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History · Short Stories · The Magazine Rack

It Takes a Story to Reach a Nation, or Cinderella Confesses Everything

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The year was 1919, and a company was about to try something new in the world of advertising. Known as the Woman’s Home Institute of Domestic Arts and Sciences, it was trying to reach women who were interested in learning how to sew, cook, or make their own hats at home.

Some of them were teachers who needed to look presentable but received little money to make that happen. Others worked in the offices of the cities, and found that after the month’s room and board were paid, they had little left for the luxuries of life. Most were housewives old and new. Some longed for an artistic outlet outside the home, while others needed a little help to make ends meet.

They had only been in business for three years, as an offshoot of a larger correspondance school. Here Mary Brooks Picken served as Director of Instruction. She wrote most of the manuals used in the courses. She had a passion for helping women to succeed in the places they could. And students were enrolling, but it was slow. Then one night the president of the Institute, G. Lynn Sumner, decided to take a chance. Try something entirely different. He, along with the advertising firm that worked with the school, decided to tell a story designed to gather students. Their first story was called Cinderella’s Confession and it was so successful that they used it over, and over, and over. In time this story appeared in most of the popular women’s magazines of 1919-1925. Here it is.

I’m giving you the first half this time, and you’ll find the second half in the next post. These stories each completely filled a page with tiny magazine text, with only a black and white illustration and a small coupon to break the sea of type.

Pencil sketch of a woman entering an office of secretaries in 1920.
In walked a wonderfully radiant creature in the neatest, prettiest, most becoming dress you ever saw.

Cinderella’s Confession

The story of how a shabby little stranger
became the best dressed girl in our town

Her real name was Enid, and I’ll never forget how she looked that first morning! When she came in the door the whole office stopped and stared and – I am ashamed to say it – we grinned. That dress – I suppose it had been stylish once, about five years before! Its tired-out bronze color made her face look even paler than it was and it fit her as if it had been made for a big sister. A faded old-rose toque set dejectedly upon her mass of unruly yellow hair. She was a picture – so shabby and forlorn that I pitied her! 

We all thought she’d gotten into the office by mistake. But she hung up her hat and made herself at home at Sarah Long’s old desk. And there she quietly did her work for months – always the office mystery and always an object of pity among the rest of the girls at Warner’s. Hartley, the office manager, told us all he knew about her – an orphan from a little town in Iowa – that was her story in a nutshell. She roomed alone, and in the office and out she kept to herself. The truth was you just couldn’t invite her out – in those clothes. And so we simply came to regard her as an office fixture that nobody quite understood.

Then one morning, early in the fall, Enid gave the office its second shock – a more surprising one, if possible, then the first. Everybody was on time that morning – except Enid. We spent the first few minutes after the bell rang wondering where she could be. But by 9 o’clock we had all nicely settled down to work and the typewriters were clicking like mad when the door opened and in walked a wonderfully radiant creature in the neatest, prettiest, most becoming dress you ever saw and a charming hat you just knew had been made for that little blonde head!

Every typewriter stopped as if by magic.

Every typewriter stopped as if by magic, and two dozen audible murmurs of admiration registered the effect on that office full of girls. Hartley looked up from a sheet of figures with a frown, then smoothed down what hair he had with one hand, yanked off his spectacles with the other, and rose to learn the caller’s business. He was halfway between his desk and the door before the young lady who had caused all the commotion smilingly removed her hat, and we realized for the first time that it was Enid!

No one in the office could keep her mind on her work the rest of that morning. After months of the shabby bronze dress, the old-rose toque, this was too much! And no one ever realized before how pretty Enid really was. But in her new attire she was simply a new creature. The transformation was so complete that even the old name didn’t fit, and it just seemed natural that from that day we should call her “Cinderella.”

Next morning, Cinderella was dressed just as tastefully in another charming dress. She had evidently worn the old outfit until she was ready to give us a steady surprise, because after that her dresses, waists, skirts and hats were always becoming and stylish to the last degree. 

I never saw such a complete and sudden change in the attitude of a lot of girls. Cinderella, instead of being ignored, became the pet of the whole office. The girls consulted her about their clothes, beaux, and other things. She was deluged with invitations. Her costumes were admired in and out of the office and she was the envy of every girl in the place. 

Gradually she became popular in the social life of the town. She was in constant demand at parties and dances. Cinderella, the little stranger, had taken the town by storm and all because of her magic transformation from shabby attire to radiant, becoming clothes. 

One Saturday in December, as we were all leaving the office, Cinderella called us together. 

“Girls!” she said. “I’ve a secret to tell you. This is my last day at the office. I’m going to marry Tom Warner next Monday!” 

Tom! Cinderella was certainly living up to her reputation for surprises. Tom was the oldest son of the boss and one of the most promising young men in town. We could hardly believe our ears, but a moment later she stepped into Tom Warner’s big gray limousine and was whisked out of sight. 

None of us dreamed how much Cinderella would be missed in that office. We would gather into little clusters after lunch and recall her coming to the place and what a wonderful change had come over her and all the rest of us when she blossomed out in distinctive clothes that made her attractive, beautiful and lovable. 

Then one morning Dan Hartley found in his mail a dainty scented envelope bearing a gold monogram. He opened it, called us all around him and read: 

Dear Girls and Boys: I’m coming home tomorrow and I miss you all so much that you’re to be the very first guests at our new home. I want you all to come out to 301 Arlington Avenue next Wednesday evening. Come right up from the office and don’t bother about Sunday togs. I’m going to make my confession and I don’t want any of you to miss it. With love, Cinderella. 

History

Domestic Diva or Retail Rebel?

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Choking back the tears, she thanked everyone for coming. The funeral was over. Four years. They’d been married only four years, and now her Harry was gone. 

He was just 26 years old. And two days ago, he was alive. But things move fast these days, and Harry who died on June 20 was buried on June 21 after a home funeral. A funeral service held in their own home. 

Picture of woman in 1918 in flowing dress.
Is she a Domestic Diva or a Retail Rebel? She doesn’t look very rebel-like here, does she? But she had a goal, and she used domestic tradition to reach it. Photo dates from 1917 or 1918.

Twenty-four years old, and a widow. Not that it was unheard of, in 1911. No, unfortunately, such things were too common. But to think… to think… what was she going to do? Going back to her parents’ home was simply not an option. She had eight siblings, and most of them still lived at home. 

Since her marriage to Harry she’d taught classes at the local YWCA. Her passion was sewing, and she shared her knowledge in her classes. She loved to sew! There was nothing quite like putting the small house to rights, and then sitting down for an afternoon of creating at the sewing machine. Finishing a new dress or coat gave the maker such a feeling of accomplishment. Passing that ability along was one of the best things she could do. 

Changes Ahead

Teaching at the YWCA, however, wasn’t going to support her. As soon as time allowed following the funeral, she found a position as instructor at the American College of Dressmaking in Kansas City, Missouri. This promising and popular correspondence school taught sewing lessons by mail to women all over the country. 

These were full days, days she spent long hours at her sewing machine. Later, she remembered with great fondness the kindness she received from neighbors. When she was so busy, scarcely thinking of food, they never forgot to send her a bowl of stew or a meal from their own tables. They always kept the young widow in mind, and she remained thankful for them, long after she moved away from the little house she and Harry had shared.

Well trained and passionate at her craft, by 1915 Mary was the head of instruction at the dressmaking school. However, at about this time she heard a siren’s call. A larger correspondence school had heard about her skill and lured her away from the American College of Dressmaking. This school specialized in men’s career training. They taught courses in art and advertising, mechanics and masonry. And now they wanted to open a women’s division, but they needed someone capable to run it.

Here was a place that Mary could make the difference she longed to make. Drawing upon her years of training in dressmaking and tailoring, plus her experience with teaching, she wrote many lesson manuals on various dressmaking and design topics. She also oversaw the writing of two sets of lesson books covering millinery (hat-making) and cooking. With three subjects, the women’s division was ready to begin in early 1916. By the end of 1916, the school had its first female graduate. Mary was beginning to be known as a Domestic Diva.

Freedom with a Needle

Over the course of the next twenty years, over 100,000 women took these courses. And they learned to sew. But Mary’s goal was to teach the women more than how to sew a straight seam. Mary, you see, was a quiet subversive. She believed that teaching women how to sew their own clothing could lead them to financial freedom. She was, in her own way, a rebel.

How frightening it was to find herself a 24 year old widow! If she could help women make it through a situation like that, her life’s work would be worthwhile. Between 1916 and 1925 Mary encouraged women to take the courses, using advertising and the occasional gimmick if necessary. She explained that through the coursework she designed, any woman could learn to sew. But more than that, she could learn to copy the clothes she saw in a shop window, or on the street. And she could make extra money sewing for others who did not know how to sew. 

And for those brave enough, or those who needed it, she included information on how to open and run a dressmaking shop. Her advice was that a good dressmaker would always find work. Many women started home businesses or opened small storefronts and found the financial burden less heavy. Some excelled and thrived. Letters poured into the office extolling Mary and her methods. 

The woman’s name was Mary Brooks Picken. She wrote close to 100 books on dressmaking and sewing in her lifetime, and her books are still in demand. And that school? They called it the Woman’s Institute of Domestic Arts and Sciences. Most of her books are long out of print. After collecting them for years, I am working to make them available in their correct order. 

So which is it, Domestic Diva or Retail Rebel? Was Mary a Domestic Diva who was in charge of teaching the best available information in cooking, sewing, and millinery? Or was she a Retail Rebel, someone who upset the status quo by encouraging women that they could make their own way, and they could be financially independent? Really, it depends. It depends who you ask.