Quinn on Books The Way We Wore

Review of “J.C. Leyendecker: American Imagist,” by Laurence S. Cutler and Judy Goffman Cutler Review by Michael

Quinn

What are you wearing as you read this? A shirt from Under Armour? Leggings from Lululemon? Sneakers? Flip-flops?

A hundred years ago, the world was different, and we dressed differently. But it was around this time that advertising first started to get a lock on the nation’s consciousness and influence what people wanted to wear through the power of a well-placed image—a spell we are still under.

We’re so bombarded with images these days that it’s hard to remember (or imagine) a time when a picture was something special and rare. Think of how many you’ve seen today alone, waking up, scrolling through your phone.

This abundance should feel like an embarrassment of riches. Why, then, can it feel so overwhelming?

Around the turn of the 20th century, this craziness began. Magazines popped up like mushrooms after a rainstorm. Their eye-catching covers depicted illustrations of gorgeous people in gorgeous clothes. These images established aspirational ideas about how to look, how to live, and what to value.

One of the most influential tastemakers of the early 20th century was a German American artist named J.C. Leyendecker (1874–1951). His technical skill was masterful, his compositions methodical, and his aesthetic phenomenally romantic. In his work, we see the origins of the “All-American” ideal. The men he painted are athletic but elegantly dressed, with thick necks, chiseled jaws, and gleaming, perfectly parted hair. In off-the-shoulder furs and tight taffeta gowns, his women are long-necked, slender creatures with springy curls and downcast eyes. The work is very “Great Gatsby,” and there is some speculation that Leyendecker, who knew author F. Scott Fitzgerald, might have inspired him with his own rags-toriches mysterious past.

Leyendecker came from nothing and rose to the top of the heap. He was a branding pioneer (creating the “Arrow Collar Man,” a hunky yet refined “man’s man” sex symbol designed to sell shirts) and, through the 322 covers he created for the Saturday Evening Post, the prototypical influencer. It’s because of Leyendecker that we associate New Year’s with a baby, Mother’s Day with flowers, and the Fourth of July with firecrackers. He was worshipped by Norman

Rockwell (whose fame eclipsed his), yet unlike Rockwell, he worked with live models, not from photographs. And unlike Rockwell, who was something of a media hound, Leyendecker was notoriously private and requested his papers be burned upon his death. Little is widely known about him.

An exhibit at the New-York Historical Society (Central Park West and 77th Street) provides an important clue about why. “Under Cover,” guest-curated by Donald Albrecht with coordination by Rebecca Klassen, is a small and powerful show of Leyendecker’s paintings. In one, we see an attractive woman surrounded by men. She leans over a ship’s railing to catch the eye of one of them—who’s slyly looking at another man. Today’s audience will recognize things in these paintings that the intended audience did not: homoerotic overtones.

Leyendecker’s most prominent model and muse, Charles Beach (1881–1954), was his life partner of nearly 50 years. The men were gay at a time when that wasn’t an allowable public identity. This is why Leyendecker kept a low profile—and perhaps the reason his name isn’t so well-known today.

“Under Cover” is a gem of a show that runs through August 13. The museum’s bookstore was out of copies of a related book, “J.C. Leyendecker: American Imagist,” by Laurence S. Cutler and Judy Goffman Cutler, but it’s worth getting a copy from your local bookstore. Published in 2008, this oversized hardcover is a delight for the senses. The authors, founders of the National Museum of American Illustration in Newport, Rhode Island, pull from a collection of over 1,300 images from the “Golden Age of American Illustration” (1895–1945) to help us understand how Leyendecker’s work continues to influence and inspire us today.

We learn more about Leyendecker’s background through the Cutlers’ meticulous research. Born in Germany, one of four children, he went by Joe. The J.C. allegedly stood for “Jesus Christ”—perhaps a way for the family with Sephardic Jew ancestry to throw off the wolves before the family emigrated

(continued on back page)