You might remember your mother or grandmother hosting a Tupperware party in the living room, with neighbors gathered around, sipping coffee and nibbling on dessert while someone demonstrated the magic of an airtight seal. Or maybe you still have a few pastel bowls of your own tucked away in a kitchen cabinet — gathering dust, and in some cases, vintage value.
For several decades in the mid-20th century, Tupperware parties were a cultural phenomenon that successfully blended shopping and socializing. Today, the idea of gathering friends to watch demonstrations of plastic bowls and storage containers feels like a relic from another time. Yet Tupperware parties remain a powerful symbol of postwar suburban life, when neighborhood gatherings and face-to-face connections were simply part of everyday life.
The history of Tupperware begins in the 1940s with inventor Earl Tupper, who developed lightweight, durable plastic containers using leftover polyethylene from wartime manufacturing. At a time when leftovers were typically stored in glass containers, wrapped in wax paper, or covered with aluminum foil, his products offered something genuinely new. They were reusable, relatively unbreakable, and featured flexible airtight seals that kept food fresher for longer.
There was just one problem: People didn’t understand how to use them. The famous burping seal that made Tupperware so effective required a specific technique to close properly. When the products appeared on department store shelves, shoppers often overlooked them or failed to appreciate their advantages. Some consumers who took a chance on them ultimately returned them to the store because they didn’t think the lids fit. Sales lagged despite the innovation behind the design.
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Credit: Archives Center at the National Museum of American History
The Tupperware Party Is Born
Everything changed when saleswoman Brownie Wise entered the picture. Wise and her mother had already found success selling household products through their direct-selling venture Patio Parties and recognized that home demonstrations were the most effective way to market Tupperware. Instead of sitting on store shelves, the containers were brought directly into people’s homes, where customers could watch demonstrations, ask questions, and handle the products themselves.
The format made the products far easier to understand and more appealing — guests could see the containers in use rather than read about them on packaging. Wise’s success led Earl Tupper to appoint her vice president of Tupperware Home Parties, where she scaled the hostess-party model into a nationwide sales network.
The approach proved extraordinarily effective. By 1954, roughly 20,000 people were involved in Tupperware’s sales system as dealers, distributors, and managers, all supporting its rapidly growing direct-sales operation. That same year, Tupperware sales reached $25 million — equivalent to roughly $310 million in 2026 dollars.
For many suburban homemakers in the 1950s and 1960s, Tupperware parties were as much social events as sales presentations. A host would invite friends, neighbors, and relatives into their home for refreshments and a product demonstration, and a Tupperware representative would showcase the latest containers, kitchen tools, and serving pieces, using games and giveaways to keep the atmosphere lively. At a time when many women were home managing households, these gatherings offered a regular chance to connect outside church groups or school activities — blending shopping and socializing long before social media existed.
The model also came with financial incentives. Hosts earned free products based on sales, encouraging them to invite more guests, while independent consultants earned income by hosting parties and building networks of additional sellers. For some women, this created one of the few flexible ways to earn money while balancing family responsibilities. Brownie Wise herself became one of the first female business executives to gain national recognition in postwar America.
By the 1960s and 1970s, Tupperware parties were firmly embedded in suburban American life. Kitchens filled with pastel pinks, mint greens, and baby blues gave way to the bold earth tones of the 1970s, such as avocado green, harvest gold, and burnt orange.
After being spun off as an independent public company in 1996, following decades under its corporate parent Premark, Tupperware actively expanded overseas. By then, its direct-selling system — built entirely around independent consultants rather than retail stores — had reached almost 100 countries worldwide.
The company’s financial peak came in 2013, when sales revenue hit $2.67 billion. By then, the party-plan model it popularized had already reshaped retail culture, inspiring a wave of home-based selling across categories from clothing to cookware, and turning Tupperware parties into one of the most recognizable symbols of consumer life.
Several cultural shifts gradually eroded the model that had made Tupperware parties so successful. As more women entered the full-time workforce, it became harder to host or attend sales parties, and the social role these gatherings once filled diminished as workplaces and other activities expanded social networks.
At the same time, shopping habits shifted toward convenience. Big-box stores, shopping malls, and eventually online retailers made it easier to buy similar products quickly and directly, without spending an evening at a sales demonstration. Competition also intensified after Tupperware’s patents expired in the 1980s. Food storage containers from multiple manufacturers soon filled retail shelves as airtight plastic storage became a standard household item rather than a novelty.
Although the classic home party has largely faded, Tupperware itself did not disappear. From the 1990s onward, the company gradually supplemented its traditional party-plan model with catalog and direct-mail marketing before moving into digital catalogs and early online ordering in the late 1990s and 2000s. By the 2010s, social media and virtual parties had become a growing part of its sales approach, even as physical gatherings declined.
After years of declining sales and mounting debt, Tupperware Brands filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection in the United States in 2024 as part of a restructuring effort aimed at stabilizing its operations. Despite its financial difficulties, the brand remains deeply embedded in consumer culture — many people still use “Tupperware” as a generic term for any plastic food container, regardless of who made it.
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Why Are Men’s and Women’s Buttons on Opposite Sides?
Credit: Angelo DeVal - Fashion and Clothing/ Alamy Stock Photo
AuthorTony Dunnell
July 16, 2026
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If you’ve ever tried putting on a shirt that was designed for someone of the opposite gender, you may have noticed something peculiar: The buttons are on the “wrong” side. Men’s shirts button left over right, with buttons running down the right side and buttonholes on the left. Women’s shirts do the opposite, buttoning right over left.
Before the rise of buttons, garments were typically laced together or fastened with brooches or clasps. Buttoned closures for garments became prevalent in the 13th century with the advent of the reinforced buttonhole — and the two opposing button configurations for men and women have existed for centuries. But why? Here’s a look at some of the theories behind this long-standing design choice.
Historians don’t know for sure why men’s and women’s buttons are on opposite sides, but some of the most common explanations involve military considerations. According to the authors of The Art of Chivalry: European Arms and Armor From the Metropolitan Museum of Art, medieval breastplates were formed of two separate and overlapping plates. To ensure that an enemy’s lance point would not slip between the plates, they were pieced together with the left plate overlapping the right, “since it was standard fighting practice that the left side, protected by the shield, was turned toward the enemy,” the authors point out. For this reason, they argue, “men’s jackets button left to right even to the present day.”
Others have made similar observations. Due to the predominance of right-handedness (about 90% of humans are right-handed), swords were typically worn on the left side, so they could be drawn with the dominant right hand. According to Paul Keers in A Gentleman’s Wardrobe, men’s shirts and jackets were deliberately designed to button left over right “to avoid catching the pommel of one’s sword in the opening, when drawing it right-handed.”
From avoiding the piercing blows of lance tips to smoothly drawing weapons, there is some logic to the soldierly need for buttoning left over right. But there’s no definitive evidence to support these military theories — and while they might explain the need for buttons on the right, they don’t supply any answers as to why women’s buttons are on the opposite side.
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Arguably the most plausible explanation goes back to when buttons first became fashionable in Europe during the 13th and 14th centuries. At that time, they were often made from expensive materials such as gold, silver, and ivory, and were an indicator of status and wealth. Women’s clothing in particular could be highly elaborate, consisting of multiple garments such as petticoats, bloomers, gowns, corsets, and bustles.
Wealthy women with complex clothes often didn’t dress themselves and instead relied on the help of maids. So, when it came to buttons, the angle of attack was reversed. Men benefited from having buttons on the right side because they typically dressed themselves and people are predominantly right-handed. But when someone is dressing another person who’s facing them, the orientation is reversed. Clothing designers, therefore, crafted their outfits to be buttoned up by the hired help, with their high-society clients in mind. The trend then filtered down, becoming standard in women’s fashion and establishing a convention that persists today.
Other theories exist, albeit of varying levels of plausibility. One involves the act of breastfeeding. Due to right-hand dominance, women tend to hold their infants in their left arm to keep their right arm relatively free. So, the theory posits, a shirt with the buttons on the left makes it easier for mothers to unbutton using their right hand, while providing slightly easier access. A second theory involves horseback riding and the once-common practice of women riding sidesaddle, which typically involved having both legs on the horse’s left side. By putting women’s shirt and dress buttons on the left, the amount of breeze entering their clothing would be reduced while the rider was trotting along.
Neither theory is particularly convincing, but both are more plausible than blaming the whole thing on Napoleon Bonaparte. Portraits of Napoleon often show the French general and later emperor with one hand tucked into his shirt or waistcoat. This pose was strangely common during the 18th and 19th centuries, when it was considered to demonstrate a kind of calm boldness. According to one button theory, women used to mock the emperor by mimicking his hand-in-waistcoat pose. In response, Napoleon ordered that all women’s shirts be buttoned on the opposite side of men’s to end any mockery at his expense. This fanciful theory seems to have gained at least some traction but is almost certainly apocryphal, as there is seemingly no supporting evidence and button placement conventions predate Napoleon’s era.
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7 Common Last Names That Are Linked to Nobility
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AuthorTony Dunnell
July 16, 2026
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Have you ever wondered if your last name might have royal connections? Whether, through the centuries, your surname has traveled through the noble bloodlines of ancient empires and medieval kingdoms? Today, with genealogy websites and online surname databases, it’s easier than ever to trace a name’s history. But while millions of people around the world might be carrying monikers that once graced the halls of power, they often do so without realizing any potentially regal heritage.
Sometimes, the connection might seem obvious — if your last name is Tudor, Windsor, Habsburg, or Plantagenet, it’s not unreasonable to consider a royal connection. But those aren’t the only surnames with links to the kings and queens of yore. Here are seven common last names in the U.S. that may suggest a royal — or at least noble — lineage.
The name York is of Anglo-Saxon origin, and it’s a relatively common last name in the United States. It comes from the historic county of Yorkshire in northern England, which in turn gave its name to the House of York, a royal dynasty that provided three kings of England in the 15th century. The house was a cadet branch (a junior line of a noble, royal, or otherwise powerful family) of the House of Plantagenet. The House of Lancaster was also a cadet branch of the Plantagenets, and the two houses fought against each other in the Wars of the Roses. Lancaster is a moderately common surname in the United States.
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The Bruce family was an old Scottish family of Norman French descent (coming from Bruis or Brix in France), to which two kings of Scotland belonged — most notably Robert the Bruce, who freed Scotland from English rule in the 14th century. Today, the Bruce name remains prominent in Scotland and is also a relatively common surname in the U.S.
Some well-known American celebrities have the surname Howard, including Ron Howard, his daughter Bryce Dallas Howard, and the celebrated American soccer player Tim Howard. There’s a chance that they, like other Howards, might have a connection to the historic Howard family, a notable aristocratic English family whose head, the Duke of Norfolk, is the premier duke and hereditary earl marshal of England. It’s not quite royalty, but the surname’s extensive historical connection to the English monarchy is nothing to sneeze at.
In 2000, Russell was ranked the 93rd most popular surname in the United States. Today’s Russells might have a connection with one of the most influential aristocratic lineages in Britain. While not of royal blood, the historic Russell family has centuries of noble heritage with plenty of royal links. The family became prominent under the Tudor sovereigns, and the senior line has held the title of Duke of Bedford since 1694. Lord John Russell served as British prime minister twice in the mid-19th century — and his grandson was the philosopher Bertrand Russell.
After rising to prominence toward the end of the 1200s, Clan Campbell went on to become arguably the most successful clan in Scottish history. Through staunch support of Robert the Bruce and later Stewart monarchs, the Campbell family developed significant and long-standing royal connections. In 1871, John Campbell, Marquess of Lorne, married Princess Louise, the sixth child of Queen Victoria, further cementing the Campbell family’s ties with royalty. According to the 2010 census, Campbell is the 47th most common surname in the United States today.
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Nguyen
In Vietnam, as much as 40% of the country’s population has the surname Nguyen. This incredibly high percentage is likely due to the Vietnamese tradition of showing loyalty to a leader by taking that leader’s family name. The Nguyen dynasty, which ruled Vietnam from 1802 to 1945, was the very last Vietnamese dynasty, which largely accounts for the surname’s extreme popularity in Vietnam. In the U.S., an estimated 2.3 million people identified as Vietnamese as of 2023, which helps explain why Nguyen is the 38th most-common surname in America. So, anyone with the last name Nguyen is linked, at least in name, with the Nguyen dynasty — although the chances of a direct bloodline are slim.
The surname Spencer has been in use since at least the mid-13th century. It comes from the word “dispenser,” meaning “steward” — which in itself can be a court title or position. Then there’s the Spencer family, which was elevated to the English nobility by James I in 1603. Since then, there have been many lords, ladies, and earls from the Spencer line, and the family frequently moved in royal circles. Georgiana Spencer, Duchess of Devonshire (1757–1806) had an informal but influential role advising King George IV, and also developed a friendship with the Queen of France, Marie Antoinette. Two of the most prominent figures of the 20th century also came from the Spencer family tree: Winston Churchill and Diana, Princess of Wales, the first Spencer to marry directly into the royal family.
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School Rules From the Past That Would Shock You Today
If you dropped into a typical classroom today, you’d likely see flexible seating, group work, and active discussions between students and teachers. Compared to even a few decades ago, the contrast is striking. Many practices that are now considered outdated — or even unacceptable — were once routine parts of school life.
For much of the 19th and 20th centuries, schools emphasized discipline, conformity, and respect for authority. Students followed detailed rules governing everything from classroom behavior and personal appearance to handwriting and social conduct. In many institutions, especially private and religious schools, daily routines were tightly structured, and individuality often took a back seat to order and uniformity.
Here are some of the most surprising school rules and traditions that were once considered perfectly normal in public and private schools in the West.
Many classrooms from the 19th century through the mid-20th century were structured around control of attention, movement, and speech. The physical setup itself reinforced this: Students sat in fixed rows facing forward, with the teacher positioned as the central authority at the front of the room. Lessons were designed for collective focus rather than interaction, and total obedience was demanded.
Discussion was not typically a part of the classroom experience, and children were taught to speak only when spoken to. Students were expected to raise their hand and wait to be called on, and were often required to stand when addressing the teacher. Instruction relied heavily on memorization, repetition, and group recitation, where entire classes would respond in unison.
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Alongside this structured classroom order, many schools across the U.S., U.K., Canada, and Australia applied corporal punishment as a formal disciplinary tool well into the late 20th century. Teachers and principals used paddles, straps, or canes for infractions that might seem minor today, including talking in class and incomplete work. In some systems, physical punishment escalated from earlier steps such as warnings or written penalties, with physical discipline reserved as a “last resort.” Private and religious schools often maintained these practices longer and with fewer procedural restrictions.
Punishment was routine and highly visible, sometimes occurring within earshot or sight of other students, reinforcing the authority structure of the school. While now banned or heavily restricted across most Western education systems, corporal punishment remains one of the clearest examples of how disciplinary approaches in schools have fundamentally changed.
Left-Handed Students Were Forced To Switch Writing Hands
Across many school systems in Europe, North America, Australia, and other regions from the late 19th century through much of the 20th century, left-handed students were often required to write with their right hand instead. Left-handedness was frequently viewed as something that needed to be corrected, particularly in the context of handwriting instruction, where uniform penmanship was considered an important part of schooling.
Teachers commonly enforced this expectation by retraining left-handed students to use their right hand. This could include physically repositioning a student’s hand, repeatedly correcting grip and posture, or requiring extensive practice using the right hand until the habit changed. Some students underwent this correction over months or even years of instruction, especially in early primary education where handwriting drills were a daily part of classroom routines. The practice gradually declined in the second half of the 20th century as educational research increasingly recognized left-handedness as a natural variation rather than a behavior requiring correction.
Across many public and private schools in the U.S. and U.K. from the 1920s through the 1970s, student appearance was governed by detailed dress and grooming codes. For girls, pants were often prohibited and skirt length was among the most closely enforced rules. Teachers and administrators sometimes checked skirts during morning inspections or at classroom doors, and some schools used yardsticks or other methods to ensure hemlines met regulations.
Girls also faced restrictions on makeup, jewelry, and hairstyles, while boys were expected to maintain short hair and a neat appearance. As longer hairstyles became associated with youth counterculture during the 1960s, many schools adopted strict “above-the-collar” hair regulations, and students could be disciplined for failing to comply. Facial hair was commonly prohibited, and some schools conducted routine inspections to ensure all students met appearance standards. Today, while many schools still implement dress codes, particularly rigid rules typically face significant public scrutiny and debate.
For much of the 20th century, schools commonly separated boys and girls for certain subjects, particularly physical education. Boys were typically assigned to competitive sports, strength training, and endurance activities, while girls participated in programs focused on grace and flexibility, such as dance and gymnastics.
The division extended beyond P.E. Girls were typically required to take home economics courses that taught cooking, sewing, childcare, budgeting, and household management, while boys were directed into shop or industrial arts classes covering woodworking, metalworking, drafting, and mechanical repair. These courses were frequently mandatory and reflected prevailing assumptions about the different roles men and women would occupy in adulthood.
Beginning in the 1970s, these practices faced growing scrutiny. A major turning point came with the passage of Title IX in 1972, a federal law prohibiting gender-based discrimination in federally funded education programs. While implementation took time, the law contributed to the gradual decline of many school policies that assigned classes and activities according to gender.
During the height of Cold War tensions in the 1950s and early 1960s, civil defense training became a routine part of school life in the United States and some allied countries. Among the most recognizable practices were “duck and cover” drills, which prepared students for the possibility of a nuclear attack. When an alarm sounded, students were instructed to drop beneath their desks, crouch against interior walls, and cover their heads and necks.
Schools often reinforced the lessons with government-produced instructional films that taught children how to respond calmly during an atomic explosion. Some districts also designated hallways, basements, or specially marked areas as fallout shelters, and students practiced moving to these locations as part of emergency preparedness exercises. For a generation of students, preparing for a potential nuclear attack was considered a normal part of the school day.
Although policies varied widely by region and school, structured smoking areas for students were once a recognizable — and normalized — feature of secondary education. From the 1950s through the 1980s, many high schools in North America and parts of Europe maintained designated smoking areas for older students. Teen smoking rates were significantly higher during this period, and tobacco use was far more socially accepted, with many students beginning the habit in early adolescence.
Smoking zones were usually placed outdoors in courtyards, side yards, or designated areas behind school buildings. In some schools, staff supervised these spaces, while in others they operated with minimal oversight as long as students remained within boundaries during allowed times. Students who smoked outside designated areas could face punishment, but within the assigned zones the behavior was formally permitted under school rules — a sure sign of a very different era in education.
Step into an average American bedroom in the mid-1920s and you’d find a room caught between two eras. The traditions of the 19th century hadn’t completely disappeared, yet many of the conveniences associated with modern homes were only beginning to spread.
At the same time, Americans were placing greater importance on privacy, and bedrooms were becoming more clearly defined as personal spaces rather than multipurpose rooms used by the entire household.
As the place in the home where personal style and daily routines were formed, the bedroom was more than just a place to sleep. Looking at it now offers a glimpse into how people actually lived behind closed doors 100 years ago.
If you walked into an American bedroom a century ago, chances are the windows would be open, even during chilly weather. Fresh air was widely believed to be essential for good health, and doctors, public health officials, and popular magazines regularly encouraged families to keep bedrooms well ventilated, enlisting slogans such as “Always sleep with the window open.” Part of this belief stemmed from concerns about tuberculosis and other respiratory illnesses. Many Americans viewed a stuffy bedroom as unhealthy, so open windows became a nightly routine in countless households.
This was true even though central heating was far from universal. Many homes relied on coal furnaces, wood stoves, or radiator systems that did not always keep bedrooms warm through the night. As a result, bedrooms were often cooler than the rest of the house during winter months. Families compensated with heavy quilts, wool blankets, and thick comforters rather than closing the windows. The fresh-air movement even inspired sleeping porches, screened outdoor spaces used for sleeping during warmer seasons.
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A century ago, many American bedrooms still contained a washstand — a piece of furniture designed to hold a water pitcher, washbasin, towels, and other grooming supplies. The washstand itself was the cabinet or table, while the basin was the bowl used for washing. For generations, these pieces were standard fixtures in American bedrooms, and they remained a familiar sight in many homes during the mid-1920s, even as indoor plumbing gradually became more common in cities and newer homes.
The transition to fully plumbed homes was slow and uneven. In 1940 — the earliest year for which comprehensive census data is available — only 55% of American homes had “complete plumbing facilities,” defined as hot and cold running water, a bathtub or shower, and a flush toilet. The figure would have been even lower in the mid-1920s. As a result, washstands continued to serve a practical purpose in older homes and rural households. Even in some homes with indoor plumbing, they remained in use out of habit or convenience, especially when a single bathroom served an entire family.
One of the biggest differences in the bedrooms of a century ago was the lack of closet space. Built-in closets had become increasingly common in American homes by the early 20th century, but they were usually small by modern standards, and many older houses had none at all. The spacious walk-in closet, now considered a staple of many primary bedrooms, did not become a common feature of American home design until the late 20th century. Without much built-in storage, more of the bedroom’s floor space was devoted to freestanding furniture.
Large dressers and chests of drawers were used to store folded clothing, while wardrobes and armoires provided space for garments that needed hanging. Trunks and cedar chests held seasonal items, extra blankets, and clothing for special occasions. Americans generally owned fewer clothes than they do today, and garments were expected to be worn for years, repaired when necessary, stored between seasons, and saved to be passed down to younger siblings or other family members.
Separate beds for married couples had been promoted since the late 19th century, but the arrangement reached the height of its popularity during the 1920s and 1930s. Furniture manufacturers, doctors, and home design magazines often praised twin beds as cleaner, healthier, and more practical than a shared mattress. Sleeping apart was said to improve sleep, reduce disturbances from a restless partner, and even limit the spread of colds and other illnesses within the household.
Not every family embraced the idea, and many working-class couples continued sharing a bed simply because buying two was impractical or unnecessary. But among middle-class Americans, twin beds became common enough to define the look of many bedrooms for decades. The arrangement remained widely accepted through the 1940s and 1950s, but larger shared beds gradually regained popularity in the postwar years and eventually became the norm in American homes once again.
Walk into a typical American bedroom in the 1920s, and one of the first things you’d notice was how closely the furniture matched. Rather than assembling a room piece by piece, many families aspired to own a coordinated bedroom suite of several matching pieces, including a bed, dresser, and chest of drawers. Furniture manufacturers had been heavily promoting these matching sets since the 1880s, and by the mid-1920s furniture companies were offering dozens of different bedroom suite designs to consumers.
Not every family could afford a complete suite, especially in rural areas or working-class households, but the trend was widespread enough to shape bedroom design across the country. At the same time, furniture styles were evolving. The dark, heavily carved pieces that had dominated many late-19th-century homes were gradually giving way to lighter designs, decorative veneers, mirrored vanities, and furniture influenced by fashionable styles such as art deco.
Vanity tables, or dressing tables, had long been used in some form in households dating back centuries, particularly in wealthier homes where dedicated spaces for grooming were common. By the 1920s, however, the bedroom vanity had become a familiar feature in many middle-class American homes, too, as furniture manufacturers began producing them more widely and including them in coordinated bedroom suites. Typically consisting of a small table or desk with an attached mirror and matching bench or stool, the vanity provided a dedicated space for grooming and dressing.
The popularity of vanities also reflected broader cultural changes during the decade. The 1920s saw booming sales of cosmetics, perfumes, and other beauty products, as more women spent time in public life and were increasingly expected to maintain a polished appearance. New beauty standards — such as shorter hairstyles and more involved grooming routines — also made daily upkeep more routine and visible than in earlier decades.
While not every household could afford a dedicated dressing table, particularly in rural and working-class homes, the vanity became a common feature in many urban and middle-class bedrooms, and its popularity only began to decline in the mid-20th century as home design evolved and built-in bathroom storage became more common.
If you take a walk through some of the older neighborhoods in the United States, you might spot a slightly odd configuration on some of the houses: two front doors sitting side by side on the same facade.
It’s easy to assume these homes must have been converted into duplexes at some point, with a door added — and that may well be the case in some instances. But many of these buildings were constructed right from the start as single-family homes with two front doors, sometime in the 18th or 19th century.
So why two entrances, right next to each other? It seems illogical today, but there are a few reasons that could explain this architectural quirk.
One of the leading theories for why homes had two front doors concerns the social separation of formal and informal life within the household. In many houses of the 18th and 19th centuries, the interior was divided between a formal parlor kept neat and tidy for receiving guests, and the everyday living quarters of the family. Two front doors made practical sense in this context. One door opened into the formal area, serving as the primary entrance for guests and possibly tradespeople. The other door opened directly into the family’s private space for everyday use by those who actually lived there.
This two-door arrangement allowed a family to confine day-to-day activities to one part of the house, while leaving the formal areas largely untouched and ready to receive visitors. It also meant that guests could be shown directly into the parlor or dining room without passing through the more cluttered and possibly disorganized family areas, and without infringing upon the privacy of the entire family (or being subjected to unruly kids or grumpy grandparents).
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In a world before air conditioning, managing temperature inside a house was an important daily effort, especially when old-fashioned stoves were being used inside. Having two front doors offered a practical advantage in warm weather. Keeping both doors open, particularly if one or both led to a long central corridor running the length of the house, could create a cross-breeze, drawing cooler air into the building.
This seems to be the case in the folk houses of Kentucky, where one front door opened onto the kitchen with its wood-burning stove, helping to keep the kitchen cool. And in some old houses, one of the two front doors might have opened directly into the master bedroom, helping to cool the space on hot nights.
Many alternative theories exist to explain why some old houses have two front doors, but they often lack strong supporting evidence. Some suggest that one door is a so-called “coffin door,” reserved exclusively for funerals. But coffin doors, if they existed at all (the theory is questionable), would not typically have been placed right next to a second front door, and would more likely have been placed at the side of the house leading directly into a parlor or living room.
Other theories suggest that two doors were placed side by side in some kind of architectural quest for symmetry, especially in Georgian-style homes. But there is very little hard evidence, if any, to support this. Also, having one door placed centrally at the front of the house would provide just as much symmetry without adding a possibly superfluous door for the sake of aesthetic balance.
Still other theories argue that having two front doors offered better options for escape if the house caught on fire; that one door was used as a private entrance for newlywed children; and that doors were a cheaper alternative to glass windows. All of these lack hard evidence, but in certain cases they might have played a part in the decision to build two front doors.
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When Did We Start Putting Ice in Drinks?
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AuthorKristina Wright
July 9, 2026
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Few things are as refreshing as an ice-cold drink on a hot day. Indeed, ice is an essential part of the beverage industry today, with the global ice maker market valued at more than $5 billion. In the United States alone, the average person consumes nearly 400 pounds of ice per year.
Despite its popularity, most of us have probably never thought about how ice-cold drinks evolved into an everyday necessity. This simple pleasure has a long and interesting history shaped by ancient ingenuity, global trade, and evolving technology. From emperors importing ice from distant mountains to entrepreneurs revolutionizing its distribution, the journey of the ice in our drinks is a story of innovation that dates back to the first human civilizations.
Long before refrigerators and freezers, ancient civilizations found ingenious ways to keep drinks cool. The earliest recorded instance of ice storage dates back to the reign of Shulgi, the king of Ur in Mesopotamia from 2094 to 2046 BCE. Shulgi named the 13th year of his reign “Building of the royal icehouse/cold-house” (years were often named after a significant event), suggesting the construction of an icehouse during that period.
In China, the practice of harvesting and storing ice dates back to at least 1100 BCE. During the Zhou dynasty (1046 to 256 BCE), the royal court established a specialized department responsible for collecting natural ice blocks each winter and storing them in icehouses for use in the warmer months. This stored ice was used to cool food and beverages, including wine, and was also used in medical treatments.
Over time, ice collection became an organized practice, with officials overseeing its storage and distribution. Around 400 BCE, the Persians took preservation a step further by constructingyakchals — massive, domed icehouses made of heat-resistant mud brick. These structures allowed them to store ice year-round, even in the arid desert climate. By carefully directing water into shallow pools that froze overnight, they amassed ice supplies that could later be used to cool drinks or create early versions of frozen treats.
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Around the world, chilled beverages were a luxury enjoyed by the wealthy — one that did not become widely accessible for centuries. Around 300 to 400 CE, the Romans imported massive blocks of ice from the Alps, transporting them over long distances to cool drinks and prepare chilled delicacies. This symbol of extravagance was primarily reserved for elite members of society, including Emperor Nero, who was known to be fond of ice-cold refreshments. He ordered ice and snow to be brought down from the mountains and mixed with fruit juices and honey, an early prototype of sorbet.
During the Heian period in Japan (794 to 1185 CE), aristocrats preserved natural ice in underground icehouses known as himuro, allowing them to store and use it during the hot summer months. Historical texts such as the The Pillow Book mention the consumption of ice in the imperial court, emphasizing its exclusivity among the noble class. The government even maintained official icehouses, and records from the period suggest that ice was carefully rationed and distributed among the elite. Unlike in Europe, where ice was primarily used for cooling drinks, in Japan, it was also consumed directly in the form of finely shaved ice, sometimes drizzled with natural sweeteners.
During the European Renaissance, the use of ice in beverages and food was particularly popular in Italy and France. In Italy, ice was harvested from the Alps and transported to cities, where it was stored in underground cellars or specially built icehouses known as neviere. These structures, often insulated with straw or sawdust, allowed ice to be preserved for extended periods. Wealthy households and royal courts used this stored ice to chill drinks, enhancing the dining experience. Records from the 16th century indicate that Italians used ice to cool wines and other beverages, a practice that became increasingly fashionable among the aristocracy.
By the 17th century, the development of ice storage facilities had expanded beyond the nobility, with vendors in Italian cities selling ice or chilled water to customers during the summer months. This period also saw the refinement of frozen desserts, with early recipes for flavored ices and sorbets appearing in Italy and later spreading to France. But the primary function of ice remained its role in cooling beverages, a practice that continued to evolve with advancements in ice harvesting and transportation.
The “Ice King” Helped Make Ice Accessible in the U.S.
For most of history, ice was difficult to come by, making chilled drinks a rare luxury. That changed in the early 19th century when a Boston businessman named Frederic Tudor saw an opportunity to monetize ice production. Dubbed the "Ice King," Tudor began harvesting ice from frozen ponds on his father’s New England farm, packing it in sawdust and shipping it to warm climates such as the Southern states and the Caribbean islands. His business took off and the modern commercial ice trade was born.
At first, ice was primarily used in bars and hotels catering to the social elite. Cocktails such as the mint julep and sherry cobbler became wildly popular in the United States, served over crushed or shaved ice. The sight of frost-covered glasses became a symbol of sophistication and modernity. By the late 19th century, thanks to improved ice-harvesting techniques and the rise of commercial production, ice became more affordable and accessible in the U.S. Then in the first half of the 20th century, home refrigerators allowed more and more families to store ice, making it possible for iced drinks to become a staple at American dinner tables.
Today, it’s hard to imagine a president traveling without a motorcade. But when automobiles first appeared in the late 19th century, many Americans considered them loud, dangerous contraptions that frightened horses, terrified pedestrians, and seemed unlikely to replace the trusty carriage.
So it makes sense that the White House didn’t embrace the automobile overnight. Instead, several presidents each claimed a different automotive “first,” reflecting America’s gradual transition from the horse-and-buggy days to the automobile era.
The earliest presidential automotive milestone belongs to William McKinley. During his presidency, McKinley became the first U.S. president to ride in an automobile, traveling briefly in a steam-powered vehicle in 1899 at a time when autos were still rare curiosities.
This wasn’t an official presidential vehicle, however — it was more of a demo, and the car was driven by its co-inventor, F.O. Stanley. The ride reflected the novelty of a technology that was just beginning to attract public attention. Later in his life, McKinley was known to take at least two other car rides.
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In August 1902, President Theodore Roosevelt achieved another milestone when he became the first sitting president to make a public appearance in an automobile. While touring Connecticut, he rode through cheering crowds in an electric motorcar driven by two professional chauffeurs. Newspapers noted that the vehicle allowed more people to catch a glimpse of the president than would have been possible from a traditional carriage, making the automobile an unexpectedly effective political tool.
Roosevelt’s public embrace of the automobile may have helped legitimize a technology that many Americans still viewed with suspicion. But Roosevelt wasn’t necessarily a fan of cars personally. Three years later, he wrote to a friend: “Motor cars are a trial, aren’t they? I suppose that ultimately we will get them into their proper place in the scheme of nature, and when by law and custom their use is regulated in proper fashion their objectionable features will probably be eliminated; but just at present I regard them as distinct additions to the discomfort of living.”
If Roosevelt introduced the automobile to the presidency, William Howard Taft made it part of the institution. When Taft took office in 1909, Congress appropriated $12,000 to purchase the first official White House automobiles — a controversial decision at the time. Critics argued that automobiles were nuisances and questioned whether taxpayer money should be spent on such extravagant machines. Nevertheless, the purchase went forward, marking the beginning of the presidential motor fleet.
Taft’s own vehicle was a White Model M, a seven-passenger, 40-horsepower touring car built in his home state of Ohio. It featured the Great Seal of the United States painted on its doors. Meanwhile, First Lady Helen Herron Taft received a blue Pierce-Arrow Suburban car, from a different company but also adorned with the national seal.
Perhaps Taft’s most symbolic act, however, was clearing out the White House’s federal horse stables and converting them into a garage. It was a practical decision, but it also marked the end of an era.
Taft didn’t merely ride in automobiles — he also became one of the country’s most influential advocates for them. He attended automobile shows, welcomed endurance motorists to the White House, praised the rapid progress of the industry, and publicly argued for better roads. At a time when much of America’s road network remained little more than muddy tracks, improved highways were essential if automobiles were ever going to become practical for ordinary Americans.
The prestige of the presidency added weight to Taft’s endorsements. Historians credit his administration with helping to accelerate both the acceptance of automobiles and the growing movement for a national system of improved roads. His successor, Woodrow Wilson, continued that momentum by supporting highway improvements and signing the 1916 Federal Aid Road Act, which provided the first major federal funding for rural roads.
By the early 1920s, automobiles had become a familiar part of American life, and the presidency reflected that change. When Warren G. Harding was elected in 1920, he became the first president who actually knew how to drive. Harding rode to his inauguration in a Packard Twin-Six, a sign of just how quickly the automobile had become woven into American culture. It was the first time a president had ridden to and from his inauguration in a car.
In the space of just two decades, the presidency had traveled an extraordinary distance. What began with McKinley taking a curious ride in an experimental machine evolved into Roosevelt publicly embracing the automobile, Taft making it the official vehicle of the White House, and Harding representing the first generation of presidents who grew up alongside the car.
At the turn of the 20th century, the U.S. was in the midst of a significant and rapid transformation. Industrialization was creating new wealth for those it favored, sprawling cities were replacing rural towns as the centers of American life, and an entirely new layer of society was emerging between the working class and the hereditary rich.
This was the American middle class — a term already in use in the 18th century, albeit subject to various definitions — and it was a group defined not just by what people earned, but also by how they lived, how they were educated, and what they valued.
In 1900, America’s middle class was, in large part, a product of industrialization — a process that began in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, followed by what is often called the Second Industrial Revolution around 1870. At the turn of the 20th century, factories, railroads, banks, and corporations continued to expand rapidly across America, creating a growing demand for a new kind of skilled worker — professionals who worked not with their hands, but with their minds, such as managers, accountants, engineers, lawyers, doctors, and merchants.
These occupations came to be known as white-collar jobs, distinguished from working-class labor by the nature of the work itself. (The term “white collar” first appeared in 1919, referring to the collared dress shirts typically worn by office workers.) A middle-class worker typically sat at a desk, wore a suit, kept regular hours, and earned a salary rather than a daily wage.
But these middle-class jobs were still the minority in the industrial era. While today the middle class makes up about half of the U.S. population, in 1900 it was far smaller and still in the process of forming. The vast majority of Americans remained working class — factory workers, farm laborers, domestic servants — with a small wealthy elite at the top and a relatively thin, but growing, professional layer in between.
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According to U.S. Census Bureau data, middle-class homes in 2024 earned between $55,820 and $167,460 a year. Unsurprisingly, the earnings of middle-class Americans in 1900 were considerably lower due to inflation. A lawyer or architect could expect to earn around $1,200 a year, a banker or broker $1,600 a year, and a surgeon $1,625 a year (that’s about $47,000, $63,000, and $64,000 respectively in today's money). In comparison, the average farm worker, industrial worker, brewer, or tanner earned somewhere between $300 and $500 annually ($12,000 and $20,000 today).
These middle-class salaries, while modest by modern standards, went considerably further in 1900. Sugar cost about 5 cents a pound (equivalent to about $2 today), a dozen eggs 19 cents ($7.50 today), coffee 22 cents a pound ($8.80 today), and a loaf of bread about 4 cents (about $1.60 today). A comfortable family home in a midsize American city could be purchased or rented at a fraction of what a middle-class salary could support today.
Today, a college-level education is considered common among the American middle class, and a bachelor’s degree is standard for many professional careers. But back in 1900, the educational landscape was different. Around 78% of all American children between ages 5 and 17 were enrolled in schools, but the average child was in school for no more than eight years. In 1900, a high school diploma or college degree was a rare privilege — fewer than 10% of Americans graduated high school and only 1 in 50 graduated college.
A middle-class worker in 1900 tended to be better educated than a typical working-class laborer, and middle-class families were more likely to invest heavily in their children’s schooling.
The middle-class household of 1900 was organized around a clear division of labor, with men earning the bulk of the income and women managing the home. This arrangement reflected the cultural norms of the time — which included the notion that a man’s success could be measured by his ability to keep his wife out of the workforce entirely, and that a working wife was to be frowned upon. It wasn’t until the 1940s, when World War II shifted views about women in the workplace, that the idea of a middle-class married woman going to work became more socially acceptable.
Within the home, however, both working-class and middle-class women often exercised real authority. They managed household budgets, directed domestic servants (if they had any), oversaw their children’s education, and were considered the moral and emotional center of the family. And in 1900, middle-class homemakers had a new challenge to face: technology. This period saw the emergence of gas and electric appliances, running water, prepared foods, ready-made clothes, and factory-made furniture, all of which brought about major changes in how homes were managed.
One clear marker of middle-class life in 1900 was access to leisure. Amusement parks, vaudeville theaters, stadium sports, and the very first movie houses were becoming fixtures of urban middle-class entertainment. These places also catered to the working class, but the growing middle class had more disposable income and, in many cases, more free time. Music, too, was finding its way into the more affluent households. Pianos became affordable to many middle-class families, as did new phonographs.
The emergence of the middle class also ushered in new forms of consumerism. Department stores, which had proliferated through the 1870s and 1880s, specifically targeted middle- and upper-class shoppers with a new kind of consumer experience designed to appeal to buyers who prized respectability, had money to spend on impulse, and had time to go shopping as a leisure activity.
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7 Funny Things That Happened in the 1970s
Credit: Bettmann via Getty Images
AuthorNicole Villeneuve
July 6, 2026
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The 1970s were a time of contradictions in the United States. The fallout from the ongoing Vietnam War and Richard Nixon’s Watergate scandal led to widespread cynicism, but that tension was cloaked in polyester and mirror balls. Sandwiched between 1960s idealism and 1980s excess, the ’70s were a time when serious concerns about the economy, environment, politics, and shifting social values coexisted with an unabashed pursuit of fun and self-expression. That mix is what makes the era so endlessly fascinating — and, at times, uniquely amusing. Here are seven of the funniest things that happened in the 1970s.
Credit: David Cannon/ David Cannon Collection via Getty Images
The Streaking Sensation
For a few surreal years in the 1970s, America was in the throes of what TIME magazine called an “epidermis epidemic.” Though public nudity wasn’t new — the ancient Greeks famously competed nude in the Olympics, for goodness’ sake — streaking, or running naked through a public place, became a bona fide trend early in the decade.
The streaking mania started on American college campuses in the late 1960s. By 1973, the phenomenon was sweeping the nation; it’s believed the fad got its name that same year when a TV reporter covering a nude run at the University of Maryland said, “They are streaking past me right now. It’s an incredible sight!”
Streaking hit its peak in 1974. Universities competed for world records, professional sporting events became irresistible targets, and singer Ray Stevens immortalized it all in “The Streak,” a catchy novelty song that topped the Billboard Hot 100 in the U.S.
The fad’s most infamous incident took place on April 2, 1974. During the 46th Academy Awards, LGBTQ+ activist and art gallery owner Robert Opel bolted across the stage in his birthday suit, flashing a peace sign to the audience and leaving the host, actor David Niven, surprisingly unfazed. But thanks largely to crackdowns on public nudity laws, the streaking craze faded by the end of that year, almost as suddenly as it arrived.
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It’s not uncommon for politicians — including, and maybe especially, presidents — to be the subject of endless jokes. That certainly proved true for Gerald Ford, who became president of the United States in 1974 following Richard Nixon’s resignation. As a former University of Michigan football star, Ford was actually quite athletic, but a series of stumbles during his presidency led to a lasting clumsy image.
Ford’s missteps — literal and otherwise — might have faded into obscurity if not for Saturday Night Live. In the fall of 1975, comedian Chevy Chase debuted a slapstick impression of the president that turned Ford’s every stumble into a running joke. Ford himself took the ribbing in stride, and while those close to him reportedly didn’t consider him exceptionally clumsy, his accidental falls nonetheless became one of his most enduring legacies.
Long before social media, people across the U.S. chatted with each other on CB radios. Citizens band radios had been around since the 1940s and were used by niche hobbyists throughout the 1960s. But during the 1970s, they became a full-blown cultural phenomenon, in part due to the 1973 oil crisis. Gas prices soared, and with nationwide fuel shortages, the U.S. government imposed a speed limit of 55 miles per hour in 1974. Truck drivers formed CB communities, sharing gas station prices and availability, organizing protests, and warning each other about police speed traps.
The CB radio craze hit a new level in 1975. That year, the Federal Trade Commission expanded CB usage permissions, and "Convoy," a hit country song by CW McCall, told the story of a rebellious trucker movement, making trucker culture a mainstream obsession. Millions of Americans bought CB radios, adopted nicknames, and mastered truck driver lingo such as “breaker” and “10-4.” The CB fad peaked in 1976, when 11 million U.S. customers became new CB radio owners. By 1978, the trend had largely faded.
It was one of the most unexpected meetings the White House has seen: On December 21, 1970, Elvis Presley walked into the Oval Office to meet with President Richard Nixon. The King of Rock ’n’ Roll had arrived at the White House unannounced earlier that morning to deliver a handwritten six-page letter; in it, he outlined his concerns about the country’s drug culture and offered to “be of any service that I can to help the country out.” By midday, Presley — in a purple velvet suit, an oversize-collared shirt, and a massive embellished belt buckle — was sitting across from the president. Together, they chatted about America’s drug problems, communism, and the Beatles.
Before leaving, Presley, a police badge collector, requested a badge from the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs — and Nixon granted it to him. The pair also posed for photographs, but both decided the meeting would be kept a secret. The meeting was revealed in the press the following year, but it didn’t make a splash until the 1980s, when the images were released for public research and demand for the photo of the bizarre encounter exploded. While the hype has since dissipated, a photo of the meeting remains one of the most requested items from the U.S. National Archives.
Few hairstyles have reached the cultural saturation of Farrah Fawcett’s signature feathered locks. When Charlie’s Angels debuted in the fall of 1976, Fawcett was not yet a household name; though she’d appeared in other TV shows and films, she was still mostly known from shampoo commercials. It seems fitting, then, that shortly after Charlie’s Angels hit the air, Fawcett quickly became famous for her tresses: soft, feathered waves layered and teased voluminously away from her sun-kissed face. The hairstyle was unlike anything else that was popular at the time — think of 1976 Olympic gold-medalist figure skater Dorothy Hamill’s short, brunette bob — and it was instantly iconic.
By 1977, Fawcett was no longer on Charlie’s Angels, but her hair was already a defining style of the decade. Millions of women around the world flocked to their hairdressers to replicate the look. The actress may have made the style look laid-back and natural, but it was anything but. “I’d curl, pin, curl, pin. And when it was done, I took the pins out, turned the hair upside down and brushed it out so you wouldn’t have a ‘set’ look,” said hairstylist Allen Edwards, one of the people credited with creating the defining look. Hugh York, another stylist who worked with Fawcett, said it took “hot curlers, rollers, lots of pampering and care” to keep up the look. It may have required a small arsenal of styling tools, but mastering the ultimate badge of ’70s glamour was worth it.
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The Pet Rock Phenomenon
Few ’70s fads were as simple — and as successful — as the Pet Rock. Dreamed up by California advertising copywriter Gary Dahl, the Pet Rock was exactly what it sounded like: a small, smooth stone nestled in a cardboard “pet carrier” box that came complete with breathing holes and an instruction manual with tongue-in-cheek rock-training tips. It may have started as a joke between Dahl and his friends about hassle-free pets, but it turned into a bona fide phenomenon.
Pet Rocks debuted at a San Francisco trade show in August 1975. By Christmas that year, Dahl was selling up to 100,000 rocks a day for $3.95 each. At the time, the U.S. was in the thick of the Watergate scandal and dealing with the 1973 oil crisis recession. Melanie DiLeo, a department store buyer at the time, said it was unsurprising that the novelty toy took off. “The Pet Rock made you laugh. You could spend $5 for it and still laugh. We needed that.” Dahl became a millionaire practically overnight, but by the following year, the novelty had worn off, and the Pet Rock was already a relic of its time.
By the late 1970s, disco had fully infiltrated American culture. What started in underground clubs exploded into the mainstream in unexpected places. The 1977 sensation Saturday Night Fever brought platform shoes, bell-bottom pants, and polyester jumpsuits to the big screen, while fast-food titan McDonald’s ran a Big Mac ad set to disco sights and sounds.
Beloved Sesame Street characters grooved to disco tracks on not one, but two albums — 1978’s Sesame Street Fever and 1979’s Sesame Disco (“Disco Frog,” anyone?) — while a disco-fied version of John Williams’ iconic Star Wars theme song spent two weeks at the top of Billboard’s Hot 100 in 1977. Even Broadway legend Ethel Merman released an album of disco covers, the Ethel Merman Disco Album, now a camp cult favorite. The backlash, of course, wasn’t far behind. With public sentiment turning and punk rock nipping at its heels, the genre was dealt a tough blow at the infamous Disco Demolition Night at Chicago’s Comiskey Park in 1979.
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