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When did convenience become so ugly?

Acquaintance cards, Oxford lavenders, and the pleasures of restraint.
An acquaintance card from the 19th century.
Dating, 19th century style.
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Welcome to Back of the Napkin, musings from Serviette for the cultured world.

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There are certain traditions that have fallen out of favor—not necessarily because they lacked merit, but because progress has a tendency to discard as much as it refines. What follows is a brief consideration of several such practices, each offering a reminder that usefulness and beauty were once more closely aligned.

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Nineteenth-century acquaintance cards: For those who prefer to conduct their romantic affairs offline. Following the development of calling cards (think business cards for formal introductions and calling upon friends/relatives), acquaintance cards provided a less formal, more playful means of approaching romantic prospects. Some were earnest, others cheeky—all showcased the author’s individual wit, sense of humor, charm, and sincerity. Serviette’s favorite messaging includes “Not married but easily lassoed!” and “Wholesale retail dealer in love, kisses, and up-to-date hugs (I have no agents, I attend to this work personally).”

A handful of Oxford lavenders.
A handful of Oxford lavenders; clearly too beautiful to be discarded.
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Oxford lavenders: Fragrance decants are far from a modern invention. Though they are now typically housed in plastic, perfume enthusiasts of the 18th and 19th centuries conceived of a far more stylish approach to carrying their signature scent with them on the go. Oxford lavenders were small decorative glass vials, often hand-painted with gilt and enamel, intended to hold perfume samples. Their existence suggests a time when even ephemera were expected to possess aesthetic value. One might reasonably ask why this expectation was ever abandoned.

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Automats: Before the dawn of the corporate slop bowl, citygoers could grab a meal on the go from an automat, a “vending machine” that dispensed coffee for a nickel (!), fresh slices of cherry pie, and Salisbury steak, among other American classics. Though the automat’s popularity and utility were eclipsed by the advent of fast food chains, there have been sporadic efforts to reinstitute them. Playwright Neil Simon once deemed automats “the Maxim’s of the disenfranchised” (starving artists deserve quality meals too!), and it isn’t hard to see why they were once a city staple. We can only hope to find a way to make convenience look this appealing once again.

The lunch rush at an automat.
The lunch rush, pre-Sweetgreen.
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Painted knees: With the rise of flappers in the 1920s, shorter skirt hems brought a sudden unexpected attention to knees—a development regarded at the time as faintly scandalous. As a result, women began applying rouge to their kneecaps, which eventually transformed into full-fledged knee painting. Initials of boyfriends or crushes, floral arrangements, and even detailed landscape paintings could soon be found covering the kneecaps of young women. Though the trend lasted only a decade, it reflected a desire for improved social freedom. A uniquely whimsical approach to rebellion; if you ask Serviette, those women would’ve loved Sour Diesel.

Two young women roll down their stockings to display their painted knees.
Two young women roll down their stockings to display their painted knees.
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Serviette believes that some traditions are worth revisiting. That’s why we include an embroidered napkin with every purchase—a small gesture toward a time when fragrance was engaged with deliberately, ceremonially, and with care.

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