THE HAIR POWDER ACT OF 1795
Pillow Book Monday
I’ve been reading Charles Dickens’ early historical-ish novel, Barnaby Rudge, about the Gordon Riots of 1780 (you all have Wonderkillers in your hands, friends, so stop wondering and Google that biz). Dickens’ 1780 is full of WIG BIZ—people who flip their wigs and lose their wigs, and people who snatch you bald and put your wig at the top of a monument; the narrative is full of discursive passages where wigs generally fly around in storms or across streets like tumbleweeds. Wigs, for Dickens, it would seem, are the things his generation never understood.
Digging into it, I discovered that the wig fad was waning as early as 1770 on the continent, and by 1780, they were found abandoned in the streets, the way I would find women’s shoulder pads in gutters in the early 1990s. But the true death knell of wigs was The Hair Powder Act of 1795—a TARIFF on hair powder, marking the absolute end of men’s wigs.
And so we get to this week’s Pillow Book List—in light of the new tariffs, what fads and fancies will die out, and what new fads will start up? Since the taxed products in question are metal, paper, and plastic packaging.
DYING TRENDS
Keg stands, due to lack of kegs, rebar deaths of villains in movies, because who can afford rebar. Shoeing horses. Heavy metal bands—GWAR shall finally break up after 40 years. Safety catches on rifles oh no, NRA! Cutting your nails. Leftovers, due to a dearth of stopper lids and sandwich bags so snarf up before it rots! Artificial limbs and your husband’s pacemaker. Emergency brakes on your car. All brakes. Welding careers. Printed books. Bras.
NEW TRENDS
Unsafety pins. Pulling up train tracks for scrap metal if you’re a meth addict. Bra-less boobs in high-class establishments. Using the copper that isn’t being made into pennies for kegs, rebar, horseshoes, GWAR, guns, nail clippers, pacemakers, and brakes. Presenting a copper pony keg to Antiques Road Show in 2070 and being super disappointed because you buffed off the patina, trombone slide.
I cut all the shoulder pads out of my dresses in the day, even as an underweight teen I had the shoulders of Joan Crawford.
I worked at a fancy'ish restaurant in the basement of Macy's in San Francisco in the mid 1980's, and all the "ladies" who came in after work had their Reeboks in their purses and their gigantic shoulder pads holding up their suits. Thankfully the syrupy White Zinfandel they drank went out of style too.