Writing in the Christian Science Monitor, and later discussing the article on NPR, Jonathan Zimmerman analyzes the appeal of the stoic masculine stereotype that's a staple of any contemporary 50s dramatization.

In a culture saturated by public displays of intimate information, there's something very seductive about a man who keeps everything bottled up inside. But there's more. Behind the cult of the '50s man lies the fallacy of progress: the idea that the present must always be more advanced, sophisticated, and insightful than the past. And that's the real seduction. By gazing backward at the repressed '50s men, we can congratulate ourselves at how far we have come. Only, we haven't. And here's how I know: A few years ago, I read my mother's love letters from the 1950s. It was a strange experience, to say the least, but it made me reconsider what I thought about '50s men. Other historians have been doing the same. Most recently, University of Maryland historian James Gilbert showed that men of the 1950s were much more complicated – and much more expressive – than our stereotypes would suggest.

The piece is very sweet, and from a personal perspective, I'm sure the exploration was a fascinating look into the author's past. Quotes like "I really want to just let myself go – and write what I feel – that's perhaps one of the hardest things to do in life," or "I sometimes think the word love is inadequate to express all the tender and stirring emotions I feel – it's the little things – the sound of your voice – the way you walk – your eyes. I can't stand being alone" are beautiful, but does it really take reading people's private letters to make us realize that people were always people, with emotions and feelings?

I remember once, years ago, asking what the 1950s were like. "They were like now!" he said. "People got up, we talked like normal people, we went places, we ate. If everything was seething with tension, I didn't feel it." Now, while it's true that as the child of Jewish progressives who worked in theatre he was probably somewhat insulated from what we think of as "the 50s" of men in gray-flannel-suits, I think he had a point: in some ways we're so inundated by the stereotype that we actually begin to believe people were less complicated. Were mores stricter? Were gender roles and the standards of masculinity more stringent? Of course. But because things were more private, less expressed, does not mean they didn't exist. I think it's important to remember that the accounts we have of any time tend to be the most dramatic, the most static. It's an era that lends itself to easy categorization - and in many ways that accurate - but where does it say that every cake a homemaker baked had to be an act of drudgery, whereas we, more enlightened, can take pleasure in the same tasks and skills (crucially, ironically!)? Should we really need historians to tell us that life was more nuanced than Smallville? I hope not - but it's also nice to be reminded of the lost art of letter-writing.

Touchy-Feely 'Mad Men' ? [Christian Science Monitor]

Loving The "Unlovable" Men Of The 1950s [NPR]

I get it, I do. I love pinup fashion and hourglass silhouettes and classic glamor and the appeal isn't lost on me. But a lot of "modern pinup" culture seems based on a very idealized idea of the 1950s, of what women like Bettie Page actually lived through and were made of. Postmodernism is one thing; historical misrepresentation? Quite another. Take Veronica Orso-Flores, a lovely Texas denizen and self-described modern pinup who describes her life of 50s-style cheesecake modeling to the Houston Chronicle as "all dress-up."

For "Miss V," being a pinup means being a lady: well-groomed, well-mannered, impeccably outfitted."I don't think people know how to be a lady these days, how to carry yourself, when to hold your tongue," Orso-Flores said at her home recently, as she served a guest cupcakes and lemon water.

The article describes her brand of kittenish appeal as a nice alternative to our culture's overt sexualization. But that's presuming that we have no alternative to some form of sexualization, right?

It's a strange dichotomy, this mixing of the 50s housewife ideal and the pin-up ideal, both of which require a lot of, well, idealization. Bettie Page stood out because she maintained an aura of wholesomeness in a decidedly seedy world, and the gloss of camp conspired to idealize what was hardly the lifestyle of the average "lady." Pinups did not generally make cupcakes; housewives did not pose for calendars. This seems to be the same paradox at work with those "Time-Warp Wives" who live an idealized 50's life: these women are drawn to the rigidity of the era's roles and mores, but don't seem to recognize that choosing these same roles is totally antithetical to the spirit of the age they idealize.

What Miss V is promoting is the next phase of mid-90's rockabilly and swing, which coopted the pinup aesthetic but was tinged with a well-inked outsider's rebellion, a conscious adoption of the era's more outre subcultures and subversion of mid-century primness. "The Modern Pinup" seems, in its postmodern obliviousness, to take what it wanted of the era and conveniently forget the rest. Was Bettie Page iconic in her look, her style, her attitude? Sure - but her appeal lay in the contrast and in part, the dark realities of her past. Like other women of her era, Page didn't have choices and seems admirable today because she managed to preserve some of herself in spit of what was some pretty frank exploitation. What someone like Miss V is doing is, in fact, whitewashing. And that's not a sin, but it's important to remember that, while we may love civility and cinched waists, it came at a heavy cost.

This reality is further borne out by a piece in today's Times about the last surviving Ziegfeld Girl, 105-year-old Doris Eaton Travis, a true emissary from another time. As a child, she and six of her siblings went into vaudeville; later, under an assumed name, she became the youngest of Flo Ziegfeld's famed showgirls. However glamorous the life - and the Ziegfeld Follies were the very embodiment of manufactured beauty - this was not an existence for the faint of heart.

She was a child star in Washington, exchanging waves from the stage with President Wilson in his theater box. In 1918, she wangled an audition at the Follies by tagging along with her older sister, Mary, taking a stage name to disguise her youth. She danced opposite Eddie Cantor and Al Jolson, introduced the song "Singing in the Rain" long before Gene Kelly, and at a booze-friendly salon on West 54th Street played host to Gershwin, Lindbergh, the Warner brothers (Jack and Sam) and Fred Astaire. After the Depression started, she ended up running 18 Arthur Murray dance studios in Michigan. At 88, she got her bachelor's degree in history at the University of Oklahoma - and she is planning to go for a master's.

Women who "made it" in the first half of the 20th Century, the ones who we remember and revere and have achieved iconic status, didn't do so purely on the strength of civility, but by levels of grit and ambition that defied expectations. If we're going to draw from the example of earlier eras, let's keep this reality firmly in mind - fashions are one thing, But Miss V wouldn't be able to choose a retro-perfect career of paradoxes if it hadn't been for the steel underlying the girdles.

Retro Glam [Houston Chronicle]

Still Kicking Up Her Heels On 42nd Street [NY Times]

Related: "Time Warp Wives" Opt To Re-Enact Depression, War

"What," asks producer and novelist Olivia Lichtensteinm, "is it like to live as a Fifties housewife whose life is dedicated to looking after her family?" We're glad she's taken on the brave challenge, because lord knows there's no one out there who actually lives the life of a stay-at-home mom, nor generations of parents and grandparents who actually lived the lifestyle and could talk about it. And besides, it always gives us such an accurate representation of a time period when people step into it without any of the assumptions, conditioning and social mores of the era!

Straw Man is established thusly:

We're transfixed by the programme's visual style, office manager Joan Holloway's hourglass figure, blonde suburban housewife Betty Draper's elegance, her adulterous husband Don Draper's smouldering good looks. All that meatloaf, whisky, illicit afternoon sex and brazen, carefree smoking...But what of this past we are hankering after? Are we looking at it through rose-tinted spectacles?

Hmm, yes, we do have a problem with idealizing the 1950s! You'd almost think we needed a raft of sophomoric cliched films decrying the suburbs and lives of quiet desperation that still somehow think they're revelatory...oh, wait.

For my experiment, I resolved to be bound by the following rules on 'how to be a good wife', which I found online from a home economics high school textbook published in 1954:

* Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal on time. This is a way of letting him know you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs.
* Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and look fresh.
* Clear away the clutter. Run a dustcloth over the tables. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order.
* Prepare the children. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part.
* At the time of his arrival home, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer, dishwasher or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet. Be happy to see him. Greet him with a warm smile and be glad he is home.

Then there are the don'ts . . .

* Don't greet him with problems or complaints. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or suggest he lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him. Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soft, soothing and pleasant voice. Allow him to relax and unwind.
* Listen to him. You may have a dozen things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first.
* Make the evening his. Never complain if he does not take you out to dinner or to other places of entertainment.
* The goal: Try to make your home a place of peace and order where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.

Not surprisingly, the whole thing sucks. Not least because the author is apparently not in the habit of doing any household chores herself and delegates everything to a maid and her husband. (Although they have a housekeeper in Mad Men so this seems kind of arbitrary.) She then sets herself the task, for some reason, of making a dress. Hijinx ensue.

Ultimately she finds that debasing herself is demeaning and horrible, that her husband falls too easily into the role of lordly master of the house (which probably makes for a vacation from being full-time maid), and that doing housework is hard. But! It's not all bad! Doing your own work is, she finds, cheaper than paying someone. Treating people nicely (apparently something she only adopted for this week?) is a Good Thing, as is taking more trouble with one's appearance. Also, portions have gotten really big. But, overall, she finds the alleged myth of 50's perfection is overrated. Almost makes you think someone should write something called the Feminine Mystique...

My Week As A Mad Men Wife: Life As A 50s Spouse - With No Job, No Cleaner And Endless Cooking [Daily Mail]

The film is a series of castigations by a bitchy narrator of the slovenly Barbara, contrasted with her virtuous and organized neighbor Helen. We regret to inform you that bad-habit Barbara seemed like more of a Jezebel than the paragon! And just by the way: we enjoy caterwaulin' with the best of them, but unlike Feminist Law Profs, can't for the life of us see how this bizarre film is "pure patriarchal reinforcement." Shorter clip at left; the entire video can be seen here.

Bad Habits [Feminist Law Professors]