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Throughout history, women have used cosmetics to enhance their natural gifts. Lipstick was applied for a more kissable mouth, rouge for a becoming blush on the cheeks, and at one point lead was used to achieve a pale complexion (yikes!). For eliminating shine, loose powder was the cosmetic of choice, and where there was powder there was a compact.

The compact came into popularity after World War I and could soon be found in the purse of the average modern woman. Due to a decrease in production it fell out of use during the years that World War II was raging, but came roaring back in the following decade. However, the advent of pressed powder in disposable containers was the death knell for the old decorative compacts. Though the use of compacts has fallen to the wayside over the years, these attractive containers have emerged as a hot item among collectors.

Designs followed the trends of the times, such as the Art Deco compacts popular in the twenties and thirties. Compacts were often made of metal and were decorated with enamel, paintings, gems and even butterfly wings. Some were outfitted with gadgets that played music at the touch of a button. Others were created by famous designers, such as the Coty “puffs” compact designed by noted glassmaker Rene Lalique.

Condition is key when purchasing compacts for a collection, particularly since these items were used often and knocked around in handbags. Make sure the compact opens and closes properly. On the outside of the compact, look out for scratches, scuffing, chipping and damaged paint. On the inside, check that the mirror is not loose or broken. Finally, keep in mind that the value of the piece will increase if the original powder puff and powder sifter are still inside.

This article about collecting compacts includes tips for caring for your collection. http://www.lady.co.uk/articles/0146artA.cfm?framed=y

I’ve often feared for the safety of the older members of an auction audience. As the price goes up, as other bidders set their paddles down and hide their number slips from the auctioneer’s eyes, blood pressure rises. Tension grows, muscles constrict, eyes dart and dilate, the brain moves a milion miles an hour, analyzing all aspects of the event. Should I keep bidding? Is this thing really worth what I want to pay for it? Is this guy just bidding to see how far I’ll go? Wait — what was the bidding increment now? Math is done as fast in the head as possible…three more bids, the wallet can afford three more bids. It’s amazing that auction attendees don’t collapse left and right.

Or maybe it’s just me.

In ancient times, I would be more of a gatherer than a hunter. The stress of urgency doesn’t improve my performance, it degrades immensely. My auction experience hasn’t been horrible, but as bidding picks up speed I begin to lose consciousness, finding myself owning worthless boxes of dishes, a tray of office supplies I don’t need, or paying hundreds more than that used audio equipment was worth. When I come to, I try to talk myself into believing I did the right thing: $5 was definitely worth it, even if I have to carry around the box of solar calculators around for the rest of the day. And that guy bidding against me? I’m sure he’s a big-time dealer, at least I seem to remember him, so if he was willing to pay only $50 for it, it’s surely worth the $60 I paid. Since I clearly couldn’t count on the Conscious Me doing the right thing, I guess I’ll have to trust Panic Action Me to have done as good as possible.

A few years back, eBay comes into existence with the handy tool called the “Proxy Bidding.” Using this, you tell eBay the highest amount you’ll be willing to bid, and they’ll keep bidding for you without you knowing anything is even happening. My auction experience changed tremendously: Conscious Me could put as much thought as possible into my bid. There is no stress, and I can’t talk myself into continuing to bid. That is, if I don’t check the listing later. I had to force myself to trust my maximum bid, and leave the auction alone. To check back only encouraged me to fall back into my reckless bidding — not only trying to beat another bidder, but the clock, to have the highest bid before the auction ends. Note that I wasn’t trying to get the best price, or fit my budget…in the last few minutes of an auction, the purpose is to win.

Unfortunately, that bidding at the last minute is exactly the way to win. Mathematicians have proven that placing a bid at the last possible moment, or ’sniping,’ is far more successful than placing a reasonable maximum bid. Anecdotally, people have believed this almost as long as they’ve been using eBay. Software developers have out enormous effort into writing programs that ensure last-millisecond bids — and people pay for the software. Now that scientists have proven that they’re all doing things right, it will only make sniping more common.

I’m not sure how I’m going to deal with this now: in those final minutes, my brain vapor locks and all sensibility leaves me. I suppose I can tell myself to stick to proxy bidding, console myself when that sniper steals an auction away from me, but at least I won’t be heading for a stroke. I’d much rather feel the loss of an auction I really wanted than to become suddely aware that I’ve spent way too much on a box of unopened gym socks. Although, I really could use some socks. Hold on, let me see what’s closing in the next minute…

On the way out of the Renegade Craft Fair last weekend and in search of a local sushi place in Williamsburg, my traveling companion and I were handed a flier. Given the fact that I have a tendency to politely take everything that’s ever been handed to me, from religious tracts to death threats (often hard to tell apart), and attracted to the words ‘flea market’ like a moth to a dusty, grimy old flame, we decided to take a stop in.

Located at 129 North 6th Street (not far from McCaren Park and close to the L Train), the Artists and Fleas market takes place in a stylishly graphitti’d unfinished warehouse, albeit a small one, wedged tightly between other structures. It’s one of those charming places at which various goods occupy every square inch of the grey, broken floor. At the entrance, on the day when we attended, a vinyl record vendor was spinning two turntables and seamlessly DJing the event, fading between Talking Heads albums and Michael Jackson, all in between sales.

Beside him, a thick-accented jewelry vendor selling handmade pieces that incorporated petrified wood and fleur-de-lis designs, and beyond that, shelves upon shelves of popular, rather recent books for sale.

Now, being a library employee, I see my share of donated books, and perhaps my brain glosses over them as sellable items. They come from all walks of life, all genres, and all conditions, including those choice paperbacks that have ballooned up irreparably after significant water damage. Somehow, people think that we want those. Of course, such junk is also intermingled with copies of signed Ayn Rand books, so there’s a fair balance.

At my library, most books are sold by the bagful for a price of five dollars. Whatever you can fit into the bag, you can keep for a flat fee, and as an employee, one usually gets dibs on whatever finds its way inside. At this flea market, the price of five dollars for a paperback and some obscene price for a hardcover, I steered clear. I know my bargains and tread carefully should anyone be asking more than two dollars for any given book. Your local library will also probably get a plethora of donations. Go on in and ask them about their book sales!

The vinyl vendor had me hooked, though. Arranged in 25 or 30 milk crates by category, from ‘jazz fusion’ to ‘rock’, ‘new wave’ to ‘really expensive’, there was a fair selection for everyone. Nothing had price tags, so one is at the mercy of the vendor. He’d take your prospective purchases in hand, look at each of them for about a solid minute, and come back to you (after the long, awkward silence during which you pretend to be suddenly really interested in the ceiling) with a price between two and fifteen dollars, though usually on the lower end of things.

I emerged from the warehouse with an English Beat record that skips horribly, even though it appeared to be fairly pristine. I haven’t yet developed an eye to detect microscopic imperfections in the surfaces of vinyl, but I’ll be sure to work on it after spending three dollars on an unlistenable disc. I also perused the ’spoken word’ section and found a 2-album set entitled ‘You Don’t Have to get Pregnant’, complete with a full-color illustrated pamphlet. Being a fan of spoken-word records, as most of their sounds have never found their way into the digital age, I had to bring it home with me, both to share with friends and incorporate into art somehow. Round that off with two albums of guitar music and a German release of some Josephine Baker classics, none of which have any significant skipping, and I was the hippest hipster to walk through Grand Central Station. Goatee, LPs under my arm and a satchel covered with fancy pins, I was untouchable.

So, if you’re in the area of Williamsburg, check out the rotating collection of artists and hip vendors at the Artists and Fleas Market, every Sunday from noon until 7 PM, just one of many secret treasure troves that I’ll be sure to ferret out over time and travel. And for the record, we found our sushi at a little place called Samurai right off of Bedford Avenue, and I think it’s likely some of the best sushi I’ve ever had. It takes a brave chef to incorporate jalapenos into a maki, but this guy nailed it. So, make a day of it!

With its jewel-toned colors and attractively patterned vases, bowls, dishes and other tableware, Depression glass has been a top collectible for years. Even in hard times, Depression glass was a cheap way to add a pretty bit of color in the kitchen and home. In fact, Depression glass was often given as a free gift with the purchase of a more expensive item as storeowners tried to entice shoppers to buy. For buying a movie ticket one could get an emerald green dessert plate. Tucked inside a sack of flour might be a cobalt blue dinner dish. Depression glass was even given away as prizes at carnival game booths.

Depression glass was created in the years including the Great Depression, around 1920-1940 and was intended for people on a budget. It was mass-produced using low quality glass that frequently resulted in bubbles, ripples and other flaws in the final product, which are today considered part of the charm of Depression glass.

There were several glassmakers producing Depression glass and dozens of patterns were produced, so a good guide can be indispensable to collectors for identifying a particular piece. Many collectors make it a goal to complete a particular pattern. Before choosing a pattern, consult a guide to make certain the pieces are within your price range since prices vary among patterns, with rarer patterns going for higher prices. Prices can also vary widely among pieces of the same pattern that are different colors. For example, the pink sugar bowl might be worth twice as much as the same piece in amber.

Unfortunately, many of the popular Depression glass patterns have been reproduced over the years and it can be difficult to discern an original from a reproduction. Some collectors educate themselves in the differences, such as the weight and shade of the glass, while others choose to completely avoid patterns that have been reproduced.

Follow this link for photos of Depression glass from several different patterns.

On June 26, 1498, the bristle toothbrush, was invented in China. While most of us think of toothbrush and dental collectibles as limited to antique toothpick holders, novelty toothbrush holders, quack medical items, and forboding dental instruments, there’s a fascinating history to the common toothbrush.

Before the Chinese bristle toothbrush, there had previously been other methods and tools for cleaning teeth. There was the “chew stick” which was actually just a small stick pulled off a branch, and one frayed end is rubbed on teeth to scrape off any food particles. There were rags or sponges dipped in sulfur oil, or a salt solution, and used to rub teeth clean. Rubbing baking soda or chalk against the teeth was also common practice. Slightly more ‘civilized’ and in use at the time, were brass or silver toothpicks.

While European traders who visited China saw the new Chinese bristle toothbrushes and even took them home with them, they continued to use their toothpicks or rags, seemingly believing that the old Roman customs were more refined.

It wasn’t until the French bacteriologist, Louis Pasteur, introduced Europeans to the idea of germs, that people took any notice of really cleaning their mouths. Then they began to use the Chinese bristle toothbrushes. The bristles, attached to handles made of bone or bamboo, were actually the stiff hairs taken from the back of a boar’s neck.

In 1770, William Addis of Clerkenwall, England, was incarcerated in a cell of England’s Newgate Prison for provoking a riot. He had little to do but eat, sleep, think, and with most resources allowing for the latter, he thought a good deal about a new means of making a living once his sentence was served. As the story goes, one morning, after washing his face, he began to clean his teeth. Using the rag-rub method, Addis considered it not very effective. By the following day, he had an idea. He saved a small bone from the meat he’d been served, and bored tiny holes in it. Next he “acquired some hard bristles through his prison guard”, and cut them down, then tied them into tufts, glued them on the ends, and wedged them into the holes in the bone. Voila!

The first modern, aka the first mass-produced toothbrush was born. In 1780, Addis’s company attached hairs from the tail of a cow to the end of a whittled thighbone of a cow, or pig, which was reportedly the only bone strong enough to survive the bristle-attachment procedure and still maintain its strength when wet. Eventually, Addis too opted for boar hairs. (Descendants of William Addis still manufacture toothbrushes at a factory in England.)

By the early 1800s the bristled brushes were in general use in Europe and Japan. In 1857, H. N. Wadsworth was credited as the first American to receive a toothbrush patent as America entered the growing toothbrush market. In 1844, the first toothbrush was manufactured by hand and patented as a 3-row brush of serrated bristles with larger tufts by Dr. Meyer L. Rhein. In 1885, the Florence Manufacturing Company of Massachusetts, in association with Dr.Rhein, began producing the Pro-phy-lac-tic brush for mass marketing in the United States.

These boar bristles were used until 1938, when nylon bristles were introduced with the first nylon toothbrush called Doctor West’s Miracle Tuft Toothbrush, made by Dupont de Nemours. Unfortunately, the “miracle tuft” nylon is so stiff that is sometimes damages gums, and dentists do not recommend it. So, prior to World War II, the Chinese boar hairs remained the favored bristles.

But during the war, a roadblock out of Chung-King impeded the export of the hairs. Nylon filament, having been developed in 1938, was an ideal replacement.
Now the nylon bristles had several advantages. Along with a low production cost and the ability to control bristle texture, manufacturers could also shape the filament tip and vary its diameter for improved performance. Boar hair, also had a problem with falling out, did not dry well, and was prone to bacterial growth. The advantages, coupled with American’s sudden concern for dental hygiene (like the Europeans before them, Americans were not very concerned with their teeth — it wasn’t until returning WWII soldiers brought the Army’s enforced habit back home that most Americans brush their teeth), now made nylon the most popular toothbrush bristle. (However, the boar bristle brushes are still made and used today.)

But in the 60’s, people wanted modern, electric appliances. So in 1961, the Squibb Company introduced the Broxodent.

The Broxodent was the first rotating electric toothbrush — the first electric toothbrush was made by Dr. Scott (shown here). This brush claimed to be “permanently charged with electromagnetic current,” however, it wasn’t intil 1939 that the first real electric toothbrush is produced. It was also made by Squibb and marketed in Switzerland shortly after World War II.

Fans of dental collectibles may also enjoy visiting DentalCollectibles.com, Saruya for toothpicks, and Steve’s Dental Collectibles.