, 282 National Archives, 157 National Festival of Hairdressing Exhibition, 215 National Hair and Beauty Week, 214 nationalism and national identity, 3, 4, 17 National Lesbian and Gay Survey, 8, 246, 275, 280, 314–­18; directive on gay men and health, 314 National Service, 214 Nationwide Festival of Light, 248 Naughten, Jim, 298 Nead, Lynda, 16 Nesbitt, Cathleen, 127. See also Brooke, Rupert “new lad” magazines, influence of gay aes­ thetics on, 287 “new man,” 288 “New Romantic” aesthetic, 257 “New Sculpture,” 92 New Views on Baldness (Truefitt), 54, 68 Nicholson, William, 57, plate 1 nudity: in art, 85, 92, 97, 99, 101, 113, 158, 159, 160; in pornography, 264

Obscene Publications Act (1857), 228 Obscene Publications Acts (1959 and 1964), 263 Obscene Publications squad, 263 Observer Sport Monthly (magazine), 297; cricket profiles in, 298 O’Connell, Paul, 298 Ogunkoya, Ty, 323. See also male models O’Kelly, Lisa, 290 Oliver, Sir Thomas, 175 Olivier, Laurence, 8, 180, 181 Ould, Herman, 157 Outram, James, 94 Owen, Wilfred, 150 Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race, 46, 117 Panesar, Monty, 298 parian ware, 94 Parliamentary Recruiting Committee, and images of attractive men, 134, plate 5 patent medicines, 76 Peacock Revolution, 207, 221 Pearce, Bobbie, 184, 185 Peck, Gregory, as exemplar of male beauty, 206 Pelligrini, Carlo, 111 Perdriel-­Vaissière, Jeanne, 151 perfectability, 2, 69 perfumers, 4, 51, 55, 59, 68, 73 permissiveness, 132, 234, 248 Perrick, Eve, 206, 208 personal appearance: psychological understandings of, 162, 187; and self-­respect, 146, 165, 177, 187–­88, 190. See also good looks personal display, and social status, 68 Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, 212 photographers’ studios and shops, 27–­28, 30, 35–­36, 38, 38, 39, 40, 135–­36 photographic albums, 13, 33, 40, 42, 46, 116, 141 photographic consciousness, 40 Photographic Society (London), 30 photographs: assessment of, 14; of athletes, 295; before and after, 106, 276, 284; hints on dress for, 29; as mementos during war, 135–­36, 148, 161; as objects

i n d e x   ‹ 410

photographs (cont.) of affection, 140–­41; posing for, 29, 32; spirit, 31 photography: aesthetics of, 28; and artifice, 29, 31, 35, 50; emergence of, 27–­ 28; exhibition of, 36, 40, 42; hints on, 28–­29; impact of, 14; journals devoted to, 31, 32; lighting for, 35; manuals on, 34–­36; material culture of, 36; and mod­ ernity, 14, 36; and quest for beauty, 33, 35–­36; and social rituals, 36, 40; transformative potential of, 27; truthfulness of, 13, 31, 35; and views of attractiveness, 28, 31; and vocabulary of beauty, 30 physical appearance: individual perceptions of, 7, 167; personal satisfaction, 167; physical culture and, 108; psychological relationship to, 142, 172. See also good looks physical culture, 66, 85, 102–­10, 172, 206; and classical ideals, 110; competitions, 118; and eroticism, 103; and facial attractiveness, 108; magazines, 106–­8; and mail order, 108; and measurement, 106; and photography, 103, 105, 108; and same-­sex desire, 108; and transformation, 103. See also muscularity physical development and improvement: mechanical devices for, 56, 75; in mid­ dle age, 184; and technology, 63, 75. See also physical culture physical fitness, 14, 25, 90, 122, 137, 165, 206, 225, 249. 255, 270, 280 physical types, 17, 313 physiognomic portraits, 24 physiognomy, 7; Aristotle and, 15; and Charles Dickens, 16; and consumer culture, 23; and empire, 19; and ideas of masculine attractiveness, 15, 146; illustrations in, 16; in literature, 16; and periodicals, 23; and photography, 16; popularization of, 13, 17, 23; and reading the face, 15, 26 physique entrepreneurship, 381n11 physique magazines, 224; American aesthetic types in, 230; ancient Greek influences in, 228; Body Beautiful, 231;

Britishness in, 231; Brown and Black bodies in, 231–­32; colonial motifs in, 232; cosmopolitan nature of, 230; En­ glishness in, 231; gay men’s reactions to, 246; Male Model Monthly, 227–­29; Male Models, 228; Man Alive, 220, 229; modernism in, 229–­30; queer audiences, 227; Renaissance influences in, 228; as sexual outlets, 244 Pickard, Joseph, 149. See also facial injuries Picture Post (magazine), 7, 166, 168, 172, 182, 184, 193, 195, 197, 198, 210–­13, 225–­ 26, 295, 322 Pietersen, Kevin, 298 Pike, Alan, 302 pink shilling/pink pound, 233. See also consumerism: and gender and sexual expression plastic surgery, 146, 147; development of, 4; experience of, 150; as male preoccupation, 285, 302, 319; and transformation, 148, 292; and the use of pedicle tubes, 147, 148, 150. See also facial injuries; Gillies, Harold; and Queen’s Hos­ pital, Sidcup Player’s, 183. See also cigarette cards Play Pictorial (magazine), 110, 114, 115 porno-­chic, 295 postcards: of actors, 85, 115; pornographic, 122; of soldiers during First World War, 134, 137, 140 press: and ideas about sexuality, 167; influence of, 167 Prichard, John Risley, 262 Pride (magazine), 309 Pride and Prejudice (Austen), 193–­94 Priest and the Acolyte (Mason), 95–­96 Proquest Historical Newspapers, 286 psychological language, and beauty, 63 psychological satisfaction, 188 psychological selfhood and subjecthood, 5, 146, 166, 193 psychological theories, about sexual-­ object choice, 208 psychological well-­being, 5, 102, 177, 187 Punch (magazine), 17, 30, 37–­38, 39, 40

i n d e x   › 411

punk styles, 249, 257 Purnell, Alan, 263, 265. See also Him Ex­ clusive (magazine); Him International (magazine); Him Monthly (magazine) Putt, Samuel Gorley, 197 Queen’s Hospital, Sidcup, 148–­50; compliments about, 149; patient files, 148 queer culture: influence of, 227; rough trade in, 231 queer London, 219 queerness: and cosmetics use, 191; and permanently waved hair, 191 queer spaces, 197 racial and ethnic difference, 3, 31, 89–­91, 114, 119, 182, 236–­37; and bodybuilding, 226–­27; and hair, 175; in pornography, 270 racial politics, of looking, 270 racial science, 84, 88–­91 racial soundness, 90, 102 racial violence, 216, 270 racism, 88, 261; legacies of, 310, 313 Radford, Frederick H., 209 “Radio-­Active” Hair Tonic, 170 Ramsay, Sir Patrick, 158, 160 Ranjitsinhji, Kumar Shri, 114 Raphael Tuck and Sons, 116. See also postcards Rastafari, 260–­61. See also hair: dreadlocks and Black resistance rationing, 193, 206, 209–­10 Rede, William Leman, 17 Richard, Cliff, 235; advice provided by, 235; as exemplar, 255; as heartthrob, 235, 237 Rippington, Albert Edwin, 142. See also facial injuries Roberts, Rita, 255. See also transgender women Robeson, Paul: The Emperor Jones (film), 182; Sanders of the River (film), 182 Rogers, David, 291 Rolling Stones, 220 Room at the Top (film), female spectactorship of the male form in, 227

Rootstein, 304 Ross, Alexander, 50, 64, 73; products and advertising gimmicks, 73, 75–­76; racial views of, 91; Second Sight, 75–­76; storefront, 74 Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 68 Ross’s Monthly Toilet Magazine, 64, 73 Rothenstein, Sir William, 197 Rowe, R. P. P., 120 rowing, aesthetics of, 46, 295–­96, 307–­8. See also cartes de visite Royal Air Force, 193–­94, 196–­97, 203; flyers in, 193, 195 Ruskin, John, 27 Russell-­Smith, Denham, 127. See also Brooke, Rupert Rymer, Stanley, 241 safer sex campaigns: and celebration of male body, 282, plate 10; Gay Man’s Guide to Safe Sex, 283; videos as erotic lifesavers, 283 safety razor, 166, 169; Gillette, 189–­90; Valet, 189; Wilkinson, 189. See also shaving Saint John’s Hospital for Diseases of the Skin, 7, 57 Saint Thomas’s Hospital, 141 same-­sex desire (male), 65, 98, 125, 128, 130, 167, 181–­83, 227, 261; and assessment of bodies, 315; and sites of sexual opportunity, 199 Sandow, Eugen, 102–­4; as celebrity, 111, 295, 309; foreignness of, 108; photographs of, 110; promotion of contests by, 118; Royal Albert Hall Competition, 117; Sandow’s Magazine of Physical Culture and British Sport, 106; and self-­ promotion, 106 Sargent, John Singer, 102. See also swimmers Savile Row, 218; Henry Pool and Co. on, 67 Scarman, Lord Leslie George, 261 Scene (magazine), 302 Schell, Sherrill, 126, 129, 153, 154, 161 Scotty’s Model Agency, 242 Scurf Brush, 71 Second Sight (Ross), 75–­76

i n d e x   ‹ 412

Second World War, 192–­204; appeal of military men during, 193–­96, 205; glamour of American troops, 193; as “Peo­ ple’s War,” 196; Pioneer Corps, 199, 203; sexual patriotism during, 193; spectacle of military bodies during, 197; and use of colonial troops, 194; War Artists Ad­visory Committee during, 197, 200; and “war worry,” 197; women’s contributions to, 196–­97, 198 Secrets of Beauty, Health, and Long Life (Laynard), 59, 61, 62 Sedgwick, Ellery, 129 self-­fulfillment, 5, 247 self-­help, 5, 52, 166, 279 selfhood, 50; aestheticized notions of, 192; modern notions of, 204, 209 self-­objectification, 307 self-­realization, 60, 188, 273 Selfridges, 292, 299, 301 Sell, Henry, 168 sexiness and sex appeal, 3, 187–­88, 218, 240, 262, 270, 289, 305 Sex Pistols, interview with Bill Grundy, 257 sexualization, of British culture, 5, 9, 234, 247, 287, 315 Sexual Offences Act, 261 Sexy MP website, 323 Shabi, Rachel, 291 Sharif, Omar, 237 Sharpe, William, 89–­90 shaving, 51, 53, 69, 70; and masculine conformity, 212; preparing face for, 70; techniques, 186–­90; views on, 189; in wartime, 143. See also grooming Shear and Shine, 309 Shim Sham club, 182 Shipley, Arthur, 153–­54 Sibbles, Emma, 300 Sikhs, 114 Simon, Carin, 250 Simpson, Mark, 4, 18, 287, 294, 298, 307. See also metrosexual; spornosexual Sims, George R. 80 Singh, Rajinder (Maharaja of Patiala), 114, 115

skin, 54, 58; and acne, 58–­59, 212–­13; diseases of the, 58–­59, 172; ruddy complexion, 66; treatment of, 212–­14 skinniness, 172; as appealing, 304, 320–­21 slimness, 255 Smith, Agnes C., 40, 42. See also photographic albums Smith, C. V. 145, 147 Smith, John Orrin, 17, 19; Heads of the People or Portraits of the English, 17 soap, 189, 196; Pears, 78; specialized, 59; taxes on, 55 Social Darwinism, 60 social media, influence of, 307, 320, 322–­23 soldier-­heroes, 161 Sole, Arthur B., 45 Southend-­on-­Sea, Essex, 119 “Sparling Cut” tailors, 175 Spartacus (magazine), 263 spectacles and spectacularization, 29, 51–­52, 119, 125, 237, 287; and bodies, 141 Spencer, Herbert, 7, 86–­89; conceptions of beauty, 88 sperm as life force, 54 Spiers and Son (Oxford), 42 spiritualism, 21, 63, 76 spornosexual, 4, 287, 319; sexual appeal of, 307 Sport Locker, 268 Standwell, T. W. 224 Stephen, John, 7; cultivation of male and female gaze, 221; His Clothes, 221; personal history, 221; and queer markets, 218; Scottish Highland Shop, 221, 223; Stern Brothers, 221; Trecamp, 221; use of male body as marketing device, 222, 223, 224; use of pop stars, 221 Stevens, Jerry, 231 Stocker, Richard Dimsdale, 23–­26; and Face and Physique or Within or With­ out, 25; in Vim, 25 Story, Alfred T., 13, 20–­21; A Chapter on Noses, 7, 20; The Face as Indicative of Character, 13, 20 Strachey, James, 130–­31 Strachey, Lytton, 131

i n d e x   › 413

Studd Brothers ( John Edward Kynaston, Charles Thomas, and George Brown), 46, 48, 49 student magazines (Oxford and Cambridge), 65 Style for Men (journal), 173, 174, 221; and upper-­class aesthetics, 174. See also men’s lifestyle press Sugden, Alice, 137, 140 Sugden, Annie, 137, 140 swimmers: in modern culture, 296; in safer sex posters, plate 11; in Tuke’s work, 97–­101, 101, 102; in Vaughan’s paintings and photography, 199, 200, 201. See also bathing: nude swimsuit aesthetic, plate 16 Symonds, Henry Herbert, 155 Symonds, John Addington, 99

Tom of Finland, 233 Tonks, Henry, 148 transgender men: engagement with advertising, 324; and grooming rituals, 192, 324 transgender women, 255 Travers, Richard, 180 Trevarthen, Noel, 238 Truefitt, Francis, 68 Truefitt, Henry Paul, 53, 68, 69; New Views on Baldness, 54, 68 Trueman, C. R., 44. See also cartes de visite tuberculosis, aesthetics of, 276 Tuke, Henry Scott, 7, 84, 92, 97–­102, 128, 199, 282; relations with models, 98; use of photography, 98, 99, 100 Turkish baths, 200

Tally Ho! Razor, 69 Taunt and Co. (Oxford), 42, 43 Taylor, Robert, 180, 182 Taylor-­Johnson, Sam, David (video portrait of David Beckham), 299, 300 teddy boys, 216, 261 Teeman, Tim, 323 teenagers: and discovery of identity, 234; as girls, 9, 234; heterosexual relations among, 234; and magazines, 233–­38; as market, 207, 233–­34; obsession with celebrities, 208, 215; patterns of consumption, 207. See also Boyfriend (magazine) Teetgen, John, 69–­70 Thatcher, Margaret, 9, 247, 279 TheUglyBugBall.com, 322 thinness, 4, 56, 114, 172, 277, 304 Thomas, James Havard, 154–­55. See also Brooke, Rupert: memorial in Rugby Chapel Thornycroft, Hamo, 92, 94–­95, 103 Tinder, 322 Tit-­Bits (magazine), 7, 166, 170–­73, 212, 237–­38, 255 toilet clubs, 69 toilet medicine, 55 Tombros, Michael, 157, 159. See also Brooke, Rupert: memorial on Skyros

ugliness, 17, 20, 57, 61, 63, 66, 113, 144, 322; and attractiveness, 141; banishment of, 172; causes of, 103; cures for, 56; and deformity, 145; and ideas of racial difference, 88–­89; impact of characterization as, 145; jarring nature of, 165; remedies for, 73; and war, 141, 142, 144–­ 45, 149, 151, 165 underwear, 175, 268, 286; aesthetic, 202, 287, 292, 307; female pleasure and, 289–­ 90; sale of, 220, 268, 300–­301 Vanderborght, Paul, 157–­58. See also Brooke, Rupert: memorial on Skyros Vanity Fair (magazine), 85, 110, 111–­12, 114, 240; popularity of VF portraits, 112 Vaughan, Keith, 7, 167, 193, 197–­204, 229, 282; admiration for actors, 182, 204; admiration for Anthony Field, 204; appeal of the homosocial, 202, 203, 204; artistic influences, 199; attraction to soldiers, 203, 204; diaries, 8, 199, 201, 203–­5; education, 199; homosexuality, 197; and nudes, 199; sexual desires, 203; Two Figures by the Shore, 200; Two Men at Highgate Ponds, 199, 200; wartime service, 199, 202 Venus de Milo, 21

i n d e x   ‹ 414

Villiers, George (Duke of Buckingham), 2 Vim (magazine), 25, 26, 118 Vince Man’s Shop: Bill Green and, 219; and queer markets, 218. See also Connery, Sean visual culture, 2, 7, 8, 40, 45, 50, 57, 85, 97, 146, 197, 205, 208, 248, 276, 287; and modernity, 14; Victorian development of, 14 visual literacy, 5 Vitality and Health Culture (magazine), 25, 104, 108 Voice (newspaper), 310 von Gloeden, William, 110, 199 Walker, Billy, 236 Wallace, Aaron, 309 Waller, Lewis, 115, 116, 116, 129; fans of, 117. See also celebrity culture: and theater Walmsley, Tim, 291, 317 Walton, Maurice, 217 Ward, Leslie, 111, 114 Warwick University Rowers, 308, 308 Waters, Chris, 228 Watney, Simon, 275, 282 Weber, Bruce, 259 Weider Publications, 228. See also physique magazines West Indian World (newspaper), 259 Wheeler, Maud, 22, 23 White, Dennis, 231 Whiteness, 5, 26, 50, 86, 88, 99, 102, 114, 174, 194, 227, 237, 248; and Anglo-­ Saxonism, 91; Brooke as example of, 123, 151; challenges to, 259–­60, 313; People of Color questioning, 248; in physique magazines, 231 Wiggan, Richard, and H. J. Summers, So You Want to Be a Model, 239 Wilde, Oscar, The Picture of Dorian Gray, 94–­95, 96, 276; trial for gross indecency, 94

Williams, Earle, 180 Williams Committee on Obscenity and Film Censorship, 273 Wills, W. D. and H. O., 183–­84. See also cigarette cards Wilson, J. K. 148–­49 Wilson, Mark, 302, 303, 304. See also male models Wolfenden Committee, 219, 247. See also homosexuality Wood, Francis Derwent, 146; and Ma­chine Gun Corps Memorial (Hyde Park), 150 Wood, G. J (Highbury and Hackney), 67 Woolf, Leonard, 129 Woolnoth, Thomas, 20, 20, 88–­89; Facts and Faces, 20 Wooton, Edwin, 55 Wootten, Geoff, 302 women: changing status of, in the nineteenth century, 14, 21; and enjoyment of male form, 120, 121, 285, 293, 305; as guardians of health and beauty, 168–­69, 196–­97, 198, 207, 212; impact of media on, 334n32 Wright, Ronald, 228, 230 Wyllie, Bruce, 242 Yank at Oxford, A (film), 180 Yorke, Peter, 265 Young, Elizabeth, 181 Young Man, (magazine), 6, 65 youthfulness, 18, 94; Brooke as example of, 123; celebration of, 94, 112, 128, 161, 207, 279–­80; importance of, to corporate success, 253, 255; literary depictions of, 94–­96; in painting, 97–­102, 101, plate 3; preservation of, in photographs, 136; in uniform, 124 Zipper (magazine), 7, 263–­64, 269, 272, 274, 277, 279–­80; and athletes, 268; and hunky aesthetic, 265–­66, 267