Ads of The New Yorker, May 25, 1929
Maud Newton pointed to F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “Short Autobiography” (in drinks) from this issue, and leafing through its subsequent pages—frothy compared with today’s—I was struck by the number of ads for then-new apartments in buildings that are now “pre-war,” by the opulent assurance, and the copy that was thought to sell:
The Kelvinator is connected to the building supply pipes. The wire is plugged into a nearby electric outlet, and there is nothing more to do.
“Smart” was the adjective du jour—smart occasions, smart summer complexions, the new Central Park Casino “quite the smartest place to dine and dance in all New York.” The ads were agog with summer, proclaiming nights on the St. Regis Roof—”now in the full swing of its second brilliant season”—in diction only a few degrees removed from a New York summer preview; in the same pages as “Packard men” and, in a typewriter ad, “secretaries [who’ve] learned that quiet is one of the most willing aids to health and charm.”