for the new
hair dye’s name), necessary to support the vast hats of the period. Much of this
hair came from Asia, though some was also harvested in the depths of la France profonde . A tragic photo in the magazine’s
first issue, “Cutting Hair in the Corrèze,” showed one of the avuncular gents
from the frontispiece, a large pair of scissors in one hand, triumphantly
holding on high a thick mane of locks. Its erstwhile owner, shown in back view,
sat crudely shorn on a bench, while to the right of the picture a second girl,
still in possession of her hair, but about to lose it, and on the verge of
tears, was being pushed forward by a grim-faced maman , intent on driving a hard bargain. But these were mere
peasants, whose hair was wasted upon the Corrèze. Paris was its true home, where
in studios such as “Postiches d’Art” “a buzzing hive of posticheuses” washed,
colored, and otherwise prepared the raw material.
The art of the postiche consisted in blending it
undetectably with the wearer’s own hair—a complex and time-consuming business
almost impossible to achieve at home. It had largely contributed to the spread
of commercial hairdressing salons, as need overcame the traditional distrust of
that immoral figure, the male hairdresser. And of course satisfactory matching
necessitated a wide range of hair dyes.
Amid the magazine’s fashionable hyperbole—“This
season, big hats mean big hair”—the title of E. Schueller’s article, “Practical Techniques
for Dyeing Hair,” struck a strictly down-to-earth note. Every month he supplied
a piece on dyeing techniques and dangers, as well as answering readers’
questions. How, for example, should one deal with accidents that left hair green
or purple? “This happens because you don’t know about hair dye, as you prove
when you say ‘I tried in vain to dye it again.’ That’s just what you mustn’t do.
When hair turns green, you don’t dye it again, you remove the dye that’s already
there. What you’re doing isn’t colouring, it’s interior decorating—applying
coats of plaster.”
Schueller’s dynamism soon put him in charge of Coiffure de Paris . And that same year, 1909,
L’Oréal, too, was financially transformed. One of Eugène’s cousins gave him an
introduction to an accountant by the name of Sperry who worked for the liqueur
firm Cusenier in Epernay. Sperry had just come into a small inheritance of
25,000 francs which he was looking to invest. Impressed by Schueller’s evident
intelligence and excited certainty, he agreed to set up a joint venture,
Schueller et Sperry. He insisted, however, on a special safety clause. At the
end of each year Sperry was entitled to withdraw if he chose, and if he did,
Schueller would repay his 25,000 francs. The clause was never invoked. On the
contrary, when Sperry became ill some years later and had to retire, Schueller,
grateful for the the help Sperry had given him when he needed it, suspended it
and paid Sperry’s full share of the annual profits (by then exceeding 25,000
francs) every year until he died.
This injection of funds allowed Schueller to set
himself up more sustainably. He hired a delivery boy and splurged on some
advertising. His first account books showed expenditures of 49 francs on
salaries, 28 fr. 25c on publicity. 12 And he and
his wife, Berthe, moved from their cramped quarters in rue d’Alger to a
four-room apartment at 7bis rue du Louvre, at the eastern end of rue
Saint-Honoré. As at rue d’Alger, this apartment housed not only living quarters
but the firm’s office, laboratory, and showroom. And as at rue d’Alger, the
business expanded and expanded, until the Schuellers found themselves sleeping,
as before, in a vacant maid’s room at the top of the house.
For many years they remained childless. Perhaps
this is hardly surprising. At first there was literally no room for children.
And then war broke out, and Schueller enlisted. Whether by accident or design,
it
hair dye’s name), necessary to support the vast hats of the period. Much of this
hair came from Asia, though some was also harvested in the depths of la France profonde . A tragic photo in the magazine’s
first issue, “Cutting Hair in the Corrèze,” showed one of the avuncular gents
from the frontispiece, a large pair of scissors in one hand, triumphantly
holding on high a thick mane of locks. Its erstwhile owner, shown in back view,
sat crudely shorn on a bench, while to the right of the picture a second girl,
still in possession of her hair, but about to lose it, and on the verge of
tears, was being pushed forward by a grim-faced maman , intent on driving a hard bargain. But these were mere
peasants, whose hair was wasted upon the Corrèze. Paris was its true home, where
in studios such as “Postiches d’Art” “a buzzing hive of posticheuses” washed,
colored, and otherwise prepared the raw material.
The art of the postiche consisted in blending it
undetectably with the wearer’s own hair—a complex and time-consuming business
almost impossible to achieve at home. It had largely contributed to the spread
of commercial hairdressing salons, as need overcame the traditional distrust of
that immoral figure, the male hairdresser. And of course satisfactory matching
necessitated a wide range of hair dyes.
Amid the magazine’s fashionable hyperbole—“This
season, big hats mean big hair”—the title of E. Schueller’s article, “Practical Techniques
for Dyeing Hair,” struck a strictly down-to-earth note. Every month he supplied
a piece on dyeing techniques and dangers, as well as answering readers’
questions. How, for example, should one deal with accidents that left hair green
or purple? “This happens because you don’t know about hair dye, as you prove
when you say ‘I tried in vain to dye it again.’ That’s just what you mustn’t do.
When hair turns green, you don’t dye it again, you remove the dye that’s already
there. What you’re doing isn’t colouring, it’s interior decorating—applying
coats of plaster.”
Schueller’s dynamism soon put him in charge of Coiffure de Paris . And that same year, 1909,
L’Oréal, too, was financially transformed. One of Eugène’s cousins gave him an
introduction to an accountant by the name of Sperry who worked for the liqueur
firm Cusenier in Epernay. Sperry had just come into a small inheritance of
25,000 francs which he was looking to invest. Impressed by Schueller’s evident
intelligence and excited certainty, he agreed to set up a joint venture,
Schueller et Sperry. He insisted, however, on a special safety clause. At the
end of each year Sperry was entitled to withdraw if he chose, and if he did,
Schueller would repay his 25,000 francs. The clause was never invoked. On the
contrary, when Sperry became ill some years later and had to retire, Schueller,
grateful for the the help Sperry had given him when he needed it, suspended it
and paid Sperry’s full share of the annual profits (by then exceeding 25,000
francs) every year until he died.
This injection of funds allowed Schueller to set
himself up more sustainably. He hired a delivery boy and splurged on some
advertising. His first account books showed expenditures of 49 francs on
salaries, 28 fr. 25c on publicity. 12 And he and
his wife, Berthe, moved from their cramped quarters in rue d’Alger to a
four-room apartment at 7bis rue du Louvre, at the eastern end of rue
Saint-Honoré. As at rue d’Alger, this apartment housed not only living quarters
but the firm’s office, laboratory, and showroom. And as at rue d’Alger, the
business expanded and expanded, until the Schuellers found themselves sleeping,
as before, in a vacant maid’s room at the top of the house.
For many years they remained childless. Perhaps
this is hardly surprising. At first there was literally no room for children.
And then war broke out, and Schueller enlisted. Whether by accident or design,
it
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