A social, cultural and biographical history of the flapper phenomenon in 1920s America. That is, the rise of the Jazz Age's New Woman: cigarette smoking, car driving, nightclub hopping, sexually promiscuous and frequently wage-earning; lipstick-wearing, slender, sleekly bobbed and dressed in Chanel.
This is a marvellous book. It's divided into three broadly thematic parts, which can be summarised more or less as The Flapper Lifestyle, The Flapper Look, and The Flapper in Hollywood. But it really gets its coherence from a focus on a handful of individuals who created or embodied flapperdom: the Jazz Age writer F. Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda Sayre who married him, the flapper journalist Lois Long, the fashion designer Coco Chanel, and the Hollywood actresses Colleen Moore, Clara Bow and Louise Brooks. There are other figures, movers and shakers and image makers, but those seven are the ones who get real pagetime, the ones who stay with you. Lois Long probably caught my imagination most, with the way she took the irreverent crazy fun style of the New Woman and she made it a career, she lived it and she lived off it (also she used to come into the office in the early hours of the morning after a night on the town, climb in stockinged feet over the walls of her cubicle because she'd left her key at home, and write up her stories, laughing at her own jokes as she typed). Coco Chanel was fascinating, I never realised how revolutionary her designs were, or how far she climbed. Colleen Moore was rather darling, from her career begun as a child charging other children for tickets to her backyard circus, to her break from wide-eyed-innocent of the screen to flapper icon. Clara Bow was rather tragic, but almost unbearably likeable, with her underprivileged and abusive background and her huge dreams. Louise Brooks, with her extensive sexual freedom, was really interesting, and I would have liked more of her - she got less pagetime than any of the others. I would have happily sacrificed some of the endless pages devoted to the Fitzgeralds to get more of Brooks. I did think there was a slight overkill on the Fitzgeralds. They're fascinating, this crazy reckless fragile genius destructive romping sort of duo, but it began to feel like a biography of the Fitzgeralds with some other bits to the side at times, especially in the first third of the book. And they're also rather aggravating after a while, in the way that that particular selfish kind of bohemian living always aggravates me.
I was also a little dubious about the rationale for giving Scott such a large voice in the book. His time credited him with either creating the Flapper or being the greatest authority on her, but then his time was probably scrambling for a male voice to contain and explain the New Woman, even as irreverent and encouraging a one as F. Scott Fitzgerald. Which is itself an important and interesting historical thread, well worth exploring, but I did feel a bit that by privileging Scott's voice so much in this book, Zeitz was giving him the authority to define the Flapper all over again.
Interspersed with the biographical history - every other chapter, more or less, although the division isn't as sharp as that - is social history. Zeitz has an irritating habit of vagueing out on his sources in-text - he's constantly saying things like "As one commentator put it", and then not telling you who the commentator was. But he does use (un-numbered) endnotes, so you can look up who it was if you're dedicated enough. He does seem to have relied a good deal on secondary sources - most of his primary source quotes are cadged from other books - and there are a few sources that feel overused and give some of his arguments a thin feeling (there was a contemporary survey in Muncie, Indiana that was forced to stand in for the opinions of ordinary Americans in almost every situation). He also has a practice of whimsically naming his chapters with quotes from the text, which produces fun chapter names but no indication of what the chapter is actually about, and a difficulty in structuring things in your own head as you read. So for example, 'Will She Throw Her Arms Around Your Neck and Yell?' is about the revolutionary effect of automobiles on personal freedom and youth courting rituals and friendships; 'Papa, What Is Beer?' is the Colleen Moore chapter; 'Without Imagination, No Wants' is the chapter about the rise of the ad man and creating a consumer culture. The whimsical chapter titles are fun, and I wouldn't lose them, but it would have felt like a more coherent read if they could have had, say, actually-informative subtitles as well.
With those reservations (and they're not especially major), the social history is intelligent and thoughtful and rather elegantly written, and definitely engaging. Zeitz both celebrates and marvels at the revolutionary and liberating aspects of the flapper phenomenon and the Jazz Age in general, but also explores the ways in which it was undermined or deceptive. The discussion of the conservative and racial backlash of the era (thing I did not know: apparently Hollywood's very first full-length motion picture, which was a major commercial success, had a climactic final scene in which the Ku Klux Klan rode in to save the day I'm not kidding) highlighted the fact that the Flapper was, almost by definition, a white woman, even as she danced the Charleston in Harlem. He explores the way that the greater freedom between the sexes led to a serious curtailing of the intimacy between women, and in particular the end of the Victorian ideas about intensely romantic female friendships, particularly between girls at school or college (which I would read so many books about, I just have to find them). He examines the shifting power dynamics between the sexes: how even as women seemed to be getting much more power and freedom, earning wages, frequently living away from home, and getting out on the town, the discrepancy in male and female wages and the cost of living meant that in order to actually take part in the new lifestyle on offer, you had to have a boyfriend who would treat you to dinners and movies and fair ground rides. (Which, honest to god, made me understand how the whole 'the guy pays' thing could be such a crucial element of dating for the first fucking time: it was, actually, the backbone of the whole concept of dating, when dating was being invented.) Where before courting happened in the home, in a space controlled by women, now it happened in a space that depended on money, meaning that men, who had more, also had more power.
The section that really caught my imagination, though, was the fashion - the idea of dress reform. I'm used to the idea of the corset as a massively constricting thing and symbolic of oppression etc etc, but the way that Zeitz laid it out made me appreciate for the first time the scale of the oppression visited on middle- and upper-class Victorian women by their clothes. As a non-working class Victorian woman you wore layers upon layers of constricting and stifling cloth, even in summer. You couldn't even get dressed on your own, but needed to be laced in. The corset constricted your breathing and acted in a practical sense as a constant weight pressing in from all sides. Your sleeves were designed so that you couldn't lift your arms above shoulder height. Your skirts were either so wide you had difficulty with doorways, steps and getting into carriages, or they came in at the ankle so that you could only take tiny steps, or you had a bustle that meant you couldn't sit any further back than the edge of any chair or couch, and couldn't ever relax your spine to lean back. If hoop skirts were in fashion, you couldn't stand too close to a fire or stove or you might go up in flames when the hoops overheated. There was literally no way for you to do a man's work, because your clothes wouldn't let you.
And you couldn't choose not to. If you went out on the streets in, say, bloomers, as a small group of dress reformers did, you became a spectacle and an object of vicious scorn in the press and elsewhere. And these fashions weren't accidental - it didn't happen by accident that feminine fashion for centuries involved constricting, binding, physically controlling and weakening women. It was a fundamental form of social control. The issue wasn't about fashion, or aesthetics. It was possibly the most important, because all-pervasive and fundamental-to-daily-life, manifestation of women's oppression, and that is not a melodramatic statement.
So you look at the fashions of the 1920s, and with various exceptions they look so incredibly unflattering and uncool, all shapeless dresses and dropped waists and factory patterns and tweed, but they are the most staggering departure from what was considered acceptable and beautiful for the feminine form a couple of decades before. Most discussion of radical twentieth century fashions seems somehow to focus on hemlines, but a million times more important than the fact that these clothes showed your calves is the fact that you could move in them. The dominant motif of the flapper dress is free and easy lines. They're astonishing. Amelia Bloomer did something very important in her time, but god knows so did Coco Chanel.