(3 of 10)
Nor would a recession in 1979 be likely to hurt the industry much. Cosmetics sales traditionally continue rising during a mild economic downturn, and dip only slightly in a severe one. Some top-of-the-line items benefit from hard times: a man who wants to give a woman a stunning gift but decides that a $150 handbag, say, would leave his wallet too thin, may select a $50 bottle of perfume. In the low-priced field, remarks Bergerac, any woman can spend $2.25 for a lipstick that will brighten her mood as well as her appearance. Says he: "When things get rough, women tend to be a little depressed, and somewhere along the line it is nice to go get some cosmetics and feel good."
The whole industry revolves around making women feel good—which they rarely can unless they think they look attractive. True, sales of men's colognes, skin toners and other cosmetics have been rising fast and now account for a large but indeterminate fraction of the business. Men too have been captivated by the growing national preoccupation with youthful appearance and bodily fitness. Still, women buy about 95% of men's cosmetics as presents for husbands, boyfriends and fathers, many of whom also cheat by dabbing on some of the women's creams and foundation colorings with the bathroom door closed. In any event, almost all the business revolves directly around the female mind and body, subjects of endless diversity and fascination.
Demographic and social changes reward cosmetics firms that stay on top of them, and punish those that do not. As birth rates drop and the postwar babies reach their 30s, the population is aging. That presents a difficult problem, alas, for cosmetics makers, who know only too well that any appeal to women who are "mature" or "experienced" (or whatever other euphemism might be dreamed up for older women) would be the kiss of death. One response that Bergerac has made is to retarget Revlon's lowest-priced line, Natural Wonder, once aimed specifically at teenagers, to reach women aged 18 to 34—not by changing the products but by picturing slightly older females in the ads. Just over half of all American women now have jobs vs. less than a third in 1968, and that is a boon for the industry. Working women have both the need and the cash to buy cosmetics, and use 30% more of them than housewives do. But they cannot spend hours making up between breakfast and bus stop, so they demand cosmetics that can be put on quickly and easily, at least for office wear.
By far the most intriguing—and riskiest—changes are those that cosmetics makers try in order to fit their products to women's mental pictures of themselves. Theirs is a complicated and mysterious business in which product, packaging and advertising must work together to present a unified appeal to emotions that may be partly unconscious. Revlon has pushed this psychological approach as hard as anyone, as is best illustrated by a three-part tale that also is a commentary on American lifestyles.
By 1973, women quite obviously had become emancipated and ready to meet men as equals. In one response to that attitude, cosmetics