The Airplane

On December 17, 1903, the Wright brothers completed their first successful airplane flight and ushered in the age of air travel. The world was never the same. As air travel became more accessible, people were able to complete journeys in a matter of hours that previously would have taken days or even weeks. The pace of international trade and globalization increased dramatically, and tourists could suddenly visit distant places and experience cultures that would have been inaccessible before. The invention of the airplane also led to rapid advances in aerodynamic technology that propelled air travel to (literal) new heights, opening up possibilities that once existed solely in the realm of science fiction. It was just 66 years after the first airplane flight that the Apollo 11 astronauts successfully landed on the moon.

The Personal Computer

When the world’s first personal computer, the Kenbak-1, was released in 1971, it would have been easy to dismiss the invention as a mere flash in the pan. Only 40 units of this early PC were sold, and the company that made it, the Kenbak Corporation, dissolved just two years later. However, over the next few decades, the personal computer went from a niche technology to one of the most transformative innovations of the 20th century. In 1977, Apple released the Apple II to considerably more success than had greeted the Kenbak-1: Apple’s PC went on to sell nearly 6 million units between 1977 and 1993. The power of computer technology, which had once been accessible only to a few select specialists, became available to many ordinary people. The average consumer could use computers to automate complex tasks, store huge amounts of information, and — with the advent of computer games — experience totally new forms of entertainment that only scratched the surface of what was to come.

The Internet

Computers were a powerful technology in their own right, but it was the invention of the internet in 1983 that made them touch nearly all aspects of everyday life. The internet allowed computers to communicate with one another in a global network, which meant that huge amounts of information could be exchanged across vast distances in the blink of an eye. As the 20th century came to a close, the web was rapidly becoming a central part of the way most people shopped, communicated, worked, played, and even found love. It became a principal source of news and entertainment, and permanently altered industries as diverse as global finance, popular music, and tourism. It’s no exaggeration to say the internet transformed the world at the end of the 20th century, and the society we live in today is a product of its profound influence.

Lamplighter

Public street lighting dates back to at least the ninth century, when oil lamps were placed in the streets of Cordoba, Spain. For centuries, cities relied on gas or oil lamps — and sometimes candles — that had to be lit and extinguished by hand every single day. That job was carried out by lamplighters, who walked set routes at dusk carrying a long pole with a small flame or wick at the end, reaching up to ignite each streetlamp. They then retraced their steps at dawn to put them all out again. In large cities, this required teams of workers walking miles of streets twice a day. Some large residences and estates had their own lamplighters — including the White House, whose lamplighters worked an average of five hours a day in the 1880s, illuminating and extinguishing lamps throughout the presidential residence. 

Knocker-Upper

Before personal alarm clocks became affordable and reliable, workers in Britain and Ireland during the Industrial Revolution paid someone to make sure they woke up on time. Armed with a long stick, truncheon, rattle, or even a peashooter, a knocker-upper, as they were known, would travel from house to house each morning, tapping on windows or making noise until a client stirred. For more than a century, the knocker-upper was a common sight in Britain, especially in northern mill towns and in London, where dockers kept unusual hours. The profession died out in most places during the 1940s and 1950s, when electricity and affordable alarm clocks became common. But knocker-uppers could still be found in industrial England up until the early 1970s. 

Ice Cutter

Before electric refrigeration, keeping food cold meant relying on actual ice, and someone had to go get it and deliver it. Ice harvesting was a major industry in America from the 1800s to the mid-1950s, with professional ice cutters working through the winter months harvesting massive blocks from frozen lakes and rivers. Using saws and specialized tools, they carved out slabs weighing hundreds of pounds, which were then hauled into insulated icehouses, packed in sawdust to slow melting, and then delivered door to door — by professional icemen — throughout the year to fill household iceboxes. It was physically demanding work and entirely dependent on cold winters — at least until electricity and domestic refrigeration made the whole process obsolete. 

Punkah Wallah

In the heat of British colonial India, keeping a room cool often involved hiring someone to manually operate a large cloth fan called a punkah, suspended from the ceiling and swung back and forth using a rope. The servant assigned to this job, known as a punkah wallah or punkah puller, often worked in exhausting shifts, day and night, sometimes even operating the fan with their feet while lying down to keep working through the fatigue. Punkah wallahs typically belonged to the lower castes of Indian society and were often poorly treated by colonizers — and all for very low, exploitative pay. The job persisted into the early 20th century, until electric ceiling fans became widely available and made the grueling profession unnecessary.

Pinsetter

Long before bowling alleys had automated machinery, pins had to be reset by hand after every single frame. Pinsetters, also known as pin boys, were young men (or often teenage boys working for tips) who crouched at the end of the lane to swiftly reset fallen pins and roll the ball back to players — a process they repeated all night across dozens of games. It was fast-paced, repetitive work performed just feet away from where heavy bowling balls were being thrown. In 1951, the U.S. Department of Labor issued a complaint about preteens working as pinsetters, and in some cases suffering serious injuries. The complaint came a little late. Electrically powered automatic pinsetting machines were introduced within that decade, and the pinsetters soon began to disappear. 

Factory Lector

In the 1860s, being a cigar factory worker in Cuba was a tedious job. Workers rolled tobacco by hand for 10 to 12 hours a day, a task that often became mind-numbingly repetitive. To combat this, the role of the lector was introduced — a hired reader who sat on an elevated platform reading newspapers, novels, and political tracts aloud to the entire factory floor. In most cases, the lectors were paid by the workers, who pooled their money to hire a skilled reader. It became a popular position in the otherwise largely silent cigar factories and soon found its way to the U.S., particularly in Florida, where many of the cigar factory workers were Cuban immigrants. The tradition began to die out when factories were connected to the grid and radios appeared, but a handful of Cuban factories still keep the practice alive today.

Staffelter Hof

Located in Germany’s Moselle wine region, Staffelter Hof is the oldest continuously operating winery in the world. Established by Benedictine monks in 862 CE, the vineyard began producing wine at the same time the Vikings were raiding both France and Britain. It then went on to survive the collapse of the Holy Roman Empire, the Napoleonic Wars, and both World War I and II — as well as a period of state control during the French Revolution in the late 18th century. Not long after the revolution ended in 1799, the vineyard went back into private ownership and has been run by the same family ever since. 

The Royal Mint

The Royal Mint was founded in 886 CE, making it the oldest surviving business in the United Kingdom. Its story began during the resettlement of London after the capital’s Viking occupation, when it started producing a silver penny of Alfred the Great (a revered Anglo-Saxon king). For centuries, the mint was housed inside the Tower of London before moving to dedicated premises in the 1800s. In 1325, it began making coins for foreign countries, a practice that continued all the way up to 2024. Today, almost 1,150 years after its foundation, it continues to produce coins for the U.K., having done so for around 60 kings and queens, including the current monarch, King Charles III. 

Beretta

The Italian firearms manufacturing company Fabbrica d’Armi Pietro Beretta is, according to Guinness World Records, the world’s oldest weapons manufacturer. Beretta, as it is more commonly known, has been owned and operated by the same Italian family since its founding 500 years ago. Its precise foundation date is unknown, but its earliest documented sale came when Bartolomeo Beretta sold 185 harquebus barrels to the Venice arsenal for 296 ducats in 1526. The company has been supplying firearms to militaries, law enforcement, and civilian markets ever since — and has supplied weapons for every major European war since 1650. It is now run by the 15th generation of the Beretta family. 

Zildjian

While few American companies come close to matching the age of these older institutions, the cymbal manufacturer Zildjian stands out not only as one of the oldest companies located in the U.S., but also as the world’s oldest continuously operating manufacturer of musical instruments. The company was founded in Constantinople (now Istanbul) in 1623 by Armenian alchemist and metalsmith Avedis Zildjian, who discovered a durable metal alloy that could make crisp musical sounds without shattering. 

Zildjian became an established company in the Ottoman Empire and later began selling cymbals in many major European capitals. Then, in the 1920s, the family cymbal-making business relocated to Massachusetts under the ownership of Avedis III — just in time for the Jazz Age. The company, currently run by the 15th generation of the family, is now the world’s largest maker of cymbals (and drumsticks, too).

Hallways Changed Everything

In many earlier homes, rooms were connected directly to one another, meaning people often had to pass through one space to reach the next. As hallways, or corridors, became more common in residential architecture during the 18th and 19th centuries, they created dedicated routes through the house and reduced the need to walk through rooms that were being actively used. This new layout helped separate private spaces from household traffic and made homes easier to navigate.

The growing use of hallways also increased the number of doors inside a home. Rather than a chain of interconnected rooms, houses could be organized around central halls with separate entrances to individual spaces. The arrangement allowed rooms to function more independently while giving occupants greater privacy and control over how different areas of the house were used.

Finding Privacy

As homes became more compartmentalized and hallways gave rooms their own entrances, families gained greater control over personal space. This became increasingly important as ideas about household privacy evolved during the 19th and early 20th centuries. Bedrooms, studies, and later indoor bathrooms were expected to provide a degree of separation from the rest of the household.

Older homes were often occupied by larger families, and personal space was not always easy to find. Multiple children frequently shared bedrooms, and several generations might live under the same roof. Doors provided a simple way to reduce noise, limit interruptions, and create moments of solitude within a busy household.

Heating One Room at a Time

Before central heating became widespread, keeping a house warm required a very different approach. Many homes relied on fireplaces, wood stoves, coal stoves, or localized radiators, which heated individual rooms rather than the entire structure. Closing doors helped keep warmth where it was needed and prevented heat from drifting into unused areas. In colder climates, households often developed routines around which rooms would be heated and occupied during different times of the day.

This practical reality shaped the layout of houses for generations. During winter, families often spent most of their time in a few heated rooms while the rest of the house remained considerably cooler. Interior doors acted as simple but effective climate-control tools, helping households conserve fuel and maintain a more comfortable temperature. Long before programmable thermostats existed, a door was one of the easiest ways to control heat within the home.

Hiding the Kitchen

Today, kitchens are often designed as gathering spaces that open into great rooms or living rooms, but historically they were considered work areas that shouldn’t be seen. Preparing meals from scratch generated heat, smoke, noise, and strong cooking odors, making the kitchen one of the busiest and most demanding rooms in the house. For that reason, it was usually separated from formal living areas whenever possible. In many homes, keeping the kitchen out of sight was considered just as important as keeping its heat and smells contained.

Many kitchens had multiple doors serving different purposes. One might connect directly to the dining room for serving meals, while another led outside for deliveries, firewood, or access to gardens and outbuildings. These doorways helped keep household work moving efficiently while limiting the spread of heat, smells, and clutter into the rest of the home. Features such as swinging doors and butler’s pantries further reflected the desire to keep preparation and presentation separate.

Construction Methods

Traditional building techniques naturally encouraged houses to be divided into smaller rooms. Creating large, open spaces required longer structural spans and stronger support systems, which were more difficult and expensive to achieve with the materials available at the time. As a result, builders often relied on load-bearing walls to support upper floors and roofs. Those structural walls naturally broke homes into a series of smaller spaces connected by doors and hallways.

Once those walls were in place, adding doors was a practical way to connect rooms while preserving the structure of the house. The result was a floor plan filled with thresholds, hallways, and enclosed spaces. Only later, as steel beams, engineered lumber, and modern heating and cooling systems became common, did open-concept layouts become easier and more desirable to build. What appears unusual today was once simply the most practical way to construct a comfortable and durable home.

Dymaxion Car

When the visionary architect and designer Buckminster Fuller — inventor of the geodesic dome — turned his attention to cars, he created something both wonderful and strange. Fuller envisioned his land-based prototype as eventually being able to travel in the air and underwater as well, so the streamlined car looked like a cross between a VW camper, a zeppelin, and a torpedo. 

Unveiled in the 1930s, the three-wheeled, 20-foot-long omnidirectional vehicle could reach speeds of 120 mph, make a 180-degree turn within its own length, and carry 12 passengers. To many people, it seemed like the future had arrived. But Fuller’s car never went into mass production, partly due to one of the prototypes being involved in a fatal crash. 

Stout Scarab

The Stout Scarab is credited as the world’s first production minivan. Designed by aviation engineer William Bushnell Stout, the streamlined, beetle-shaped vehicle (hence the name “Scarab”) was notable for, among other things, its massive interior space. 

Inside the 16-foot-long vehicle, only the driver’s seat was fixed — all other seats could rotate 180 degrees to face one another. There was also a removable table for business meetings or card games, a dust filter to clean the air inside, interior lighting, and power door locks — all incredibly cutting-edge for the 1930s. Perhaps it was a leap too far. Only nine Scarabs were ever built, but the car went on to influence automotive design for decades.

Peel P50

The Peel P50 is one of the smallest cars ever made. At just 4.5 feet long and just over 3 feet tall and  wide, it’s smaller than most motorcycles and can fit through a standard doorway. And considering it weighs just 130 pounds, two people could easily carry it to the repair shop if it ever breaks down. 

The original, produced between 1962 and 1965, featured a 49cc engine producing 4.2 horsepower, powering a single rear wheel to a top speed of 40 mph. The Peel P50 has no reverse gear — if you need to back up, you simply get out and pull. They are still available to buy — hand built in the U.K. and shipped worldwide — and remain both utterly impractical and absolutely wonderful.

Amphicar Model 770 

The Amphicar Model 770 was based on the Volkswagen Schwimmwagen, an amphibious vehicle used extensively by Nazi ground forces during World War II. That’s not the most auspicious of starts, but the Amphicar nonetheless went on to become the most successful civilian amphibious production car ever made, with 3,878 units sold between 1961 and 1968. U.S. President Lyndon B. Johnson famously owned one and enjoyed pranking guests by screaming, “The brakes have failed!” as he drove into the lake on his Texas ranch. 

The problem with the Amphicar, and the reason it never sold more, was simple: It was neither a good car nor a good boat. On land, it had poor handling and minimal comfort, while on water it had a max speed of only 7 knots and very poor steering (not to mention problems with rust). Still, it was a whole lot of fun for anyone with the money to buy such an eccentric and impractical vehicle. 

Vanguard-Sebring CitiCar 

If you’ve always aspired to drive a large wedge of cheese, then the Vanguard-Sebring CitiCar is a dream come true. Inspired by golf carts and partly a response to the 1973 oil crisis, this tiny, wedge-shaped electric vehicle was powered by a 2.5-horsepower motor and six 6-volt batteries. It could reach a top speed of 28 mph and had a range of about 40 miles. 

Selling for less than $3,000, it was cheaper than most compact cars, and by 1976, the Florida-based Sebring-Vanguard was positioned as America’s sixth-largest automaker. For a while, the CitiCar was the bestselling electric vehicle in the U.S., despite looking like a doorstop on wheels. 

Fiat Multipla 

The Fiat Multipla is frequently mentioned as one of the ugliest cars ever produced. With its bulbous two-tiered layout and three pairs of buglike headlights, it looks like the offspring of a beluga whale and a cartoon insect. But the Multipla isn’t a bad car. It runs perfectly well, and inside its strangely wide body are two rows of three seats, making it a true multipurpose vehicle with plenty of space for luggage — all things that earned plaudits from the automotive media. 

The problem, however, was its peculiar appearance. It sold 79,000 units across Europe in 1999, but sales dropped off quickly — the Fiat Multipla never even reached America, in large part because of its reputation as an eyesore. It was discontinued in 2010, but can still be seen on the road (and purchased secondhand), albeit increasingly rarely. It remains a cautionary tale of what happens when automotive design goes awry.

Local Anesthesia

In 1921, Evan O’Neill Kane, chief surgeon at the Kane Summit Hospital in Pennsylvania, was in the operating room waiting for his own appendectomy to begin. To the surprise of his staff, who were ready and waiting to operate, Kane announced that he would remove his appendix himself. Reluctant to go against the wishes of their boss, the staff obeyed and stood back. 

This wasn’t some kind of bizarre whim on Kane’s part. He had performed more than 4,000 appendectomies in the past, using general anesthesia, which was standard practice at the time. But general anesthesia was considered dangerous for people with heart conditions and other serious ailments, complicating (or ruling out entirely) many basic surgeries for high-risk patients, including appendectomies. 

Kane believed that general anesthesia wasn’t necessary in these circumstances, and that local anesthesia was the solution. To prove his point, he removed his own appendix using only local anesthetic. With his assistants standing by, he made an incision in his own abdomen, located his appendix, and removed it while fully conscious. While undoubtedly extreme, his self-appendectomy demonstrated that local anesthesia was viable for abdominal surgery, leading to a wider acceptance of local anesthesia and a reduction in surgical mortality rates.

Effects of Deceleration on the Body

When Air Force Colonel John Paul Stapp set out to discover the precise effects of deceleration on the human body, he went all in. With airplanes increasingly flying higher and faster after World War II, pilots were being placed under ever-greater stresses, and bailouts and crashes were becoming far more dangerous. To help counter this and protect pilots, Stapp and his team began strapping themselves into extremely fast rocket sleds in the name of science. 

In one such test, carried out in December 1954, Stapp strapped himself into a sled called Sonic Wind No. 1. Powered by nine solid-fuel rockets, the sled hurtled along a custom-built track, and in just five seconds Stapp reached 632 miles per hour — faster than a .45-caliber bullet fired from a pistol. When the sled’s brakes engaged, Stapp reached a standstill in just 1.4 seconds, experiencing a deceleration force of 46.2 g (46.2 times the force of gravity) — momentarily making his body weigh more than 6,800 pounds. The effect cracked his ribs and burst all the blood vessels in his eyes, making him temporarily blind. 

Stapp’s experiments provided invaluable data regarding human tolerance to extreme forces, and disproved the prevailing medical belief that pilots couldn’t survive forces above 18 g. As well as paving the way for improved safety features in airplanes, his work and advocacy led to the automobile industry adopting stronger safety belts and harnesses, saving countless lives. 

Cardiac Catheterization

In 1929, 25-year-old surgical trainee Werner Forssmann saw a picture in a book that showed a tube inserted into a horse’s heart through a vein. Forssmann believed that such a process could work just as well in humans, but his superiors dismissed the idea as far too dangerous, forbidding him to test the procedure on any patient. So Forssmann, assisted by his operating room nurse Gerda Ditzen, carried out the procedure on himself. 

He anesthetized his arm, then cut into his antecubital vein, through which he inserted a catheter for 65 centimeters. He then calmly walked to the X-ray department, where he advanced the catheter until it reached his right atrium, taking X-rays of the whole process. As toe-curling as the whole thing may seem, Forssmann’s self-experiment paved the way for many different heart studies and procedures to come — and earned him the Nobel Prize in 1956. 

Treatment for Stomach Ulcers

For a long time, stomach ulcers were blamed on stress, poor diet, or eating too many spicy foods (or a combination of all three). The prevailing wisdom rejected the idea that bacteria could be the cause, as it was believed that bacteria couldn’t survive in the stomach’s acidic environment. Then, in the early 1980s, Australian physician Barry Marshall and pathologist Robin Warren discovered spiral bacteria (Helicobacter pylori) in the stomachs of patients with gastritis and ulcers. Yet the medical establishment dismissed their findings. 

So, in 1984, Marshall took matters into his own hands — and into his own stomach. He drank a whole petri dish of H. pylori cultured from a sick patient. Three days later, he began experiencing nausea, vomiting, and halitosis. An endoscopy confirmed the bacteria had colonized his stomach and caused inflammation. Marshall then treated himself with antibiotics. He soon recovered, proving conclusively that H. pylori bacteria can cause acute gastritis, which in turn can cause ulcers that can then be treated with antibiotics. The discovery revolutionized treatment, and in 2005— when the significance of their work was properly recognized — Marshall and Warren were jointly awarded the Nobel Prize.

X-Ray Shoe Fitters 

In the 1940s and ’50s, shoe stores across the U.S. offered customers a peek inside their shoes. The shoe-fitting fluoroscope was a wooden box that displayed real-time moving X-ray images of customers’ feet. Invented by Boston physician Jacob Lowe in 1919, the device was originally designed to diagnose foot problems in World War I veterans, and was repurposed for retail use after the war.

Though the X-ray technology was real, the device was essentially a marketing gimmick to help shoe sellers boost sales by lending the fitting process a scientific veneer. But that was the least of the invention’s issues — the fluoroscopes emitted dangerous doses of radiation that far exceeded the maximum safe daily dose. As a result of growing awareness around the dangers of radiation, shoe-fitting fluoroscopes were banned by the late 1950s.

Thomas Edison’s “Little Monsters”

Even the illustrious Thomas Edison had his flops. In 1890, the inventor unveiled the world’s first talking doll, a technological milestone that combined phonograph technology with the classic toy. The 4-pound, 22-inch doll had a porcelain head, wooden limbs, and a tin torso that housed a miniature phonograph. Turning a crank on the doll’s back played wax recordings of nursery rhymes such as “Mary Had a Little Lamb” and “Jack and Jill.”

Unfortunately, Edison’s dolls didn’t speak so much as screech. Due to the low recording volume, the women voicing the rhymes were required to scream into the recorder, resulting in creepy recordings that upset customers. The dolls were also plagued by durability issues and were prone to breaking. Parents complained, children were terrified, and many of the 2,650 dolls sold were returned. Within weeks, Edison withdrew them from the market, ruefully calling them his “little monsters.” Today, Edison’s “monsters” are considered rare collector’s items and have been displayed at the Smithsonian.

The Isolator

Science fiction pioneer Hugo Gernsback — founder of Amazing Stories magazine and namesake of the Hugo Awards — was also a prolific inventor. In 1925, he introduced one of his strangest creations: the Isolator, a helmet designed to eliminate distractions and maximize focus.

Made of wood and felt, the helmet completely enclosed the wearer’s head, leaving only narrow slits for vision. After realizing that people became drowsy inside the helmet after 15 minutes, partly due to oxygen deprivation, Gernsback added an oxygen tank connected to the helmet by a tube. He claimed the device was 75% efficient and predicted it would be a “great investment” for anyone in need of focus. Though the Isolator never caught on, its spirit lives on in noise-canceling headphones and focus apps.

Anti-Bandit Bag

In the 1950s and ’60s, inventors sought clever ways to foil thieves — and few were as dramatic as the Anti-Bandit Bag. One of the most famous versions was debuted by French Canadian inventor John H.T. Rinfret in 1963. Rinfret, inspired by his experience of being robbed, designed a bag with a spring-loaded handle, which enabled the carrier to launch the bag’s contents all over the place in the event of a robbery.

Other anti-bandit bags spewed smoke and dye or triggered shrieking alarms when snatched. One model, aptly named the “Arrestor,” clamped onto the thief’s hand and blasted out three 12-foot telescoping metal rods, preventing the robber’s escape. None of these designs reached mass production, likely due to their unwieldiness, dubious efficacy, and potential to be triggered accidentally.

Pastes and Oils

Early humans also used primitive versions of sunscreen made from natural compounds. Red ochre, a type of claylike iron oxide, has been mixed with water and applied as a paste to the skin since the time of early Homo sapiens. This mixture was used for ceremonial reasons, but scientists believe it may also have served as a physical barrier against the sun. 

Ancient Egyptians, meanwhile, used skin treatments made from ingredients such as rice bran (which absorbs UV light), jasmine (to help repair sun-damaged skin), and lupine (believed to lighten the complexion). Ancient Greece had its own approach: Olive oil was commonly applied to the skin between 800 and 500 BCE. While it offered limited protection, modern studies have found it has a natural sun protection factor (SPF) of about 8 — enough to slightly reduce burning, though far lower than today’s common SPF 30 (the minimum recommended by dermatologists).

Like with ochre, other pastes were made from a variety of natural compounds, including mud and clay. These were used not only as camouflage or ceremonial decoration, but also as protection from the sun. Zinc oxide was used in India as early as 500 BCE, and water reeds and spices were turned into sunscreen by the Sama-Bajau peoples of Southeast Asia around 840 CE. Indigenous peoples in the Americas, meanwhile, used sunflower oil, pine needles, western hemlock bark, and deer fat, while thanaka, a mixture made from ground bark and water, has been used in Myanmar (formerly Burma) for more than 2,000 years. 

Masks

Over time, in some societies — including in ancient Egypt and later in Europe and parts of Asia — protecting the skin became a mark of social status. A pale complexion signaled that you could afford to avoid outdoor manual labor and instead spend your days indoors or in the shade. 

In Egypt, this desired look was achieved through use of parasols and topical skin treatments that blocked the sun. In Europe in the 16th century — particularly in France and England — upper-class women wore striking-looking visard masks to prevent sunburn and preserve that pale complexion. 

The visard mask was made of black velvet with a silk interior lining, and its only features were a slight protrusion for the nose and small holes for the eyes and mouth. The masks weren’t just eerie to look at, either — they were rather unsettling to wear. Most versions didn’t have straps and were instead held in place by a bead or button gripped between clenched teeth; the wearer couldn’t speak while the mask was on. 

By the early 1700s, visard masks had spread beyond the aristocracy, and beyond their intended purpose of preventing sunburns. Women of various social classes wore them, including sex workers, who often used them to discreetly enter public spaces such as theaters. In 1704, Britain’s Queen Anne even banned visard masks from the theater, but they’d already lost their status among the elite and eventually faded out of use.

Tannins and Trusty SPF

By the end of the 19th century, dermatologists confirmed that prolonged exposure to the sun’s UV rays could inflame or burn the skin, and scientists began experiments to develop effective and suitable topical sun protection. In 1878, Austrian physician Otto Veiel promoted tannins — natural compounds found in many plants — as viable sun protection, but they also discolored the skin. 

In 1891, a German doctor experimented with what was likely the first true attempt at a chemical sunscreen, a quinine-based ointment to treat skin sensitivity to sunlight. And in the early 1900s, German physician Paul Unna came up with another sunscreen precursor, a paste made of natural ingredients such as chestnut extract. Ultimately, these early products didn’t apply well, either discoloring the skin or going on too thick, and so the experiments to find a better solution continued.

It wasn’t until the mid-1900s that sunscreens began to resemble what we use today. In 1942, the U.S. military tapped the American Medical Association to study products or substances that could help protect soldiers from getting sunburned during particularly hot World War II Pacific campaigns. The solution was a thick, red, veterinary petroleum salve, also known as “red vet pet.” It was waterproof, durable, nontoxic, inexpensive, and, most importantly, relatively effective. 

Florida pharmacist Benjamin Green had served in the Air Force throughout the war, and in 1944, he began experimenting with ways to make the sticky substance more appealing. He added ingredients such as cocoa butter and coconut oil, creating a smoother, nicely scented lotion — the earliest version of what later became Coppertone. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, sunscreen formulas continued to improve in texture and ingredients, offering broader protection against UVA and UVB rays, and by the 1970s and ’80s, sunscreen was widely marketed for sunburn protection and as a tanning aid.

Today, sun protection can be as subtle as a swipe of SPF lip balm or as advanced as UV-reflective clothing and tinted window film. The methods may have changed, but the instinct remains the same: When the sun beats down, we find ways to keep cool, stay covered, and avoid the burn.