This far into the 21st century, we have learned to be less critical, more open to gender equality, and more sensitive when it comes to physical appearance. “Diversity” and “political correctness” are in fashion, while sexism and gender bias are receding into the background. It is therefore no surprise that this was not always the case. Not so long ago, men ruled the world and judged women by their domestic skills and their looks. The most desirable type of woman had to know how to “spin, sew, cook, and keep a perfect household.” In terms of appearance, women were ranked on a descending scale as charming, pretty, average, unattractive, or simply ugly.
Even before Fort Worth became a windswept military post on the Trinity River, social conventions routinely classified women either as “ladies” or otherwise. In 1838, the Houston Telegraph & Texas Register was outraged by the news that 3,000 Boston women had signed a petition opposing the annexation of Texas to the Union. The editor contemptuously declared that they were certainly not “young ladies.” Rather, they were said to be “ugly, sour old maids passing themselves off as young ladies” and acting out of jealousy because so many young Boston men had left for Texas. Partisan politics thus apparently included an element of physical attractiveness as well.
Early judges of female beauty in North Texas were equally blunt and critical in their assessments of local girls. At Christmas in 1850, the officers at Fort Worth decided to hold a ball, and because the only lady at the post was Mrs. Arnold, the commander's wife, they turned to the local farmers. A wagon was sent out to fetch the farmers' daughters. When it returned, the men were shocked not only that the girls were hardly beauties, but also that they had only the vaguest idea of what a ball entailed and had arrived barefoot. The resourceful officers provided them with military boots from the storeroom, and the ball could begin. The men were so grateful for any female company that they did not complain about the awkwardness of their dancing partners, although one of them mentioned in amazement a girl “six feet tall” who towered over every officer present.
Dallas judge John Jay Good traveled throughout North Texas as a circuit judge from 1854 to 1861. He wrote to his wife: “Since leaving home, I have not seen a single pretty woman or child. This region is not renowned for either.”
The small settlement that grew up on the site of the old military post atop the bluff did not have many women, pretty or otherwise. Unmarried young ladies did not move to the frontier unless they had a compelling reason in the form of a husband-to-be. That left the daughters of local settlers, but few of them were of marriageable age. Florence Peak, the wife of early Fort Worth physician Carroll Peak, recalled many years later that only eight women lived in the small village, all of them married. Single men seeking female company had to make contact with one of the local farmers or travel all the way to Dallas, where they might encounter an unmarried girl.
In 1889, amid the excitement caused by the first reports of the planned Texas Spring Palace, the Denver Republican sent a reporter by train to investigate the rumors. His report praised the local scenery, Southern gallantry, and the industriousness of Fort Worth businessmen. He also included this observation: “The ladies here are living and lasting proof of the falsity of the claim that this state cannot produce handsome women.” Without this firsthand testimony, we would never know today that Texas women had a reputation for being unattractive!
In the years that followed, the Fort Worth Gazette confirmed the generally high standard of the local female population and observed in 1894 that one rarely encountered a truly “ugly girl” on the city's streets, although “there are plenty of average girls here.” The author added, however, that this was no cause for despair, because an average girl could become attractive through the right disposition and a sense of fashionable dress. Better still, he noted, men seeking a life partner were interested in qualities other than physical beauty: could she cook, keep the household in order, and be a good mother?
And what about working women—not prostitutes, but those employed in respectable occupations? In 1883, the Journal of Commerce conducted a study that revealed that only 13 percent of the country's working population consisted of “women and girls.” Unsurprisingly, most of them worked in “domestic service.” The great surprise, however, was that the second most important source of livelihood for the fairer sex was “agricultural labor,” which employed twice as many women as traditionally female trades such as “millinery, dressmaking, and tailoring.” There were also more male than female sales clerks and caregivers, something that changed over time. The Journal had difficulty drawing any conclusion from its findings about the “general employment tendencies of ladies,” so most men ultimately concluded that a woman's place was still in the home. Good looks and a pleasant manner merely increased her chances of finding true happiness.
A few years later, men in Fort Worth were urged to read a new book by a French author entitled Tween You and I; Some Little Problems of Life, because it contained useful insights about women. And who better to advise the male sex on relations with women than a Frenchman? One of the author's main points was a condemnation of girls' tendency to flirt. “A serious woman, a sensible woman... who is aware of her worth as a woman does not flirt,” he declared categorically—at least not if she wished to attract a “sensible” man.
Another wise male author then asked: “Can a girl be clever and beautiful at the same time?” This may have been one of the first printed attempts to debunk the age-old myth of the “dumb blonde.” His answer was: “Dull, ugly girls are not half as clever as lively, pretty girls.” He dismissed the association of beauty with stupidity as “a remnant of Puritanism,” yet another thing for which the Puritans could be blamed besides strict laws and witch hunts. In the end, he linked beauty with intellect and unattractiveness with vanity, turning conventional wisdom on its head.
Such opinion columns were very much in fashion in the early 20th century, when men ruled not only at the ballot box and in the courtroom, but in every sphere of American society. Women themselves were also part of what modern feminists call “patriarchal culture.” In a 1909 issue of the Star Telegram, Beatrice Fairfax offered “words of encouragement for the average-looking girl.” Whatever comfort her female readers may have drawn from her advice column, men still read the word “average” as “unattractive” or downright ugly. Mrs. Fairfax's advice for the “average girl,” incidentally, was to have an “amiable disposition,” a “cheerful nature,” and a “good and kind heart.”
In 1916, a prototypical feminist decided to embrace unattractiveness as a badge of honor. A group of girls studying at the Denton College of Industrial Arts, the predecessor of Texas State College for Women and Texas Woman's University—an institution that boasted in its materials of producing “first-rate wives”—joined together and founded the “Ugly Girls Club.” It was dedicated to “cultivating an appreciation of the finer human qualities in both men and women,” which would naturally lead to better marriages. “No girl has ever lived who, deep in her heart, believed she was so ugly that she could not persuade some man otherwise,” said one of the spokeswomen.
To put everything properly into context, it should be remembered that well into the 20th century, newspaper editorial staffs were exclusively male, from the editor-in-chief down to the most junior cub reporter. No one in the building could call them out for their shameless chauvinism. No Fort Worth newspaper had a woman on its editorial staff until 1912, when Kitty Barry was hired by the Star Telegram.
