Phone Booth Stuffing

Speaking of logistically confusing fads, the phone booth stuffing craze of the 1950s had teams of participants vying to see who could cram the most people into a single phone booth. Though there are some conflicting reports as to where and when the fad began, it was popularized in Durban, South Africa, in 1959, when a group of 25 people managed to contort themselves into a booth. By March of that year, students on college campuses throughout the United States and Canada were attempting to break the record. 

Students at St. Mary’s College of California achieved a count of 22 in a manner that looks legitimate, but it wasn’t long before a lack of standard criteria led to participants achieving greater numbers by dubious means. Some attempts counted people who were mostly (or entirely) outside the confines of the actual phone booth; some altered the booth itself to make it more accommodating; and others stretched the very definition of a phone booth by instead using an indoor phone room. This increasing entropy caused some existential questions about the activity. By the end of the year, the fad had seemingly died out, but anniversary reenactments still occasionally commemorate it.

Goldfish Swallowing

On March 3, 1939, Harvard University student Lothrop Withington Jr. swallowed a 3-inch goldfish, spurred by a $10 bet with his classmates. There was apparently enough buildup to the stunt that it had spectators and press coverage, and the publicity caused “goldfish gulping” to quickly spread to college campuses across the United States. The stunt almost immediately changed in nature, too —  while Withington’s initial bet was about whether or not he could swallow a whole goldfish, goldfish gulping became about how many whole goldfish someone could swallow in a single session. 

The fad was competitive. Just shy of a month later, the goldfish-swallowing record was 25. Then a record of 36 stood for a day, until MIT student Albert E. Hayes Jr. set a new record of 42. By the time Clark University’s Joseph Deliberato set an unthinkable record of 89, all kinds of concern was building among adults. College administrators considered the trend a breach of proper student conduct, animal rescue organizations thought it cruel, the U.S. Public Health Service warned against health risks, and a Massachusetts state senator even wanted to outlaw it, drafting a bill to do just that. The variety of opposition expedited the fad running its course; by the end of the year, the trend was history.

Ostentatious Hairpieces

Wigs were seen as status symbols among Western aristocracies starting with the reign of Louis XIII of France, who popularized long dark wigs in the 17th century. But by the 18th century, increasingly elaborate and more vertically oriented hairpieces came into fashion. This culminated in a tall and ostentatiously decorated style called a “pouf,” where layers of hair and additional hairpieces were amassed and pinned atop pads, and adorned with unusual decorative elements such as feathers, figurines, and more. 

The pouf was created by Marie Antoinette’s dressmaker Marie-Jeanne “Rose” Bertin and hairdresser Léondard Autié, though it was first worn by the Duchess of Chartres in 1774. Her wig was made from 14 yards of gauze and included a tower with plumes, multiple figurines, and a parrot. Not to be outdone, Marie Antoinette commissioned a series of poufs herself, sparking imitation throughout the French aristocracy. The style’s flamboyance increased throughout the decade and prompted criticism from both nobility and the populace. The peak of extravagance may have been what Marie Antoinette wore in celebration of a French naval victory over the British: a wig topped by a full replica of the victorious warship Belle Poule, blurring the lines between reality and caricature. 

The Pet Rock

The Pet Rock seems, on its surface, like the most frivolous fad on record. This simple Mexican beach stone was sold in a box (with air holes!) that included a satirical-sounding manual with instructions on what to do if the rock "appears to be excited." Created by California advertising professional Gary Dahl in August 1975, the rock was an instant hit as a fuss-free pet.

In reality, the product wasn’t meant to be taken literally, but more as a multimedia gag. After all, Dahl paid great attention to detail in cheekily fashioning the box as a pet carrier, and filled the “instruction manual” with tongue-in-cheek tricks to teach the rock. The entire phenomenon might make much more sense to us today if the manual had appeared on the New York Times bestsellers list under “humor.” As Dahl later explained it, “At the time, the Vietnam War was winding down; Watergate had just started up. There was a whole lot of bad news going on… It wasn't a real good time for the national psyche. I think the Pet Rock was just a good giggle. Everybody needed a good laugh and the media ate it up." 

The media attention was the driving factor in the rock’s popularity. As Dahl wrote, “During its five month retailing life span, the Pet Rock was referenced in nearly every daily newspaper in the country, most major magazines, all national network news programs, The Tonight Show and other late-night talk shows, most radio talk shows, and international media, such as the BBC. I was personally interviewed hundreds of times.” The relentless publicity led to the sale of more than a million Pet Rocks by Christmas of 1975. Even still, jokes don’t have a long shelf life under repetition: The fad was essentially over by 1976.

The emblem was designed by English artist Gerald Holtom, a pacifist and conscientious objector during World War II. His design was stark, yet powerful: a circle, symbolizing Earth, with downward-pointing lines inside, forming the shape of the letter “N” and the letter “D,” for "Nuclear Disarmament.” The symbol also held deeper layers of symbolism for Holtom. In a letter to Hugh Brock, editor of the British pacifist magazine Peace News, Holtom revealed that he saw the symbol as somewhat of a self-portrait, capturing an individual in despair, standing with outstretched hands. The artist also named Spanish Romantic painter Francisco Goya's 1814 painting The Third of May 1808, which portrayed civilian resistance to war, as an influence on his design.

Before long, the CND symbol had made its way across the Atlantic, where it shed its strict nuclear arms association and was used as a sign of peace during civil rights demonstrations. Although the symbol’s exact path to America isn’t known, it seems most likely to have been brought over by Bayard Rustin, a close associate of Martin Luther King Jr. who was at the 1958 London protest. Peace activist Philip Altbach has also claimed he brought CND buttons to his colleagues after a trip to England, introducing Americans to the symbol for the first time.

The symbol's power became palpable as the Vietnam War escalated in the mid-1960s. It was embraced by anti-war activists, and was even seen drawn on U.S. soldiers’ helmets in Vietnam. By 1969, the symbol had evolved into a more general icon of peaceful protest and living in harmony. The peace sign featured prominently at Woodstock, and became an emblem of the hippie counterculture. Today, the Woodstock Museum and New York’s Bethel Woods Center for the Arts etch a peace symbol into the former festival grounds each year.

For as widely as the peace symbol has been embraced over the years, however, it has also faced misinterpretation and criticism. Christian groups have construed it as a broken, reversed cross. Its anti-war association had it condemned as a communist symbol, and it has also been compared to a runic symbol for death. Nevertheless, the simple visual has endured as a totem of nonviolent activism, and it continues to be used in advocacy for conflict resolution, LGBTQ+ rights, and various other social justice issues. As far as South Africa, the sign was adopted as a powerful symbol of the resistance to apartheid, which even caused the government to attempt to ban the symbol in 1973. 

The peace sign’s designer, Holtom, did once express some regret over the final design of his original nuclear disarmament symbol. In an unused design, which was upside-down from the final image, the letter “N” was instead a “U.” Holtom saw this as a way to signify a broader disarmament — a “unilateral” one. Given the peace symbol’s universality, his instincts have proved correct either way, and his creation remains an aspirational symbol for a more peaceful and equitable world.