Tag Archives: women’s history

Portrayal of Women in North Carolina Kitchen-Related Advertising

By Simone Gillespie

In an attempt to promote the modernization of homes and the switch to electric, in the first half of the twentieth century, North Carolina power companies ran advertisements that focused on the housewife and her work in the kitchen. In both the imagery and language of these advertisements, housewives are portrayed as hospitable servants to those within their households. Occasionally the advertisements leave room for activities outside of the home, but they primarily allude to how their products help to alleviate the effort and time spent completing domestic tasks. To showcase the breadth of advertisements produced by these power companies, the ads examined for this article were published in North Carolina newspapers, cookbooks, yearbooks, and city directories between 1915 to 1965. 

Some advertisements used a personified lightning bolt, Reddy Kilowatt, as a stand-in for the invisible electrical current powering new kitchen appliances. Created in 1926 (though he didn’t appear in NC until 1935) Reddy was the mascot for power companies across the country during the twentieth century and is a clever advertising ploy that distracts the reader from the reality of the situation. For example, an ad printed in The Tryon Daily Bulletin by Duke Power told readers: “With Reddy’s help she prepared 20 meals a week, tidies 6 rooms daily, keeps clothes clean and in order for 4 people.” Giving this personification of electricity a name and credit attempts to negate the work completed by the housewife; it creates an illusion that she has a second person helping her complete tasks, despite the fact that it is still only her doing the work. 

The language used in power company’s ads further serves as a reflection of the attitudes toward domestic life in the first half of the century. Ads often used language such as “my wife,” “she,” “your wife,” etc., never addressing the woman herself, only the man. It wasn’t until World War II, when women took charge of their household while their husbands were at war, that the advertisements began to shift their language, referring to “her money,” which did not free the housewives from their homemaking duties, but gave them some household autonomy. Later ads refer to the housewife’s budget,which was allotted from her husband’s overall household budget. 

Positioning women as being a servant was ingrained in society from a young age. One Southern Public Utilities ad printed in 1925 in The Black and Gold, the yearbook of Richard J. Reynolds High School, read “An Electric Range in your home means a Cleaner Kitchen and a Happy Wife.” This language presumed that most male students would shortly thereafter find a wife. Another ad, run by Duke Power in 1947, focused on “the older school girls” not having to “hurry straight home from school to help mother” with household tasks thanks to an electric oven. 

Many of these advertisements reference the “drudgery” of the kitchen. Drudgery – “dull, irksome, and fatiguing work” –  is the common enemy in ads promoting modern kitchen conveniences; drudgery may mean maintaining fires, washing dishes, or boiling water. These advertisements show housewives either partaking in or being relieved of the drudgery of domestic labor. Some harken back to days of the past while others show modern housewives with big smiles in their electric kitchens because, according to Southern Public Utilities, “it enables you to remain fresh and sweet for the family,” and to Duke Power, access to electricity “add[s] so much to her charm, health and disposition.” 

One Duke Power ad implies that if a husband provides his wife with an electric kitchen, she will be happy and healthy, a “Rosy Cheeked Smiling Wife” freed from “kitchen drudgery and worry.” Another boasts a “Recipe for a HEALTHY.. HAPPY WIFE!” In this ad, the recipe is laid out as follows:  “Plenty of time for outdoor recreation, for social activities, time to spend with her children and relief from kitchen drudgery and worry!,” all provided by a modern electric range. Even though these advertisements craft a narrative of  less time being spent in the kitchen for the wives and mothers to do other things and lead healthier and happier lives, they still position domestic work as the wife or mother’s duty. 

In the 1930s Duke Power Company ran a series of ads titled “Lovable wives and livable kitchens.” One installment of this series, printed in the April 15, 1937 edition of The Yadkin Ripple, shows a husband and wife in an embrace in their kitchen. The opening line reads, “Romance lives again for the happy wife who discovers the chance of kitchen drudgery.” There is an implication that if the husband opts to provide his wife with these new kitchen appliances, she will have more time to spend with him romantically, even sexually. The ad goes on to implore the husband to “Give your wife freedom from kitchen toils–help her to keep that youthful sweetness–let romance live again.” It is not hard to read between the lines here and draw the connection that sex may be in the husband’s future should he gift his wife with an electric kitchen. 

Beyond the heteronormative household structures reinforced and encouraged by these ads, I feel that it must be acknowledged that in each of these ads where images of people appeared, only conventionally attractive white people were showcased– further demonstrating the world in which they were created. Through the imagery and language used in these advertisements, a recipe was developed, tweaked, and perfected over time. In a sense, these ads, when collected and shown together, create a recipe book focusing on how to be a loving and hospitable housewife. Just as recipes throughout time reflect the modernization of kitchens across America, so do these “recipes” reflect on how to be a good housewife. Morphing from gas to electric, fresh to frozen, the kitchen and ingredients have changed, but the housewife’s duties and ties to the kitchen have remained the same. These recipes for hospitable housewives are not clear cut instructions, but are woven into the bylines and takeaways of each advertisement, reflecting societal norms and further instilling these heteronormative beliefs in the reader.


Simone Gillespie, an early career librarian and archivist, is a two-time graduate of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, receiving her BA in History and English in 2020 and her MS in Library Science in 2024. Her research and archival interests include LGBTQ+ history, Southern foodways, community archives, archival access, Americana, and sports history.

Waste Not, Want Not: Feeding the British Home Front: Women’s Interconnectivity in the Second World War

By Kelly A. Spring

This year marks the 80th anniversary of the start of food rationing in Britain during the Second World War. On 8th of January 1940, the British government instituted a system of food controls, which was all-encompassing for the home front population. Items such as meat, cheese, tea and butter were put on the basic ration, while other foods such as tinned goods, rice and cereal could be purchased through a points system, whereby individuals received 16 and later 20 points per month to spend on these foods. Goods were assigned so many points by officials in the Ministry of Food, depending on availability of supplies, offering consumers a measure of flexibility in their diets beyond the basic ration.[1] Ration amounts fluctuated throughout the war as supply levels rose and fell according to shipping losses from U-boat action, domestic agricultural outputs and the needs of the military.

Queue for food rations, London, 1945. Image credit: Wikimedia commons.

The nature of the restrictions and their pervasiveness in society required everyone to use food resources wisely to feed the home front. But it was primarily to housewives that the nation and the government turned to make the ration programme a success. Through food rationing propaganda, officials called on married women to use their cookery skills to sustain their family’s consumption needs under the food controls. Such propaganda suggested that women, who could effectively provide nutritious meals to their loved ones by stretching limited consumables, were fulfilling the idealised domestic role in wartime.[2] However, in reality, not all housewives took up domestic roles with gusto, nor did they act alone in the battle on the kitchen front. Other women within the home and in the community often assisted housewives in their task of providing meals in the domestic environment. As a result, women’s responses to the food situation were much more diverse in scope and complexity than the image of the ideal housewife would lead us to believe.

The weekly ration for two people, UK, 1943. Image credit: Wikimedia commons.

My paper, ‘Feeding the British Home Front: Women’s Interconnectivity in the Second World War’, presented at the conference, ‘Waste Not Want Not: Food and Thrift from Antiquity to the Present’, explored the links between sustainability and women’s roles in wartime Britain. Using oral interviews, my research demonstrated that through associations both within and in connection to the home, women utilised their interconnectivity with other women to successfully sustain the consumption needs of home front families in a time of conflict and food insecurity. My paper illuminated the multifaceted work of grandmothers and single women in conjunction with housewives to facilitate and maintain the food levels in the home during the Second World. Overall, this paper provided a more nuanced understanding of the intricate structure of women’s food interactions. It showed that the British food rationing programme relied not simply on housewives’ individual efforts, but it depended on the cookery interactions of a community of women, who creatively pooled their culinary knowledge and resources to successfully maintain the food security, health and nutrition of a nation at war.  

[1] For a discussion of the points system and the foods included in it, see: Norman Longmate, How We Lived Then: A History of Everyday Life During the Second World War (London: Pimlico, 1971), pp. 141-142. 

[2] Kelly A. Spring, ‘“Today We Have All Got to be Fighting Fit”: The Interconnectivity of Gender Roles in British Food Rationing Propaganda during the Second World War’, Gender & History, 32/1, March 2020, pp. 1-27 (early view online February). 

The Recipe as Feminist Text: A Reflection on the Writing of Preserving on Paper

By Kristine Kowalchuk

Cover illustration of Preserving on Paper: Seventeenth-Century Englishwomen’s Receipt Books. University of Toronto Press, 2017.

In writing Preserving on Paper: Seventeenth-Century Englishwomen’s Receipt Books, (University of Toronto Press, 2017) I found the opening sentence from L.P. Hartley’s The Go-Between often came to mind: “The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.”

I have long been interested in food and language and the relationship between the two. The most obvious link is, of course, the recipe, but in my own postsecondary education, I always felt somewhat dissatisfied by the scholarship (or lack thereof) I encountered on these.

As a student of science and then of English, I noticed that recipes were either overlooked or disparaged in the courses I took. None of my biology teachers mentioned the role the recipe might have played in the formation of the scientific method (nor did they talk much about the historical context of science at all). And in my English courses, recipes, if considered, were regarded as a non-serious genre that could never be sufficiently contorted to fit literary expectations. Few academics at the time, it seemed, gave recipes much thought and no one seemed to know quite what to do with them. And I kept having this niggling feeling that we were missing something important.

During a graduate research trip to the Folger Shakespeare Library, I accidentally called up a seventeenth-century receipt book. Serendipity! Holding the manuscript in my hands, I felt reverence…and also confusion. I had no paleographical training, so struggled with the recipes themselves, but it was clear there were many different forms of handwriting. Why so many? What explained all the marginal notes and attributions? Who was the author? Weren’t only a few women literate at the time? And what did the manuscripts say about the women themselves?

Folger MS V.a.450, fols. 7v-8r. Credit: Folger Shakespeare Library, Washington, D.C.

I ultimately decided to focus on these manuscripts and their relationship to the women who wrote them for my doctoral dissertation (finally, a clear topic!), and I began an archaeological-like digging into the past to try to answer my questions above.

And finally, I stumbled upon the deep and diverse research happening by many scholars on recipes–including the same scholars who contribute to The Recipes Project. I learned how to read seventeenth-century handwriting. I read all kinds of helpful texts on the history of women’s literacy and physical work, on seventeenth-century food and farming, on Galenic understanding of human health and the virtues of plants, on kitchen tools and architecture.

Gradually, I began to piece together a better understanding of the period and of women’s work and writing within it. I completed and defended my dissertation and felt confident about my knowledge in this field of early women’s writing in English.

However, six months after I had successfully defended my dissertation and was teaching an undergraduate course on the history of the book, I was struck by an idea that changed my entire understanding of these manuscripts and of the recipe itself. We were discussing Michel Foucault’s “What is an Author?” and I realized that my own modern assumptions about authorship and subjectivity and “literary” writing had led me, and many others, to miss the point entirely.

Receipt books did not reflect women’s oppression, nor, conversely, did they reflect the rise of modern subjectivity, because women were, until the seventeenth century, already the respected authorities on food and medicine.  Furthermore, they were collective keepers of this knowledge, rather than individual authors or owners. It is this culture, so very different than our own, that is preserved in receipt books – meaning they reflect an end of women’s wider authority rather than a beginning.

Patriarchal values of dominion over nature, individualism, and capitalism arose as new, male-dominated professions – chefs, doctors, and apothecaries – assumed individual authority over women’s collective knowledge and dismissed, ridiculed, and persecuted the women who persisted with special knowledge in food and medicine.

This is the history of the modern cultural view, and our inheritance of it today has caused most of us (including Foucault, who saw the “postauthor utopia” as occurring only in the future, not the past) to largely forget what came before, so that we have been complicit in the continued dismissal of, rather than pride in, both women’s traditional work and the not-so-humble recipe as the material form of this authority.

Folger MS V.a.450, fols. 55v-56r. Credit: Folger Shakespeare Library, Washington, D.C.

Our modern cultural outlook means we give Francis Bacon credit for creating the scientific method, even though women were cooking and curing at home long before men were performing experiments in labs (and many of us continue to believe that we might be objective observers of nature in the first place).

This culture regards traditional knowledge and household work as less valuable than academic knowledge and professional work. It marginalizes midwives and home care workers and mothers who breastfeed. It rewards celebrity chefs who collect traditional and “country” recipes and sell them in cookbooks under their own name. It subscribes to the cult of the single author. It regards recipes as unimportant. And it sees women’s traditional work as repressive, rather than recognizing its role governing the most critical cultural knowledge.

For this reason, as I say in Preserving on Paper, I see receipt books as “the ultimate feminist texts.”

I also can’t help but see how our cultural amnesia connects to current events related to women’s rights. To understand women’s struggles today, we need to look back and try to understand their origins. It is past time for all of us to deeply consider the particular historical construction of authority in the west, and to recognize that it once looked very different. A recipe for sugar puffs, say, or a remedy for an itch, might at first seem frivolous, but they are in fact windows into a world in which women’s collective authority was assumed.

That’s history worth remembering.