World War I lasted four long years, and the unprecedented scale of the conflict demanded rapid innovation and resourcefulness. The brutal war of attrition, characterized by trench warfare, created many problems to be solved, from the desperate need to treat wounded soldiers to the challenge of feeding armies and maintaining communications across vast distances.
The pressures of wartime necessity sparked a wave of creativity that led to the development of numerous technologies and products — some of which went on to become staples in our everyday lives. Here are seven products that came out of World War I that we largely take for granted today.
Before the First World War, wristwatches were worn almost exclusively by women as fashion accessories. Most men used pocket watches, which had been around since 1700, but these were impractical for trench warfare. During World War I, wristwatches grew in popularity, initially among the officer classes. New watch designs emerged that were larger, stronger, and often featured luminous dials for ease of reading in low-light conditions — vital for coordinating attacks and artillery barrages.
Rank-and-file soldiers from Britain saw their officers wearing wristwatches, and soon started buying their own. By the time the United States entered the war a year before it ended, troops were being issued wristwatches as part of their gear. These new accessories not only were practical, but also became a symbol of courage and bravery, helping establish wristwatches as a mainstream product after the war.
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Pilates
After the outbreak of World War I, Joseph Hubertus Pilates, a German physical trainer and inventor, was interned as an enemy alien on the Isle of Man. During his three-plus years at the internment camp, Pilates developed a regimen of muscle strengthening through slow and precise stretching and physical movements, using minimal equipment.
To allow those who were confined to their beds to exercise, Pilates used springs and straps from the beds as resistance training, greatly aiding their rehabilitation. He later opened a fitness studio in New York City in 1925, offering the exercise system he developed during the war to the general public. He went on to patent 26 exercise apparatuses, and his eponymous Pilates regime gained worldwide popularity.
Today, trench coats are associated with an array of colorful fictional characters such as Dick Tracy, Columbo, Silent Bob, and Hellboy. But these waterproof, heavy-duty, and typically double-breasted coats were initially developed for British army officers.
Similar coats existed before World War I, but manufacturers — most notably Burberry and Aquascutum (both of which claim to have invented the trench coat) — modernized and modified the design to keep officers warm and dry in the trenches (hence the name). Shoulder straps were included for the attachment of epaulettes or other rank insignia; D-rings were added for attaching map cases, swords, or other equipment to the belt; and the addition of a gun flap buttoned at the chest offered extra protection in combat. And so the modern trench coat was born — a practical piece of attire that remains in fashion today.
Modern plastic surgery originated in Britain, a nation that saw some 735,487 troops discharged following major injuries in World War I. Many of these were facial injuries, which were initially covered using masks and patches. Then came Harold Gillies, a young ENT surgeon from New Zealand, who developed techniques to rebuild faces using plastic surgery. In 1916, he was tasked with setting up Britain’s first plastic surgery unit, where he began treating disfigurements using tissue from elsewhere on the patient’s body.
The pioneering work of Gillies and his team laid the foundations of modern plastic surgery, which today continues as a life-altering medical treatment and a sought-after cosmetic product.
Ever since the mid-19th century, various inventors had been working on combinations of hooks, clasps, and eyes to find a smooth, convenient fastening device. None of their attempts quite worked, due to design flaws and other issues, until Swedish American engineer Gideon Sundback invented the “hookless fastener” during World War I.
Improving upon previous designs, the inventor came up with a product very similar to the modern zipper. His hookless fasteners were soon put on money belts, which became an instant success among U.S. sailors, whose uniforms didn’t have pockets. Then, in 1918, the U.S. Navy ordered fasteners for 10,000 flying suits. The zippers caught on, quickly becoming a standard part of all kinds of bags and apparel.
In 1914, researchers at the consumer goods company Kimberly-Clark were touring pulp and paper plants in Europe when they came across a material that was five times more absorbent than cotton and cost half as much to produce. The company took the material back to the U.S. and trademarked it as cellucotton.
When America entered World War I in 1917, Kimberly-Clark used the material to produce wadding for surgical dressing. Red Cross nurses soon discovered that the new material made an excellent sanitary pad — superior to the flannels and other products they were previously using. When the war ended and demand for surgical dressing dried up, Kimberly-Clark heard about the Red Cross nurses and repurposed its product for commercial use. In 1920, Kotex hit shelves, forever changing the market.
Surgical dressing wasn’t the only use of cellucotton during World War I. By flattening out the material, Kimberly-Clark developed a thin, highly absorbent crepe paper used as a filter in gas masks — a vital piece of equipment in trench warfare. When the war ended, the company once again found itself looking to repurpose a product. It cleverly remarketed its cellucotton sheets as makeup and cold cream removers, and launched the sheets in 1924 with the name Kleenex.
It wasn’t long before people began recommending the product as an ideal tissue for blowing noses during colds. So, in another astute marketing move, Kimberly-Clark started promoting Kleenex as “the handkerchiefs you can throw away” — creating the brand that’s now synonymous with disposable tissues.
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7 Popular 1950s Items You Never See Anymore
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AuthorKristina Wright
September 17, 2026
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Seventy years ago, Elvis was shaking up the airwaves, Lucille Ball had Americans laughing in their living rooms, and Presidents Harry Truman and Dwight D. Eisenhower were charting very different visions for a postwar United States. The space race was just beginning to heat up and prosperity fueled a culture of optimism for many. It was a decade of technological innovation and imagination, with a flood of brand-new gadgets, fashions, and conveniences promising to make everyday life sleeker, faster, and more modern than ever before.
Of course, not everything from the 1950s stood the test of time. Many of the common items that once defined the era have quietly slipped into obscurity, nudged aside by modern technology, shifting tastes, or changing lifestyles. Let’s take a trip down memory lane and revisit some of the most iconic items of the 1950s — things that once felt essential or cutting-edge, but today are charming relics of a very different time.
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Rotary Phone
The rotary dial telephone became widely used in homes starting in the 1920s, but it wasn’t until the 1950sthat it truly became a fixture of everyday American life. Postwar prosperity and suburban growth meant that more and more families could afford a phone, and by the mid-1950s, two-thirds of U.S. households had at least one telephone.
Using a rotary phone was a slow process: You placed your finger in the hole corresponding to the number you were dialing and rotated the dial clockwise until it hit the metal stop, released it to let it return to its original position, and repeated the move for each digit in the phone number. The Bell System introduced touch-tone dialing in 1963, which eventually made rotary phones obsolete. Though they’ve vanished from daily use, the distinct clicking and spinning of a rotary dial remains one of the most iconic sounds of midcentury life.
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Poodle Skirt
Few garments symbolize the 1950s quite like the poodle skirt. Introduced in 1947 by designer Juli Lynne Charlot, the embellished circle skirt quickly became a staple of teenage fashion in the 1950s. These wide, swingy garments were typically made of felt and featured appliqué designs, with the poodle becoming the most iconic motif. The breed, often depicted with a leash or in playful poses, was a nod to the era’s fascination with French culture and sophistication. Its whimsical charm captured the youthful exuberance of the time.
While the poodle was the most popular design, variations soon emerged, including frogs, racehorses, and pink elephants. These personalized touches allowed wearers to express their individuality and style. In the early 1960s, fashion trends shifted toward sleeker, more streamlined silhouettes, and the poodle skirt gradually faded from everyday wear.
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3D Comic Books
In the early 1950s, comic books embraced the 3D trend, offering readers a thrilling new way to experience their favorite characters. Using red-and-blue anaglyph glasses, fans could watch superheroes, monsters, and space adventures “leap” from the page. The first 3D comic wasThree Dimension Comics #1, released in September 1953 by St. John Publications. Featuring Mighty Mouse, it sold more than 1.25 million copies in its first printing, an amazing accomplishment at the time.
Despite the initial popularity, the 3D comic book trend was short-lived. By the mid-1950s, the novelty had worn off and the format faded from mainstream use. However, the legacy of 3D comics endures, occasionally resurfacing in novelty reprints and special editions for collectors and enthusiasts.
Before automatic ice makers or flexible plastic trays, households relied on metal ice cube trays with a lever-operated insert. First patented in 1949, these lever-operated aluminum ice trays replaced flexible aluminum trays that were twisted to release scored ice cubes. By the 1950s, lever-style metal trays had become a standard feature in another relatively new appliance: the home refrigerator with a freezer compartment.
Marketed as “Magic Touch” and “Honeycomb” trays, the lever-operated gadgets were considered a convenient and necessary household tool for making ice. Pulling the handle cracked the ice into neat blocks — a noisy but satisfying process that reflected the era’s fascination with functional, modern appliances. But by the 1970s, plastic trays and built-in ice dispensers had largely replaced the aluminum trays.
In 1960, Sam Cooke sang, “Don’t know much about algebra / Don’t know what a slide rule is for,” capturing the feelings of generations of students who struggled with math and the classic tool designed to help them calculate equations. But before the pocket calculator revolutionized mathematics, the slide rule was an essential tool for students.
Invented in the 17th century, slide rules were made of wood, plastic, or metal and used logarithmic scales to perform multiplication, division, and even trigonometry. Essentially an analog calculator, they required the user to manually slide the scales to line up numbers. High school and college students carried them much like modern students carry graphing calculators, and mastering the slide rule was considered a rite of passage. The invention of the first electronic calculators in the 1960s, followed by pocket-sized versions in the 1970s, marked the end of this ubiquitous tool that had been in use for nearly 350 years.
Metal lunch boxes were the ultimate school accessory of the 1950s. With sturdy construction and colorful designs featuring cowboys, astronauts, or TV heroes, they made carrying a sandwich and thermos something to show off. Aladdin Industries popularized the trend in 1950with a Hopalong Cassidy lunch box, producing 600,000 units that year at $2.39 each. The item featured a metal snap for a hinged lid and a collapsible metal handle, and was the first lunch box to bear a licensed image, setting a precedent for future designs.
Soon, nearly every popular television show, movie, and character had its own lunch box version, and the clang of a metal lunch box was as familiar as the school bell. Plastic eventually replaced metal due to safety concerns, though vintage metal versions remain highly collectible today.
The 1950s introduced the revolutionary idea of having music you could take anywhere. Before the transistor, radios were large, stationary consoles, and families had to gather around the living room set to hear the latest hits. The invention of the transistor in 1947 made it possible to build smaller, lighter, and more portable radios, paving the way for personal, on-the-go listening.
The first commercially sold transistor radio, the Regency TR-1 in 1954, was a luxury item at $49.95 (about $400 today). But its novelty captured the interest of a generation hungry for new ways to be entertained. As prices dropped later in the decade, transistor radios became more accessible, giving teenagers the freedom to listen to what they wanted, when they wanted, without parental supervision. Transistor radios quickly became a staple for music, sports, and news, but were eventually replaced by the cassette player and boombox.
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The Most Accurate War Movies of All Time
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AuthorMichael Nordine
September 17, 2026
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Even if you favor entertainment over education when it comes to cinema, you probably care at least a little about historical accuracy when watching historical dramas. A little creative license never hurt anyone, but attention to detail adds an authenticity that makes the viewing experience feel richer. That’s especially true of war movies, which attract two overlapping sets of people sometimes known for being persnickety: history buffs and cinephiles. If you belong to either camp, you’ll want to watch these five war movies known for their historical accuracy.
Though most war movies are praised or criticized for how accurately they portray the battlefield, Fred Zinnemann’s Best Picture winner has been noted for capturing another aspect of military life: the U.S. armed forces’ “obsession” with sports, which reached its zenith during World War II.
From Here to Eternity is mainly about the months leading up to the attack on Pearl Harbor, but one of its most significant subplots involves a regimental boxing team, which were common during World War II. (Its most famous scene, however, has nothing to do with either — and you’ve almost certainly seen it even if you’ve never seen the actual movie.) Soldiers were encouraged to pursue athletics to raise morale, with baseball and football also proving popular — not least for the way they contrasted with the preferred sports of the Axis.
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The threat of nuclear war was more prevalent when Threads was made in the 1980s than it is today, but watching this uniquely unsettling television movie will have your pulse pounding all the same.
Hailed as “a film which comes closest to representing the full horror of nuclear war and its aftermath” in Toni A. Perrine’s Film and the Nuclear Age: Representing Cultural Anxiety, the documentary-style drama takes place in Sheffield, England, over the course of more than a decade and pulls no punches in its portrayal of nuclear winter and the utterly devastating effects it would have. There’s little hope to be found in Threads, but the film is said to have had a sobering effect on everyone from Ronald Reagan to British Labour Party leader Neil Kinnock.
There’s a very good chance that, even if you agree with the consensus that Come and See is among the greatest movies ever made, you won’t want to watch it more than once. It’s simply that disturbing, but director Elem Klimov’s insistence that his movie had to be “realistic to the maximum” is evident in every scene. That’s particularly true of its depiction of war crimes carried out by Germany during its occupation of Belarus, which has been singled out as the most shocking — and, tragically, historically accurate — aspect of the film.
It took $12 million, four weeks, and 1,500 background actors to film Saving Private Ryan’s landmark opening sequence, which shows the D-Day landing on Omaha Beach in excruciating detail. The result was clearly worth it, as Steven Spielberg’s World War II epic is regarded as one of the greatest movies ever made, earning $482 million at the box office on the way to winning five of the 11 Oscars for which it was nominated (though not, in a stunning upset, Best Picture).
Spielberg interviewed several World War II veterans during pre-production, and that same community was among the most laudatory when the movie was released. There were reports of veterans weeping during and after Saving Private Ryan, with one remarking that “the only thing that was missing was the smell.”
Despite how memorable it is, Saving Private Ryan wasn’t even the best World War II movie released in 1998. That would be Terrence Malick’s The Thin Red Line, which, despite ultimately being about so much more than war in general or World War II in particular, faithfully captures both the Battle of Guadalcanal and the actual experience of being a soldier.
Malick’s philosophical, even poetic approach to the “overlooked” conflict at the film’s center didn’t get in the way of attention to detail, with historian John McManus praising the film for getting everything from how soldiers move across the field of battle to the actual blades of grass on that field right, and ultimately grading its accuracy a nine out of 10.
For similar articles, subscribe to our sister brand Movie Brief, brought to you by our resident film critic Michael Nordine. You’ll receive a weekly review and recommendation of a new movie, whether in theaters or available to stream, as well as a list of 25 must-see movies when you first sign up.
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7 Fascinating Features of U.S. Military Uniforms
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AuthorTimothy Ott
September 17, 2026
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Military uniforms serve a multifaceted purpose for the people who wear them: They forge a feeling of cohesion and present a unified front in battle, while also leaving room for individual identification of rank and accomplishments by way of specific clothing, insignias, and medals.
While few would dispute the importance of uniforms being, well, uniform, military dress rarely remains constant for long. Changing technology, strategy, and fashion all dictate the regular reevaluation and updating of attire. Here’s a snapshot of how such changes have manifested across the U.S. military during the major conflicts that pushed the country’s uniformed personnel into the spotlight.
Following the mostly hodgepodge attire that comprised the Continental Army uniforms for much of the American Revolution, the U.S. Army largely managed to present a more organized and formal presence for the War of 1812. Among the notable uniform components was the shako, a tall, cylindrical cap that was produced from felt at the start of the war but eventually switched to the “tombstone” leather model to better withstand harsh weather conditions.
Not every fighting division adopted this type of headgear, but there were telltale differences to be found among those that did. The regular infantry version was marked by a white plume and a cap plate made of white metal, for example, while the light artillery division wore shakos festooned with a large yellow metal cap plate, yellow cords, and a green plume.
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Although the Civil War sparks imagery of Union and Confederate soldiers marching in their respective blue and gray uniforms, both sides had fighting units that sported considerably more flamboyant attire. At the time, the Zouaves were a French Algerian battalion renowned for their fearsome fighting techniques, and their fame spawned American imitators who were able to replicate the appearance, if not the prowess, of these fighters. As such, the war between the states featured volunteer regiments clad in variations of the Zouave-style blue or red vests, pantaloons, and fezzes.
These uniforms were certainly eye-catching, which presented a problem if you wanted to avoid enemy fire. It also became difficult to sustain such fancy dress as resources dwindled, forcing some of these festively clad units to adopt plainer blue and gray coats and hats as the Civil War dragged on.
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World War I: Gas Masks
By the launch of the Great War, the U.S. Army uniform had undergone a series of notable changes. New to the fold were olive and khaki hues, replacing the blue that had defined Yankee soldiers for more than a century, as well as the smaller chevrons adorning the sleeves. Additionally, there was a piece of equipment that became standard — and absolutely vital — for the American Expeditionary Forces sent to the Western Front: the gas mask.
American doughboys (a popular nickname for World War I infantry soldiers) largely carried a version of the British small box respirator (SBR), a snug-fitting, rubberized mask that connected via a hose to a box filter worn in a bag around the neck. When not deployed for emergencies or held in anticipation of an attack in the trenches, the gas mask was typically carried in a separate bag slung over the shoulder.
As standout contributors to Allied campaigns in the Pacific theater of World War II, the U.S. Marines also cut distinctive figures with their camouflage uniforms. Made from herringbone twill fabric, the uniform's coat, trousers, and helmet cover were all reversible, with the green-dominant side designed for jungle terrain and the brown-dominant side intended for beach areas. All buttons were replaced with pressure snaps to prevent snagging, while the helmet cover was embedded with holes for the purpose of inserting foliage.
Although one early problem was addressed when the uniforms were updated to include larger pockets, field reports revealed that the green color was not particularly effective at masking movement in the jungle, resulting in the discontinuation of this outfit by March 1944.
Although the Air Force unveiled blue uniforms after becoming its own separate branch of the U.S. military in 1947, its personnel could still be spotted wearing older uniforms during the years of the Korean War. These included the popular "pinks and greens" winter service ensemble worn by officers in World War II, consisting of an olive-drab gabardine wool coat and lighter-shade drab trousers.
While paying homage to the branch's Army roots, Air Force officers also established their own distinct identity by wearing gold instead of brass "U.S." insignia on their collars, as well as gold Transition Air Force buttons featuring the service crest of an eagle and shield surrounded by 13 stars.
Like World War II Marines, the Navy SEALs of Vietnam became known for their distinct use of camouflaged garb, in this case the iconic tiger stripe pattern. Inspired by the uniforms of the South Vietnamese army, the American version generally featured a base color of green, brown, or silver khaki beneath a display of jagged black stripes, a design that emerged as an emblem of the controversial war thanks in part to its inclusion in the 1968 John Wayne movie The Green Beret.
For all the fame surrounding the uniform, many SEALs neglected to wear the matching trousers and instead opted for a pair of Levi's denim jeans. This was partly a fashion statement to mark those tough enough to serve in the elite special operations force, but there were also utilitarian reasons for this casual mode of dress, as jeans were said to be more durable and better at keeping out leeches and mosquitos.
Adapting to environmental particulars with the Desert Battle Dress Uniform (DBDU), the U.S. military deployed forces clad in the "chocolate chip" pattern of tan, brown, and green for the Gulf War. The DBDU was accompanied by another feature that emphasized wearer safety: The PASGT, or Personnel Armor System for Ground Troops.
Made from ballistic fiberglass known commercially as Kevlar, the lightweight, heat-resistant PASGT helmets were a significant upgrade from the steel M1 models that had been in use from World War II through the mid-1980s. Similarly, the system's Kevlar vest provided more protection than the M-69 ballistic nylon vest used in Vietnam.
Although eventually phased out by the development of stronger and lighter gear such as Interceptor Body Armor (IBA), PASGT protection remained in use by branches of the U.S. military well into the 21st century.
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The Strange Origins of Common Food Superstitions
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AuthorTony Dunnell
September 10, 2026
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Humans are superstitious creatures by nature, with many strange habits that seem entirely illogical. We avoid walking under ladders or opening umbrellas indoors in fear of bad luck. We knock on wood to prevent disappointment. We shun the number 13 and we can’t quite decide whether black cats are good or bad omens. None of these actions makes much practical sense, and the same is true for a range of superstitions involving food.
Food is a necessity that keeps us functioning and alive, but eating is also a cultural experience, rich with symbolic gestures, long-held traditions, and curious rituals. These include plenty of superstitions believed to bring luck, prosperity, health, wealth, and a range of other supposed benefits. And while modern science may dismiss these practices as mere folklore with no logical basis, there are plenty of common food-based superstitions we just won’t let go.
Here are six superstitions involving food, all of which demonstrate the human desire to find greater meaning or significance in the otherwise simple and essential acts of cooking, eating, and sharing meals.
According to one common food superstition, if you accidentally spill salt, you should immediately throw a pinch of it over your left shoulder. The origins of this strange belief aren’t entirely clear. It possibly dates back to the ancient world, including the Romans and Sumerians, when salt was a highly prized commodity and therefore spilling it was frowned upon.
Later, during the Renaissance, Leonardo da Vinci created one of his most famous works, “The Last Supper,” in which Judas Iscariot is portrayed knocking over a container of salt with his elbow, suggesting that the connection between spilled salt and bad luck was well established by that time. But why do we throw the spilled salt over our left shoulder? The common belief today is that the devil and evil spirits are said to lurk over the left shoulder, and the pinch of jinx-reducing salt is destined for their eyes.
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In the American South, eating black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day is a common tradition and superstition said to bring luck and prosperity throughout the year ahead. When enslaved Africans brought black-eyed peas to America, the beans were initially used as food for livestock and enslaved people only. Black-eyed peas gained wider acceptance during the Civil War, when they were one of the few foods left untouched by Union troops, who considered them animal feed. Southerners therefore managed to survive on black-eyed peas during the winter, and so began the association with good luck and prosperity, and the tradition of eating them on New Year’s Day.
Breaking the wishbone of a cooked chicken or turkey is a common Christmas practice in the United Kingdom and a Thanksgiving tradition in the United States. Objectively, it’s a very strange thing to do, no matter how much luck might be up for grabs: It involves making a wish while pulling the bird bone in two with another person, and the person who gets the bigger piece will have their wish granted.
The origins of this peculiar superstition are debatable. One common theory goes all the way back to the ancient Etruscans, who saw birds as potent oracles. They extracted wishbones from chickens, dried them in the sun, and then touched the bones as a form of divination. The Romans picked up this practice later, by which time the bone was being snapped in half, possibly to double its power. The Romans then introduced the concept to Britain, and it eventually found its way to the Americas via English settlers.
It’s hard to say whether the superstition really has such a long and storied history with a direct link all the way back to the Etruscans. We do know that the wishbone-breaking tradition as we know it today existed at least as early as the 17th century or early 18th century, when the bone was known as a “merrythought.” The term “wishbone” first appeared a century or so later.
Statistically, about one in every thousand eggs has a double yolk. So, if you regularly crack open and cook eggs, there’s a chance you’ll come across one at some point. For the superstitious, an egg with two yolks is widely considered a sign of impending good luck. It’s not known where or when this superstition emerged, but the reasoning behind it is clear to see. Eggs have long been associated with life, rebirth, and potential, making a double yolk a natural candidate for a symbol of abundance, prosperity, and good luck. Double yolks are sometimes regarded as a sign of an upcoming marriage, or that a woman will soon become pregnant with twins.
The superstitious tradition of blowing out candles on birthday cakes has surprisingly ancient origins. Some historians believe it goes as far back as the ancient Greeks, who may have made cakes adorned with lit candles to honor Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and moon. This, in turn, was adopted by the Romans, who helped spread the tradition.
In modern Europe, the ritual of celebrating birthdays with a cake and candles — as we do today — has been around since at least the 18th century. One of the first documented accounts comes from the 1746 birthday party of Count Ludwig Von Zinzendorf, a German bishop, who had a massive cake covered in candles. At this point, in Germany at least, the act of extinguishing the candle flames was seen as a way to carry desires up to the gods — not dissimilar to how we blow out candles and make a wish today.
The tradition of eating a dozen grapes on New Year’s Eve comes from Spain, and while the origins are still debated, it dates back to at least the 1880s. According to some historians, the Spanish bourgeoisie decided to imitate the French New Year’s celebration of drinking champagne by skipping the middleman and going straight for the grapes. Others suggest the tradition began as a shrewd marketing tactic by grape growers who had a surplus harvest to unload in the early 1900s.
Either way, the ritual caught on: By eating one grape at each of midnight’s 12 clock chimes, you are destined for a lucky year, with each grape representing one of the 12 forthcoming months. The custom soon spread throughout Latin America, in countries as diverse as Cuba, Mexico, Puerto Rico, Argentina, and Peru. Some Latino populations in the U.S. have also maintained the grape-eating superstition.
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What Did People Use for IDs Before Photos?
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AuthorBess Lovejoy
September 10, 2026
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In a world without cameras, biometric databases, or even consistent spelling, identifying individuals could be quite a complex challenge. Before photography helped fix identity to an image, societies developed a range of creative methods to determine who someone was — a task that could be surprisingly difficult, especially when that someone was outside their home community. From scars to seals to signatures, here’s how identity was tracked before photo IDs.
A name was the most basic marker of identity for centuries, but it often wasn’t enough. In ancient Greece, to distinguish between people with the same first name, individuals were also identified by their father’s name. For example, an Athenian pottery shard from the fifth century BCE names Pericles as “Pericles son of Xanthippus.” In ancient Egypt, the naming convention might have reflected the name of a master rather than a parent.
But when everyone shared the same name — as in one Roman Egyptian declaration in 146 CE, signed by “Stotoetis, son of Stotoetis, grandson of Stotoetis” — things could get muddled. To resolve this, officials turned to another strategy: describing the body itself.
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Scars and Silk
Detailed physical descriptions often served as a kind of textual portrait. An Egyptian will from 242 BCE describes its subject with remarkable specificity: “65 years old, of middle height, square built, dim-sighted, with a scar on the left part of the temple and on the right side of the jaw and also below the cheek and above the upper lip.” Such marks made the body “legible” for identification.
In 15th-century Bern, Switzerland, when authorities sought to arrest a fraudulent winemaker, they didn’t just list his name. They issued a description: “large fat Martin Walliser, and he has on him a silk jerkin.” Clothing — then a significant investment and deeply symbolic — became part of someone’s identifying characteristics. A person’s outfit could mark their profession, social standing, or even their city of origin.
Uniforms and insignia served a similar function, especially for travelers. In the late 15th century, official couriers from cities such as Basel, Switzerland, and Strasburg, France, wore uniforms in city colors and carried visible badges. Pilgrims and beggars in the late Middle Ages and beyond were also required to wear specific objects — such as metal badges or tokens — that marked their status and origin. Some badges allowed the bearer to beg legally or buy subsidized bread, offering both practical aid and visible authentication.
Seals also served as powerful proxies for the self. From Mesopotamian cylinder seals to Roman oculist stamps and medieval wax impressions, these identifiers could represent both authority and authenticity. In medieval Britain, seals were often made of beeswax and attached to documents with colored tags. More than just utilitarian tools, seals were embedded with personal iconography and could even be worn as jewelry.
In many cases, travelers also had to carry letters from local priests or magistrates identifying who they were. By the 16th century, such documentation became increasingly essential, and failing to carry an identity paper could result in penalties. This passport-like system of “safe conduct” documents gradually started to spread. What began as a protection for merchants and diplomats evolved into a bureaucratic necessity for everyday people.
As written records became more widespread in medieval Europe, so did the need for permanent, portable identifiers. Royal interest in documenting property and legal rights led to the proliferation of official records, which in turn prompted the spread of literacy. Even as early as the 13th century in England, it was already considered risky to travel far without written identification.
The signature eventually emerged as a formal marker of identity, especially among literate elites, and was common by the 18th century. Still, in a mostly oral culture, signatures functioned more as ceremonial gestures than verification tools.
For the European upper classes, heraldry functioned as a visual shorthand for identity and lineage. Coats of arms adorned not only armor and flags but also furniture, buildings, and clothing. Retainers wore livery bearing their master’s symbols, making them recognizable on sight. Even death could not erase this symbolism — funerals were staged with heraldic banners, horses emblazoned with arms, and crests atop hearses.
Yet heraldry could also be diluted or faked. By the 16th century, unauthorized use of coats of arms was widespread, and forgers such as the Englishman William Dawkyns were arrested for selling false pedigrees and impersonating royal officers. In time, heraldry gradually lost its power to function as a reliable ID system.
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Memory and Proximity
In the end, one of the most effective early methods of identification was simply being known. In rural communities, neighbors kept tabs on each other through personal memory and observation. You didn’t need a signature if the village priest or market vendor had known you since birth.
But with the rise of cities and the disruption of industrialization, such personal networks broke down. The state stepped in with systems of registration, documentation, and, eventually, visual records. Identity, once rooted in familiarity and the body, became a matter of paperwork and policy.
Before the photograph fixed the face in official form starting around the late 19th century, people relied on a more fluid, and sometimes fragile, constellation of signs: names, scars, clothing, crests, seals, and simple familiarity. All were attempts to answer the same eternal question — who are you? — in the absence of a camera’s eye.
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What Was America’s First Suburb?
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AuthorBess Lovejoy
September 10, 2026
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When you think of the origins of American suburbia, the name Levittown may spring to mind. A symbol of post-World War II optimism and domestic comfort, this Long Island development, constructed between 1947 and 1951, is often credited as America’s first modern suburb. Yet Levittown wasn’t technically the first suburb in U.S. history — though as the first mass-produced, federally supported suburban development in the country, it did shape a new national lifestyle — and with it, a new cultural identity.
Suburbs in America existed well before Levittown. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, streetcar suburbs such as Shaker Heights outside Cleveland, Ohio, were planned communities that offered wealthy and middle-class residents an escape from overcrowded, polluted cities. Other early suburbs include Llewellyn Park, New Jersey (developed in the 1850s and often cited as America’s oldest planned community), and Riverside, Illinois (established in 1869).
These early suburbs were heavily influenced by ideals of pastoral living and “moral order,” often with restrictive building codes and racial covenants. They were accessible thanks to innovations in transit — first streetcars, then automobiles — and were valued for their green spaces, quiet, and separation from perceived urban chaos.
However, these enclaves were exclusive, limited in scale, and catered primarily to the upper class. What Levittown introduced was different: suburbia as mass culture, available not just to the wealthy but to a broader segment of the white American middle class.
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The Birth of Mass Suburbia
Located in Nassau County, New York, Levittown was developed on 4,000 acres of former potato fields and opened in 1947 to astonishing demand. The area had little infrastructure and no housing before real estate developer William Levitt and his family — founders of Levitt & Sons — revolutionized homebuilding. They applied assembly-line techniques to residential construction, building more than 30 homes per day at the company’s peak. These modest, single-story houses came complete with appliances and televisions, radiant-heated slabs (no basements), and “expansion attics” for growing families.
At the time, the U.S. faced a severe housing shortage, worsened by the Great Depression, wartime construction freezes, and then the baby boom. Veterans returning from World War II were eager to start families, and thanks to the GI Bill and Federal Housing Administration (FHA) mortgages, homeownership became a realistic goal. Levittown homes cost about $8,000 (around $115,000 today) — just $400 down with GI Bill benefits. By 1951, more than 17,000 homes had been built.
Levittown was, for many, the realization of the “American dream”: a safe, affordable, family friendly community where ownership and upward mobility were possible. The development featured nine swimming pools, playing fields, and “village green” shopping centers. Veterans’ organizations thrived. Volunteer clubs and civic engagement were strong, and the suburb was marketed as an ideal place to raise children — especially for white nuclear families.
Yet Levittown also reflected and reinforced profound racial inequalities. The original sales covenants explicitly excluded non-white buyers, even Black veterans who had fought in the same war as the white veterans who settled in the community in droves. In 1948, the U.S. Supreme Court struck down such racially restrictive covenants in Shelley v. Kraemer, but informal segregation persisted. Even today, despite demographic shifts, Black residents remain a small minority in the area.
Levittown wasn’t just one place, however: It was a prototype. The Levitts built additional Levittowns in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Puerto Rico, and even France. Other developers adopted their techniques. By the 1950s, suburbia was booming nationwide in America. Fueled by federal policies and new highway systems (such as those funded by the 1956 Federal-Aid Highway Act), suburbs spread in rings around U.S. cities.
By 2010, more than half of Americans lived in suburbs. Suburban life became a cornerstone of U.S. culture, shaping everything from television to consumer goods, gender roles, and political identity. The suburban home — with its lawn, carport, and kitchen appliances — became a Cold War emblem of capitalism, even showcased by Vice President Richard Nixon in the famed 1959 “Kitchen Debate” with Russian leader Nikita Khrushchev.
Levittown and its imitators brought enormous social and economic change. Suburban living enabled privacy, safety, and comfort — but also spurred car dependency, urban decline, and sprawl. Cities lost tax bases and industry. Environmental costs rose as commuters flooded highways and spread development into fragile ecosystems. Critics decried suburbia’s conformity and emotional sterility.
Suburbia also entrenched a gendered domestic ideal. While women had worked in factories during the war, the suburban life expected them to return to unpaid roles as homemakers and caregivers. Magazines, advertising, and pop culture sold the ideal of the suburban housewife, even as many women sought community leadership or later, reentry into the workforce.
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A Landscape in Flux
Levittown may have launched a new suburban era, but the idea of suburbia has never stood still. Over the decades, American suburbs have become more economically and racially diverse, more politically influential, and — at times — more contested, in part for environmental reasons, as suburban commuter patterns often contribute to pollution. Today, suburbs are as likely to be home to immigrant families and working-class residents as to middle-class commuters. They are shaped not just by federal policy and tract housing, but by school districts, zoning laws, and local activism.
Environmental concerns, too, are reshaping the conversation. The postwar vision of limitless expansion now collides with the realities of climate change, housing scarcity, and infrastructure strain. In response, some suburbs are experimenting with denser housing, public transit expansion, and reimagined “15-minute neighborhoods” (where most residents have access to amenities within a 15-minute walk) that offer urban convenience in suburban settings.
Perhaps the real legacy of Levittown isn’t any one model of living, but a question: Who gets to shape where and how we live? That question continues to drive debates over affordability, access, sustainability, and identity in suburban America today. The suburb, once seen as a destination, is now a dynamic frontier — a place where the future of American life is still being negotiated.
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Where Did the Heart Symbol Come From?
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AuthorKristina Wright
September 3, 2026
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We recognize it instantly: two rounded lobes meeting at a point, the universal symbol of love. The heart shape is found everywhere — on greeting cards, jewelry, bumper stickers, and emoji keyboards. It even stars in tourism campaigns such as “I ❤ NY” and drives the $27.5 billion Valentine’s Day industry. But while the symbol represents deep emotion, it looks nothing like an actual human heart. So where did the symbol come from? The answer lies in a long history shaped by philosophy, nature, and art.
The familiar heart shape we recognize today wasn’t inspired by the anatomy of the human heart — it evolved from ancient beliefs about what the heart represented. Long before modern science defined the purpose of the heart, cultures across the world viewed the organ as the center of emotion, thought, and even the soul. Ancient people had little understanding of the importance of the brain, but they could feel the heart beating rapidly when emotions were heightened and understood the organ’s vital connection to sustaining life.
In ancient Egypt, the heart was believed to hold a person’s essence — including memory, intellect, and morality. Embalmers often left the heart inside the body or preserved it with special care, considering it far more important than the brain. Later, in Greek philosophy, Aristotle described the heart as the source of sensation and life itself. He believed it was the first organ to form in an embryo and the center of human emotion. The brain, in his view, existed only to cool the heart’s fiery temperament.
Five centuries after Aristotle, the Roman-era physician and philosopher Galen brought a more anatomical perspective to the discussion. He believed the heart was a pine cone-shaped three-chambered organ that produced the body’s vital spirit — a life-sustaining force carried through the arteries. Many of his ideas were inaccurate, inspired by philosophical tradition and limited scientific observation. With little access to human dissection, early artists and illustrators relied on metaphor, creating stylized, symmetrical shapes that reflected the heart’s symbolic role in the soul rather than its actual anatomy.
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In geometric terms, the heart shape is known as a cardioid, and forms resembling it can be found throughout the natural world. In fact, one of the most compelling theories about the origin of the heart symbol points to ancient agriculture and the symbolism of plants, rather than human anatomy.
In the ancient city of Cyrene (modern-day Libya), a species of giant fennel known as silphium was so highly valued that it drove the economy of the region. Its uses were wide-ranging: Silphium was a prized seasoning, a powerful medicine, and, most notably, a natural contraceptive. It was so essential to life and love in the ancient world that it was stamped onto Cyrenian coins.
The plant’s seedpod, in particular, bore a strong resemblance to the heart symbol we recognize today — a smooth, symmetrical form tapering to a point. Because silphium was closely associated with love, sexuality, and fertility, some historians believe the shape of its seedpod may have directly influenced the development of the symbolic heart.
Other plants have also echoed the heart’s curves. Ivy leaves, long associated with fidelity and eternal love in Greek and Roman symbolism, display a heartlike silhouette. The fig leaf, tied to sensuality in ancient art and myth, and even water lily leaves, often shaped like rounded hearts, may have subtly reinforced the motif in art and decoration.
By the Middle Ages, the symbolic heart began to appear more frequently in religious art and literature in Europe, often representing divine or spiritual love. In Christian iconography, saints such as St. Augustine were depicted holding or pointing to flaming hearts, symbolizing their devotion to God. The Sacred Heart of Jesus, which emerged in medieval devotional art, emphasized themes of love, sacrifice, and compassion — establishing the heart as a spiritual symbol.
At the same time, more secular interpretations of the heart were gaining popularity. In illuminated manuscripts from the 13th and 14th centuries, lovers were sometimes shown exchanging hearts — both literally and metaphorically. A notable example appears in the 14th-century French manuscriptRoman de la Poire (“Romance of the Pear”), in which a man offers his heart, shaped much like the modern symbol, to his beloved. These early heart illustrations were often red, symmetrical, and stylized — but they didn’t always follow today’s orientation. Some were shown with the point facing upward, while others were more angular or leaflike.
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The Printing Press Helped Solidify the Symbol
The invention of the printing press in the 15th century helped standardize and spread the heart symbol across Europe. As printed materials became more widely available, so did visual motifs — and the heart, already associated with courtly love and devotion in art, literature, and music, was a popular choice. Early printers used woodcuts to embellish books and pamphlets with heart shapes in religious texts, emblems, and romantic illustrations. Around the same time, in 1498, Leonardo da Vinci created one of the first anatomically accurate drawings of the human heart — but his scientific rendering had little influence on the romanticized symbol already taking hold in popular culture.
As Valentine’s Day evolved into a romantic holiday in England and France, printers began mass-producing cards and tokens adorned with cupids, flowers, and heart motifs. In the 18th and 19th centuries, the heart was everywhere — on embroidery, porcelain, stationery, and jewelry. In the Victorian era, heart-shaped lockets and lace-trimmed valentines became cherished expressions of sentiment. No longer tied to anatomy or philosophy, the heart symbol fully transformed into a visual shorthand for love and emotional connection — a role it still plays today in greeting cards and text messages around the world.
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I Tried U.S. Presidents’ Favorite Breakfasts and Here’s the Winner
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AuthorBennett Kleinman
September 3, 2026
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If you’re anything like me, you probably have a usual order at your local breakfast spot. Some folks opt for scrambled eggs and bacon, while others go for pancakes drenched in butter and maple syrup. (I personally prefer a sesame bagel with lox and cream cheese.) U.S. presidents through history were no different: While some POTUSes enjoyed a traditional breakfast of eggs, bacon, and coffee, others preferred morning meals that ranged from decadent to bizarre.
This gave us an idea: Choose seven of the more unusual presidential breakfasts and spend a week eating like the commander in chief. So that’s exactly what I did, and here’s what I learned.
Image courtesy of Bennett Kleinman
George Washington: Hoecakes and Hot Tea
The first breakfast I made was, appropriately, a favorite of the very first U.S. president, George Washington.According to his Mount Vernon estate, “Hoecakes were among George Washington’s favorite foods. He invariably ate them at breakfast… along with hot tea.” Hoecakes are a pancakelike dish made of cornmeal, and were originally standard fare among Native Americans before they became popular with colonial settlers.
The dish was a staple of the Washington household, whose patriarch preferred hoecakes “swimming in butter and honey” — possibly because it made them softer and easier to chew, which would make sense given the president’s well-documented dental issues.
I went ahead and whipped up a plate of hoecakes based on a recipe by culinary historian Nancy Carter Crump in the book Dining With the Washingtons. While not as fluffy or airy as a typical pancake, the hoecakes were quite delicious. They boasted a rich corn flavor and pleasant crumbly texture, and drenching them with butter and honey made them all the more decadent.
As for the tea, I went with green tea — one of the many varieties preferred by the Washington family. George Washington reportedly drank three cups with breakfast, which I found to be a bit too much liquid for one sitting. But in terms of flavor, the tea acted as a nice, subtle compliment to the denser hoecakes.
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Given Abraham Lincoln’s profound legacy and brilliant mind, I was surprised by the simplicity of his favorite breakfast. In fact, Honest Abe would sometimes skip meals altogether. According to President Lincoln’s Cottage — a historical museum in Washington, D.C. — the stress of the Civil War had a negative impact on the president’s eating habits. Lincoln’s private secretary John Hay once noted, “The pleasures of the table had few attractions for [Lincoln],” who “ate less than anyone I know.” When the 16th president did eat breakfast, it was usually nothing more than a single egg, one piece of toast, and a meager cup of coffee.
While it may be simple and somewhat bland, there’s nothing wrong with eggs, toast, and coffee in my book. There was no exact recipe for how Lincoln liked his meal prepared, so I went with a sunny-side up egg, sourdough toast (a popular type of bread in the mid-19th century), and black coffee, as there is no historical record of Lincoln preferring sugar or cream.
I certainly enjoyed what I’d consider to be a light breakfast, even if it didn’t fill me up. At the same time, though, I was amazed that Lincoln had enough energy to lead the country through one of its most tumultuous periods while eating bare meals such as this. I would definitely order Lincoln’s preferred breakfast at my local diner, but if I ever became president, I’d probably need a bit more fuel to start the day.
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Theodore Roosevelt: Fat Rascals
Not only did Teddy Roosevelt “speak softly and carry a big stick,” but he also woke up each morning with a hearty appetite. In researching his favorite dishes, I came upon a breakfast treat that I’d never heard of before: the fat rascal. According toWhat Was Cooking in Edith Roosevelt’s White House? by Tanya Larkin, one of the first lady’s “most treasured recipes” was for fat rascals, which are essentially flaky biscuits filled with dried currants. The Roosevelts enjoyed these biscuits for breakfast served alongside hard-boiled eggs and coffee.
That said, Teddy wasn’t your typical coffee drinker. As a child, he was given cups of coffee to ease his asthma, and developed an early love for the beverage. Roosevelt was said to drink a gallon of coffee per day, and was known to put as many as seven sugar lumps into each cup. One of his sons even described Teddy’s huge coffee cup as “more in nature of a bathtub.”
All told, I have mixed feelings about this breakfast. On one hand, the food was delicious. The fat rascals were quick to prepare and turned out flaky and perfectly buttery without being overly sweet, and the dried currants were a delightful touch. The hard-boiled eggs were a nice complement as well, providing a little bit of savory protein that I personally feel is essential in every breakfast.
The coffee, however, was far too sweet, and I’m amazed that Teddy consumed so much coffee and sugar each day. I had two cups of joe in the morning in an attempt to keep pace with the gallon a day that Teddy drank, and even that felt like enough sugar to last me a lifetime. However, maybe this explains why Roosevelt had a reputation for being so energetic — he may have had a constant sugar rush and caffeine buzz going.
William Howard Taft is known for being one of the physically largest U.S. presidents, and he had an appetite to match. According to former White House head housekeeper Elizabeth Jaffray, Taft came down for his morning meal a little before 8:30 a.m., and “as a rule he would eat two oranges, a 12-ounce beefsteak, several pieces of toast and butter, and a vast quantity of coffee, with cream and sugar.” However, there was one breakfast standard you’d never find him eating: According to Jaffray, “President Taft liked every sort of food with the single exception of eggs.”
Sitting down for Taft’s daily breakfast, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was about to participate in some sort of food challenge. It was a lot of food. As I took a few bites, I realized that my stomach wasn’t ready for such an early-morning culinary marathon, but I kept going. I scarfed down the steak, buttered toast, oranges, and sugary coffee, all while wondering how Taft was able to consume this breakfast daily. After I finished the meal, all I wanted to do was go back to bed — I can’t imagine how the president went to work in the Oval Office afterward.
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Image courtesy of Bennett Kleinman
Woodrow Wilson: Grape Juice With Raw Eggs
America’s 28th president endured health issues while in office, struggling with his appetite and appearing quite frail at times. According toDinner With the President by journalist Alex Prud’homme, one doctor predicted that Woodrow Wilson wouldn’t last through his first term. In response, Wilson’s personal aide Cary Grayson, a former Navy doctor, stepped up in an effort to improve the president’s health and diet. This included one odd suggestion in particular: Grayson insisted Wilson drink “a glass of grape or orange juice with two raw eggs every morning, for strength.”
The president abided, though he compared the daily concoction to drinking “an unborn thing.” Given that review, it may not be entirely fair to call this drink Wilson’s “favorite” breakfast. But he still downed it each day, and so I had the chance to try it myself… Yippee.
During the preparation process, I chose to go with grape juice over orange juice. After I mixed in the raw eggs, it developed a lighter, purplish color that looked similar to a tasty fruit smoothie. But it was impossible to ignore the raw bits of egg that floated to the top and sat there almost mocking me. I really wasn’t excited to take a sip of this unusual beverage — but I did, and after a few swigs, I couldn’t help but agree with Wilson’s description.
While the flavor was surprisingly OK — it tasted more like grape juice than anything else — I was thrown off by the unsettling globs of albumin in each sip. My mind was far too aware of the unholy concoction I was drinking, and I couldn’t trick myself into thinking it was something more appetizing. In the end, I can safely say that I won’t be trying this breakfast again anytime soon.
Franklin D. Roosevelt: Jelly Doughnuts and Dark Roast
FDR had simple culinary tastes that were in line with those of the average American. According to former White House housekeeper Henrietta Nesbitt, some of his favorite meals included grilled cheese sandwiches, hot dogs, and fruitcake. When it came to breakfast, he preferred a combination of jelly doughnuts and dark roast coffee above all else. Roosevelt’s favorite type of doughnut was the German-style Berliner Pfannkuchen, which was fried, filled with jelly, and topped with powdered sugar. The doughnuts were produced in large batches by Nesbitt, and Roosevelt would take them up to his private residence to enjoy each morning.
Much like his cousin Teddy, FDR was also quite particular about his coffee. He strongly preferred a French dark roast, and to make sure that it tasted right, he often prepared the coffee himself. According toThe Presidents’ Cookbook by Poppy Cannon and Patricia Brooks, “A coffee maker was placed on the president’s breakfast tray so that he could regulate the brewing to his satisfaction.”
My baking skills are somewhat lacking, so instead of trying to make jelly doughnuts myself, I went to a trusted bakery down the block and picked up a fresh one. I did, however, buy some French dark roast coffee beans and brew them myself, just like FDR would have done.
This combination of doughnuts and coffee was a truly delicious way to start the day, and one that feels unequivocally American — ironic given it’s a German doughnut and French coffee. While the dark roast beans were a little more bitter than I usually like my coffee to be, they served as a nice complement to the sweetness of the doughnut.
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Image courtesy of Bennett Kleinman
Harry S. Truman: A Shot of Bourbon
Last but not least, we jump ahead to the Truman administration. As noted in David McCullough’s Pulitzer Prize-winning biography Truman, the 33rd president kept a diary of his morning routine. In an entry from his seventh year in office, he wrote, “I eat no bread but one piece of toast at breakfast, no butter, no sugar, no sweets. Usually have fruit, one egg, a strip of bacon, and half a glass of skimmed milk for breakfast.”
What made Truman’s breakfast unique was the one special ingredient he regularly had in addition: a shot of bourbon. Truman enjoyed an ounce of Old Granddad or Wild Turkey each morning, which he consumed after a 2-mile walk to begin the day “to get the engine going.”
I’m not sure what was a bigger shock to my system — the early-morning shot of liquor or the lengthy walk. The booze made me a bit tipsy right off the bat, but that feeling soon faded, especially as the tasty food began to hit my stomach.
As for the meal, I consulted a White House breakfast menu from December 24, 1951, that listed grapefruit and a poached egg, so that’s what I went with. It was a pretty tasty and traditional breakfast, whiskey notwithstanding. All told, I’d definitely have Truman’s brekkie again, though I would maybe save the shot for after a long day of work.
While I enjoyed elements from all these breakfasts to some degree — Wilson’s juice and raw egg mix excluded — I’d say my favorite was the fat rascals that Teddy Roosevelt was so fond of. These flaky biscuits were downright delicious, and I’m sure I’ll make them again at my own leisure. As I mentioned, I’d prefer less sugar in my coffee than Roosevelt went for, but otherwise I was a big fan of Teddy’s favorite morning meal.
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10 Essential Films About the Great Depression
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AuthorMichael Nordine
September 3, 2026
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There’s never been a period of American history quite like the Great Depression, and hopefully there never will be again. Coming about at the same time movies were becoming an increasingly dominant cultural force, the economic downturn lasting from 1929 to 1939 was, perhaps counterintuitively, inextricably linked with the golden age of Hollywood. Some of the best movies made during the Depression were also about the Depression, though a number of later productions captured the era just as well. Here are the 10 best.
You might not think that a musical about the Great Depression made during the height of the economic crisis would be a good idea, but Gold Diggers of 1933 was the third-most successful movie at the box office the year it was released and has been considered a classic ever since. Going to the movies was a vital form of escapism throughout the 1930s, and spectacle-driven pictures like this one — big, bold, and fun — proved to be especially welcome distractions from life outside the theater. Based on the 1919 play Gold Diggers and following the story of four aspiring actresses hoping to improve their station, the movie featured themes of upward mobility that were clearly relatable to audiences of the time.
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At just 67 minutes, Wild Boys of the Road packs more of a punch than its breezy running time suggests. William Wellman’s adaptation of the aptly titled story Desperate Youth is about two teenage boys forced to ride the rails as vagabonds just as hundreds of thousands of actual teenagers did during the Great Depression. (In the original trailer, the lives they turn to — “Vagrancy! Crime!”— are described as “fates worse than death!”) Deeply moving and offering a faint glimmer of hope at the end (albeit against Wellman’s wishes), the film offers a more youthful perspective than most Depression-era stories.
Between shorts and features, Charlie Chaplin played the iconic “Little Tramp” character more than 50 times between 1914 and 1936. The last of these portrayals may also be the best. Modern Times is a classic among classics, using the extreme economic downturn as the backdrop for a story about adapting to a rapidly industrializing society that the Tramp — and, indeed, millions of other Americans — would appear to have no place in.
Throughout his legendary career, actor William Powell somehow earned only three Oscar nominations. One was for My Man Godfrey, a screwball comedy in which he stars as a homeless man who is offered $5 to be a socialite’s “forgotten man” at a party. There’s more to Godfrey than meets the eye, of course, just as there’s hidden depth to this lighthearted romp that was made at the height of the Depression and never once feels like it’s exploiting that ongoing crisis for cheap laughs.
No writer captured the Depression era quite like John Steinbeck, whose work lent itself to unusually good movie adaptations. The first of these was Of Mice and Men, based on Steinbeck’s novella about two migrant workers eking out a meager existence in California. Burgess Meredith and Lon Chaney Jr. star as George and Lennie, respectively, whose intertwined fate leads to inescapable tragedy.
If you were to read just one book or watch one movie about the Depression, you could do far worse than The Grapes of Wrath. Steinbeck’s saga of the westward migration necessitated by the Dust Bowl is one of the 20th century’s most essential novels, and director John Ford’s take on the literary classic matches the power of its source material. Henry Fonda is superlative as the patriarch of an Oklahoma family that migrates to California in search of work, fertile land, and a better life — only to realize that some of the era’s problems extend far beyond the Dust Bowl.
If laughter is the best medicine, then Sullivan’s Travels deserves pride of place as one of the best movies made about the Depression. It’s also one of the best movies about movies. Preston Sturges’ screwball classic stars Joel McCrea as a Hollywood director who specializes in comedies but longs to mount a more serious production — and ventures among the downtrodden in order to do so. Veronica Lake co-stars as a struggling actress who accompanies him on his ill-advised journey, which ends up being as funny and socially relevant as he’d always hoped.
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To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
Both Harper Lee’s novel and Robert Mulligan’s adaptation of it are about so many aspects of American society that the story’s Great Depression backdrop is sometimes forgotten in the larger discussion around racism and the loss of innocence. It’s nevertheless a crucial part of one of the most fundamentally American texts ever written or filmed, as many of the cases protagonist Atticus Finch takes on are from clients who can’t actually afford to pay him. It’s one of those rare movies that just about everyone should see.
A true watershed event that marked a before-and-after moment in the history of cinema, Bonnie and Clyde ushered in the director-driven New Hollywood era of filmmaking and became one of the most influential movies ever made, despite initially flopping with critics and audiences alike. And yet, on paper, the film was fairly traditional: a crime drama based on the true story of two lovers-turned-bank robbers active between 1932 and 1934, played by the glamorous stars Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty. Outlaws Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow might never have turned to a life of crime under different economic circumstances, something Arthur Penn's counterculture classic explores with grit and grace. Nominated for 10 Academy Awards and winning two, Bonnie and Clyde has since been hailed as one of the 100 greatest American films by the American Film Institute.
If you’ve ever wondered where the Coen brothers got the title for their turn-of-the-century screwball comedy, the answer is another movie on this list: Sullivan’s Travels. In that movie, the film that Joel McCrea’s character hopes to make is called O Brother, Where Art Thou? and is an adaptation of a fictional book about the Depression. A little intertextuality never hurt anyone, but what really makes this Coen brothers film a classic are the zany plots inspired by The Odyssey; a trio of memorable performances by George Clooney, John Turturro, and Tim Blake Nelson; and era-appropriate folk numbers so catchy, they inspired a concert tour. There were many men of constant sorrow in 1930s Mississippi, and O Brother captures their plight beautifully.
For similar articles, subscribe to our sister brand Movie Brief, brought to you by our resident film critic Michael Nordine. You’ll receive a weekly review and recommendation of a new movie, whether in theaters or available to stream, as well as a list of 25 must-see movies when you first sign up.
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