STEFANIE VON WIETERSHEIM
WOMEN WHO CHANGED THE WORLD
Ada Lovelace
ADA LOVELACE
A force to be reckoned with
Lovelace by name, lovely by nature. Ada Lovelace has skin like alabaster. Hair like mahogany. A clear sideways gaze. Her left hand, with a slim gold ring, rests on the buckle of the girdle around her sumptuous white silk dress with wide Snow White neckline. The slim beauty is crowned with a classical-style headband.
1815 to 1852
This portrait of Lord Byron’s daughter was painted by Margaret Sarah Carpenter in 1836. And the appearance, yes, the beautiful illusion of a highly decorative aristocrat is deceptive. You see, the German Informatics Society is not showcasing this stunning painting without good reason: Ada Lovelace is regarded as the first ever computer programmer. Computers in the first half of the nineteenth century? Invented by a woman born in the year of Napoleon’s final downfall? How is that possible? Quite simply, Ada Lovelace is an example of our deeply rooted prejudices against women, especially attractive and expensively dressed ones. She reveals shows how deceptive images can be; how we are used to seeing the surface first and foremost, especially where women are concerned. And yes, if all we have are their portraits, with no interviews or videos to help us know them better, then we relegate women like the elegant Ada to the same category as women whose lives were taken up with embroidering wall screens, playing the spinet, and learning French. And in the best case, they were disposable assets for fathers and men on the marriage market. Given this, the story of Ada Lovelace is all the more fascinating—the first programmer, mathematician, and inventor, after whom numerous women’s empowerment programs are named today, but who is still far from a household name.
11
Ada Lovelace (shown left in an 1836 painting by Margaret Sarah Carpenter) received advanced science tuition from a young age and later developed a machine for processing information.
Ada Lovelace
ADA LOVELACE
A force to be reckoned with
Lovelace by name, lovely by nature. Ada Lovelace has skin like alabaster. Hair like mahogany. A clear sideways gaze. Her left hand, with a slim gold ring, rests on the buckle of the girdle around her sumptuous white silk dress with wide Snow White neckline. The slim beauty is crowned with a classical-style headband.
1815 to 1852
This portrait of Lord Byron’s daughter was painted by Margaret Sarah Carpenter in 1836. And the appearance, yes, the beautiful illusion of a highly decorative aristocrat is deceptive. You see, the German Informatics Society is not showcasing this stunning painting without good reason: Ada Lovelace is regarded as the first ever computer programmer. Computers in the first half of the nineteenth century? Invented by a woman born in the year of Napoleon’s final downfall? How is that possible? Quite simply, Ada Lovelace is an example of our deeply rooted prejudices against women, especially attractive and expensively dressed ones. She reveals shows how deceptive images can be; how we are used to seeing the surface first and foremost, especially where women are concerned. And yes, if all we have are their portraits, with no interviews or videos to help us know them better, then we relegate women like the elegant Ada to the same category as women whose lives were taken up with embroidering wall screens, playing the spinet, and learning French. And in the best case, they were disposable assets for fathers and men on the marriage market. Given this, the story of Ada Lovelace is all the more fascinating—the first programmer, mathematician, and inventor, after whom numerous women’s empowerment programs are named today, but who is still far from a household name.
11
Ada Lovelace (shown left in an 1836 painting by Margaret Sarah Carpenter) received advanced science tuition from a young age and later developed a machine for processing information.
Elsa Asenijeff
ELSA ASENIJEFF
Shout out!
How wonderful it would be to chat with her and hear her voice! Or as observers, do we only feel that way because we already know this young woman from Vienna will become known as an emancipatory voice for female desire, a critic of the patriarchy, and a representative of literary Expressionism?
1867 to 1941
In the photo, Elsa Asenijeff gazes into the camera with a bold and meaning expression, wild brown curls piled on her head. Despite the embroidered dress with fringed epaulettes and enormous white bow at her breast, encasing her figure like a nun’s habit, this youthful portrait expresses a combination of intellectual sex appeal and challenging determination. To an outsider, the story of Elsa Packeny, born 1867 into a family of high-ranking military and civil servants, began sweet as cotton candy and ended, after years of literary activity, in poverty, suffering, and what less benevolent contemporaries dubbed “madness.” But at first, everything seemed perfect for this privileged daughter of a good Viennese family, born the year Empress Elisabeth was crowned Queen of Hungary. Her mother Laurenzia was well regarded as a trained painter and sculptor and arranged for her daughter to receive tuition in art and sciences in the grand capital of the Danube monarchy. Elsa’s talents for language, emotion, and inner dialogue blossomed, and she started writing poetry from an early age, attended a teacher training college, and took a course at a school for the blind. Marriage? Not something that the artistic young woman wanted; she turned down several suitors. In Elsa’s view, the marriage market she was thrown into was an undignified spectacle. She noticed how young girls, pressurized by society to catch a man, learned
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Eros and writing: Elsa Asenijeff was a feminist writer—and muse to the painter Max Klinger. In 1899, he depicted her as a femme fatale towering over an aging man (above). Nicola Perscheid photographed Elsa Asenijeff in 1897 (left).
Elsa Asenijeff
ELSA ASENIJEFF
Shout out!
How wonderful it would be to chat with her and hear her voice! Or as observers, do we only feel that way because we already know this young woman from Vienna will become known as an emancipatory voice for female desire, a critic of the patriarchy, and a representative of literary Expressionism?
1867 to 1941
In the photo, Elsa Asenijeff gazes into the camera with a bold and meaning expression, wild brown curls piled on her head. Despite the embroidered dress with fringed epaulettes and enormous white bow at her breast, encasing her figure like a nun’s habit, this youthful portrait expresses a combination of intellectual sex appeal and challenging determination. To an outsider, the story of Elsa Packeny, born 1867 into a family of high-ranking military and civil servants, began sweet as cotton candy and ended, after years of literary activity, in poverty, suffering, and what less benevolent contemporaries dubbed “madness.” But at first, everything seemed perfect for this privileged daughter of a good Viennese family, born the year Empress Elisabeth was crowned Queen of Hungary. Her mother Laurenzia was well regarded as a trained painter and sculptor and arranged for her daughter to receive tuition in art and sciences in the grand capital of the Danube monarchy. Elsa’s talents for language, emotion, and inner dialogue blossomed, and she started writing poetry from an early age, attended a teacher training college, and took a course at a school for the blind. Marriage? Not something that the artistic young woman wanted; she turned down several suitors. In Elsa’s view, the marriage market she was thrown into was an undignified spectacle. She noticed how young girls, pressurized by society to catch a man, learned
29
Eros and writing: Elsa Asenijeff was a feminist writer—and muse to the painter Max Klinger. In 1899, he depicted her as a femme fatale towering over an aging man (above). Nicola Perscheid photographed Elsa Asenijeff in 1897 (left).
Isadora Duncan
ISADORA DUNCAN
“I’ve only danced my life”
Why, oh why were there no phone cameras a hundred years ago, so that fans and fashionistas could have filmed and re-filmed their idols’ performances? To repost them, save them, and show them to their friends over the dinner table?
1877 to 1927
How we would have loved to see more of Isadora Duncan’s dancing, her gestures and facial expressions, instead of the stiff poses that are all we have in those many blackand-white photos? They show the American dancer posing in loose dresses inspired by ancient Greek styles, her head thrown back or tilted to the right or left. Arms dramatically flung wide, she gazes into the distance. We see her jumping by the sea, which she loved so much, or frozen like a marble Greek statue, draped in a tunic. Whether she was standing in New York, supine on a Paris stage, dancing in Greece, or appearing in Russia or London in front of her famous blue curtains, we long for films of the greatest dancer of the turn of the twentieth century, because she was in her element when moving, never standing still. Those who saw her perform over the decades as a soloist, teacher, or choreographer were startled by what her half-naked dancing body stirred up in them. Some audience members were scandalized by this female creature, first a brunette then a red-head, seeing her as too naked, too vulgar, slutty, tasteless—because she broke with all the ideas of dance that had come from rigid classical ballet. Others, though, were enchanted by her new, free style of movement, and her programs, which she danced to symphonic works by Wagner, Brahms, and Beethoven, were frenziedly celebrated.
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The pioneer of modern expressive dance, Isadora Duncan developed a new sense of body awareness at a young age, inspired by the Greek ideal of beauty, and was the first to interpret classical concert music through dance.
Isadora Duncan
ISADORA DUNCAN
“I’ve only danced my life”
Why, oh why were there no phone cameras a hundred years ago, so that fans and fashionistas could have filmed and re-filmed their idols’ performances? To repost them, save them, and show them to their friends over the dinner table?
1877 to 1927
How we would have loved to see more of Isadora Duncan’s dancing, her gestures and facial expressions, instead of the stiff poses that are all we have in those many blackand-white photos? They show the American dancer posing in loose dresses inspired by ancient Greek styles, her head thrown back or tilted to the right or left. Arms dramatically flung wide, she gazes into the distance. We see her jumping by the sea, which she loved so much, or frozen like a marble Greek statue, draped in a tunic. Whether she was standing in New York, supine on a Paris stage, dancing in Greece, or appearing in Russia or London in front of her famous blue curtains, we long for films of the greatest dancer of the turn of the twentieth century, because she was in her element when moving, never standing still. Those who saw her perform over the decades as a soloist, teacher, or choreographer were startled by what her half-naked dancing body stirred up in them. Some audience members were scandalized by this female creature, first a brunette then a red-head, seeing her as too naked, too vulgar, slutty, tasteless—because she broke with all the ideas of dance that had come from rigid classical ballet. Others, though, were enchanted by her new, free style of movement, and her programs, which she danced to symphonic works by Wagner, Brahms, and Beethoven, were frenziedly celebrated.
77
The pioneer of modern expressive dance, Isadora Duncan developed a new sense of body awareness at a young age, inspired by the Greek ideal of beauty, and was the first to interpret classical concert music through dance.
Madame d’Ora
MADAME D’ORA
Glamour and Horror
She photographed the young Coco Chanel, carcasses in a slaughterhouse, Emperor Karl of Austria, refugee women holding children by the hand. Looking at these diverse images taken by Viennese photographer Dora Kallmus in the first half of the twentieth century, we can immediately identify the themes that defined her life: glamour and horror, triumph and persecution, celebration and survival.
1881 to 1963
Dora Kallmus, who later became famous in creative circles as Madame d’Ora, was born in 1881, the daughter of a lawyer in the world of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy under Emperor Franz Joseph. Her parents moved in Vienna’s intellectually stimulating society; the hub of the multi-ethnic empire, it was a melting-pot of different nations and cultures. Her father Philipp, a lawyer and high-ranking official, was a respected member of the Jewish bourgeoisie. Even after the death of his wife Malvine, he made sure his daughters Dora and her younger sister Anna received an excellent education. The girls were taught music and languages by grandmother Kallmus and various English and French governesses, and gained an international perspective from their travels through Europe. When life in that old Europe changed radically with the First World War and the end of the monarchy, and Art Nouveau and Expressionism in art reflected people’s tumultuous emotions, Dora Kallmus was in the thick of developments and became one of the pioneers of her time.
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As a society and fashion photographer under the name Madame d’Ora, Dora Kallmus shaped the image of the “New Woman” in the 1920s. Self-portrait from 1929 (left) and a photo of the Viennese dancer Elsie Altmann-Loos, 1922 (above)
Madame d’Ora
MADAME D’ORA
Glamour and Horror
She photographed the young Coco Chanel, carcasses in a slaughterhouse, Emperor Karl of Austria, refugee women holding children by the hand. Looking at these diverse images taken by Viennese photographer Dora Kallmus in the first half of the twentieth century, we can immediately identify the themes that defined her life: glamour and horror, triumph and persecution, celebration and survival.
1881 to 1963
Dora Kallmus, who later became famous in creative circles as Madame d’Ora, was born in 1881, the daughter of a lawyer in the world of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy under Emperor Franz Joseph. Her parents moved in Vienna’s intellectually stimulating society; the hub of the multi-ethnic empire, it was a melting-pot of different nations and cultures. Her father Philipp, a lawyer and high-ranking official, was a respected member of the Jewish bourgeoisie. Even after the death of his wife Malvine, he made sure his daughters Dora and her younger sister Anna received an excellent education. The girls were taught music and languages by grandmother Kallmus and various English and French governesses, and gained an international perspective from their travels through Europe. When life in that old Europe changed radically with the First World War and the end of the monarchy, and Art Nouveau and Expressionism in art reflected people’s tumultuous emotions, Dora Kallmus was in the thick of developments and became one of the pioneers of her time.
85
As a society and fashion photographer under the name Madame d’Ora, Dora Kallmus shaped the image of the “New Woman” in the 1920s. Self-portrait from 1929 (left) and a photo of the Viennese dancer Elsie Altmann-Loos, 1922 (above)
Lady Edwina Mountbatten
LADY EDWINA MOUNTBATTEN
More than just a socialite
So much has been said about Lady Edwina Mountbatten. That she was a beautiful, rich bitch, an eccentric queer feminist, an early It girl with a bank account worth over half a billion. That she was a neglected child who was bound to go off the rails, and that long after her marriage into British royalty, she found her true love in Indian statesman Jawaharlal Nehru. Her burial at sea in 1960 was commented on by the future Queen Mother Elizabeth as follows: “Edwina always liked to make a splash.”
1901 to 1960
Lady Edwina Mountbatten could have remained an entertaining anecdote in the aristocratic gossip history of the British nobility, one of the social swans so typical of the British elite in the first half of the 20th century. But the story of this woman, born into wealth and privilege and long considered a scandalous figure, is worth telling for other reasons. Her life story shows how people who, from the outside, might be seen as superficial, pleasure-seeking, pathologically restless, and exploitative of social power structures can, in moments of crisis, play a role for their country that they had previously been considered completely unsuited for. She is an example of how looking into the abyss of human existence can bring out the best in people. Looking back, Edwina Mountbatten’s last third of her life as a welfare worker is also reminiscent of the charisma of Diana, Princess of Wales, who had an unparalleled ability to use the power of her personality to shine a light on people with health and social problems.
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When World War II broke out, Lady Edwina Mountbatten developed her skills as a welfare worker. After the war, she accompanied the dissolution of the British Empire in India. Here she is in 1947 alongside her husband Lord Louis Mountbatten with Mahatma Gandhi.
Lady Edwina Mountbatten
LADY EDWINA MOUNTBATTEN
More than just a socialite
So much has been said about Lady Edwina Mountbatten. That she was a beautiful, rich bitch, an eccentric queer feminist, an early It girl with a bank account worth over half a billion. That she was a neglected child who was bound to go off the rails, and that long after her marriage into British royalty, she found her true love in Indian statesman Jawaharlal Nehru. Her burial at sea in 1960 was commented on by the future Queen Mother Elizabeth as follows: “Edwina always liked to make a splash.”
1901 to 1960
Lady Edwina Mountbatten could have remained an entertaining anecdote in the aristocratic gossip history of the British nobility, one of the social swans so typical of the British elite in the first half of the 20th century. But the story of this woman, born into wealth and privilege and long considered a scandalous figure, is worth telling for other reasons. Her life story shows how people who, from the outside, might be seen as superficial, pleasure-seeking, pathologically restless, and exploitative of social power structures can, in moments of crisis, play a role for their country that they had previously been considered completely unsuited for. She is an example of how looking into the abyss of human existence can bring out the best in people. Looking back, Edwina Mountbatten’s last third of her life as a welfare worker is also reminiscent of the charisma of Diana, Princess of Wales, who had an unparalleled ability to use the power of her personality to shine a light on people with health and social problems.
139
When World War II broke out, Lady Edwina Mountbatten developed her skills as a welfare worker. After the war, she accompanied the dissolution of the British Empire in India. Here she is in 1947 alongside her husband Lord Louis Mountbatten with Mahatma Gandhi.
Antonia Brico
ANTONIA BRICO
Me, Maestra!!
“Let me play my instrument, the orchestra!” We can almost hear her cry, that constant cry that accmpanied her through life like the baton in her right hand. Again and again.
1902 to 1989
In a 1974 documentary film, conductor Antonia Brico appears elderly, a little overweight, with a striking white streak in her short hair, her best, brief period as a musician clearly long behind her. She has been the director of provincial ensembles in Denver, USA, for 30 years, works as a piano teacher in her house crammed with pictures, and has her students walk her dog. She still longs to conduct world-class orchestras, as she did in the 1930s, when she briefly thought she could hold her own as a woman alongside stars such as Bruno Walter and Arturo Toscanini. Watching this remarkable film interview from 1974, which was nominated for an Oscar and can be found on YouTube, leaves behind a sense of sadness about a life that could have been so much more fulfilling—if only Antonia Brico had been a man instead of a woman. A man who could have gone along to clubs as a buddy; who would have been accepted by musicians as their tailcoated chief; who would have been idolized by female listeners as an erotically attractive creative figure in the spotlight. But in the first half of the 20th century, many people simply laughed at the idea that a woman could conduct a symphony orchestra. A woman setting the tone for 100 men? Unthinkable!
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Pioneer at the podium: Antonia Brico conducts the London Philharmonic Orchestra in 1946 (right). Twenty years later (left), her dream of a world career had failed.
Antonia Brico
ANTONIA BRICO
Me, Maestra!!
“Let me play my instrument, the orchestra!” We can almost hear her cry, that constant cry that accmpanied her through life like the baton in her right hand. Again and again.
1902 to 1989
In a 1974 documentary film, conductor Antonia Brico appears elderly, a little overweight, with a striking white streak in her short hair, her best, brief period as a musician clearly long behind her. She has been the director of provincial ensembles in Denver, USA, for 30 years, works as a piano teacher in her house crammed with pictures, and has her students walk her dog. She still longs to conduct world-class orchestras, as she did in the 1930s, when she briefly thought she could hold her own as a woman alongside stars such as Bruno Walter and Arturo Toscanini. Watching this remarkable film interview from 1974, which was nominated for an Oscar and can be found on YouTube, leaves behind a sense of sadness about a life that could have been so much more fulfilling—if only Antonia Brico had been a man instead of a woman. A man who could have gone along to clubs as a buddy; who would have been accepted by musicians as their tailcoated chief; who would have been idolized by female listeners as an erotically attractive creative figure in the spotlight. But in the first half of the 20th century, many people simply laughed at the idea that a woman could conduct a symphony orchestra. A woman setting the tone for 100 men? Unthinkable!
147
Pioneer at the podium: Antonia Brico conducts the London Philharmonic Orchestra in 1946 (right). Twenty years later (left), her dream of a world career had failed.
Hedy Lamarr
HEDY LAMARR
Beautifully smart
A beautiful face can become a terrible curse. And the reputation of being the most beautiful woman in the world can even be a ticket to ruin.
1914 to 2000
Such was the fate of Hedy Kiesler, born in Vienna in 1914 into upper-class society. Today she is regarded as an inventor, but during her lifetime she was a frenetically adored Hollywood icon thanks to her Snow White beauty, and ultimately ended up a drug-addicted kleptomaniac. By that time, she had broken up with dozens of lovers, six husbands, and even her children, ruined herself in court cases, and repeatedly gone under the knife to maintain her goddess-like body. All the star drama long overshadowed the fact that, alongside her movie-style life, she was a woman who wanted to invent a weapon of war against the hated Nazis and is thus considered a—perhaps overrated—pioneer in communication technology for cell phones, Wi-Fi, and Bluetooth. Born into a Jewish family at the beginning of the First World War, Hedy Kiesler grew up among the cultural elite of the Danube metropolis. Her father Emil was the director of the renowned credit institution Bankverein, and her mother was a trained concert pianist. The family villa was located in the upscale Viennese district of Döbling, and Hedy, the adored favorite of her father, could already read at the age of five. She was enthusiastic about cinema, wanted to act in theater, and dreamed of becoming a star. Her exceptionally beautiful, Aphrodite-like face, whose hypnotic effect on men she soon became aware of, helped her on her way.
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Hedy Lamarr was one of the biggest Hollywood stars of the 1930s and 1940s. Here she is at the piano with Bing Crosby, James Cagney, and Kay Kyser.
Hedy Lamarr
HEDY LAMARR
Beautifully smart
A beautiful face can become a terrible curse. And the reputation of being the most beautiful woman in the world can even be a ticket to ruin.
1914 to 2000
Such was the fate of Hedy Kiesler, born in Vienna in 1914 into upper-class society. Today she is regarded as an inventor, but during her lifetime she was a frenetically adored Hollywood icon thanks to her Snow White beauty, and ultimately ended up a drug-addicted kleptomaniac. By that time, she had broken up with dozens of lovers, six husbands, and even her children, ruined herself in court cases, and repeatedly gone under the knife to maintain her goddess-like body. All the star drama long overshadowed the fact that, alongside her movie-style life, she was a woman who wanted to invent a weapon of war against the hated Nazis and is thus considered a—perhaps overrated—pioneer in communication technology for cell phones, Wi-Fi, and Bluetooth. Born into a Jewish family at the beginning of the First World War, Hedy Kiesler grew up among the cultural elite of the Danube metropolis. Her father Emil was the director of the renowned credit institution Bankverein, and her mother was a trained concert pianist. The family villa was located in the upscale Viennese district of Döbling, and Hedy, the adored favorite of her father, could already read at the age of five. She was enthusiastic about cinema, wanted to act in theater, and dreamed of becoming a star. Her exceptionally beautiful, Aphrodite-like face, whose hypnotic effect on men she soon became aware of, helped her on her way.
159
Hedy Lamarr was one of the biggest Hollywood stars of the 1930s and 1940s. Here she is at the piano with Bing Crosby, James Cagney, and Kay Kyser.
Maeve Brennan
MAEVE BRENNAN
One small step to chaos
It is too easy to reduce Maeve Brennan to the elegant Audrey Hepburn look of her younger years, in a little black dress, her hair teased high, with pearls in her ears. Or to remember her as a homeless old woman who spent the night, confused and disheveled, in the ladies’ room of The New Yorker magazine’s editorial office.
1902 to 1989
Since Maeve Brennan was rediscovered as a literary voice in the early 2000s, she has become a symbol of the glamour and misery of the mid-century writing scene in the US. And yes, the masterful storyteller who inspired the character of Holly Golightly in Truman Capote’s short storyBreakfast at Tiffany’s became, in the second half of her life. a working woman spat out by the ruthless city of New York. No husband, no children, no hope. At the time, her career was seen by many as a nightmare scenario depicting the fate of a woman who dared to live entirely from her work. But who still reads her short stories and columns from the 1950s and 1960s? Who knows about her life as the daughter of Irish freedom fighters, who, like her sisters, was named after an Irish queen and became a feminist author after World War II? The terror of soldiers invading her home, secret plots, her father’s arrest: Maeve Brennan, later a distinguished writer for The New Yorker, had a rather unusual childhood. Born in Dublin in January 1917, the second of four children, she was born into the Irish struggle for independence and remained shaped by this early atmosphere throughout her life. What sounds like the plot of a dramatic film
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Stylish and Irish: Author Maeve Brennan took New York by storm from the 1940s on—and became the voice of The New Yorker.
Maeve Brennan
MAEVE BRENNAN
One small step to chaos
It is too easy to reduce Maeve Brennan to the elegant Audrey Hepburn look of her younger years, in a little black dress, her hair teased high, with pearls in her ears. Or to remember her as a homeless old woman who spent the night, confused and disheveled, in the ladies’ room of The New Yorker magazine’s editorial office.
1902 to 1989
Since Maeve Brennan was rediscovered as a literary voice in the early 2000s, she has become a symbol of the glamour and misery of the mid-century writing scene in the US. And yes, the masterful storyteller who inspired the character of Holly Golightly in Truman Capote’s short storyBreakfast at Tiffany’s became, in the second half of her life. a working woman spat out by the ruthless city of New York. No husband, no children, no hope. At the time, her career was seen by many as a nightmare scenario depicting the fate of a woman who dared to live entirely from her work. But who still reads her short stories and columns from the 1950s and 1960s? Who knows about her life as the daughter of Irish freedom fighters, who, like her sisters, was named after an Irish queen and became a feminist author after World War II? The terror of soldiers invading her home, secret plots, her father’s arrest: Maeve Brennan, later a distinguished writer for The New Yorker, had a rather unusual childhood. Born in Dublin in January 1917, the second of four children, she was born into the Irish struggle for independence and remained shaped by this early atmosphere throughout her life. What sounds like the plot of a dramatic film
167
Stylish and Irish: Author Maeve Brennan took New York by storm from the 1940s on—and became the voice of The New Yorker.
Annemarie Renger
ANNEMARIE RENGER
The President
“I’ve achieved what I wanted. It’s proof that a woman can do it.” With these words, she broke through the famous glass ceiling, the invisible wall that had kept women away from seats of power since forever.
1919 to 2008
“Madam President, I convey the wishes of the house and ask you to take your seat.” With these words, the acting senior president of the German Bundestag, the legendary Ludwig Erhard, inaugurated Annemarie Renger as President of the Bundestag in December 1972. It had taken 54 years, two generations, since the introduction of women’s suffrage in Germany in 1918 for a woman to be awarded the second highest office in the country. It was also the first time anywhere in the world that a woman had been democratically elected to the office of parliamentary president. And so it seemed perfectly normal at the time that the president was addressed as “Frau Präsident” in the masculine form. In the post-war universe of 75-year-old political veteran Ludwig Erhard, who had been CDU Minister of Economics and Federal Chancellor and presided over the Bundestag session as its most senior member, Renger was a revolutionary beneath her polished exterior. Watching the black-and-white footage of Renger’s arrival on that December day in 1972, the 53-year-old appears proud, self-confident, and very energetic. With blonde hair, styled in the fashion of the time, and a large white blouse collar glimpsed under her dark jacket, she stands out from the sea of blacksuits worn
191
Arrived. SPD politician Annemarie Renger became the first female president of the German parliament on December 12, 1972 at the age of 53.
Annemarie Renger
ANNEMARIE RENGER
The President
“I’ve achieved what I wanted. It’s proof that a woman can do it.” With these words, she broke through the famous glass ceiling, the invisible wall that had kept women away from seats of power since forever.
1919 to 2008
“Madam President, I convey the wishes of the house and ask you to take your seat.” With these words, the acting senior president of the German Bundestag, the legendary Ludwig Erhard, inaugurated Annemarie Renger as President of the Bundestag in December 1972. It had taken 54 years, two generations, since the introduction of women’s suffrage in Germany in 1918 for a woman to be awarded the second highest office in the country. It was also the first time anywhere in the world that a woman had been democratically elected to the office of parliamentary president. And so it seemed perfectly normal at the time that the president was addressed as “Frau Präsident” in the masculine form. In the post-war universe of 75-year-old political veteran Ludwig Erhard, who had been CDU Minister of Economics and Federal Chancellor and presided over the Bundestag session as its most senior member, Renger was a revolutionary beneath her polished exterior. Watching the black-and-white footage of Renger’s arrival on that December day in 1972, the 53-year-old appears proud, self-confident, and very energetic. With blonde hair, styled in the fashion of the time, and a large white blouse collar glimpsed under her dark jacket, she stands out from the sea of blacksuits worn
191
Arrived. SPD politician Annemarie Renger became the first female president of the German parliament on December 12, 1972 at the age of 53.
Betty Halbreich
BETTY HALBREICH
Queen of the clothes
After a tragically failed marriage, she went straight from a psychiatric hospital into the world of fashion—and became the secret queen of New York. Or, at least, the queen of the New York of clothes, by which America’s rich, beautiful, and powerful still define themselves to this day, rather as Tuscan aristocrats once did in the city-states of the Renaissance.
1927 to 2024
When Betty Halbreich died at the age of 96, she had followed her first predictable life as a society wife with a second life, in which she simply did what millions of women around the world do for a living: selling clothes. In a department store. The petite American woman with the quickfire wit of a sitcom writer and finely chiseled Audrey Hepburn-style profile became famous for persuading US President Ford to carry his wife’s dresses home like a dutiful husband. Betty Halbreich dressed Meryl Streep and Cher as professionally as Miss No Name, and selected the wardrobe for the film heroines of “Sex and the City” and “Gossip Girl.” Lena Dunham, a Betty fangirl, was delighted to be photographed with her—as were some unknown women on Madison Avenue who were admirers of the grande dame. But despite all the glamour, Betty Halbreich remained a no-nonsense woman. She advised even the world’s wealthiest women to save money and proclaimed in her books: “Don’t wear your wardrobe—wear yourself.” No one could have predicted that Betty Samuels, from Chicago’s wealthy Jewish
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A chin-up New York legend: Personal shopper Betty Halbreich was in her forties when she turned her passion for fashion into a successful career.
Betty Halbreich
BETTY HALBREICH
Queen of the clothes
After a tragically failed marriage, she went straight from a psychiatric hospital into the world of fashion—and became the secret queen of New York. Or, at least, the queen of the New York of clothes, by which America’s rich, beautiful, and powerful still define themselves to this day, rather as Tuscan aristocrats once did in the city-states of the Renaissance.
1927 to 2024
When Betty Halbreich died at the age of 96, she had followed her first predictable life as a society wife with a second life, in which she simply did what millions of women around the world do for a living: selling clothes. In a department store. The petite American woman with the quickfire wit of a sitcom writer and finely chiseled Audrey Hepburn-style profile became famous for persuading US President Ford to carry his wife’s dresses home like a dutiful husband. Betty Halbreich dressed Meryl Streep and Cher as professionally as Miss No Name, and selected the wardrobe for the film heroines of “Sex and the City” and “Gossip Girl.” Lena Dunham, a Betty fangirl, was delighted to be photographed with her—as were some unknown women on Madison Avenue who were admirers of the grande dame. But despite all the glamour, Betty Halbreich remained a no-nonsense woman. She advised even the world’s wealthiest women to save money and proclaimed in her books: “Don’t wear your wardrobe—wear yourself.” No one could have predicted that Betty Samuels, from Chicago’s wealthy Jewish
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A chin-up New York legend: Personal shopper Betty Halbreich was in her forties when she turned her passion for fashion into a successful career.
THEY WERE PIONEERS, ARTISTS, POLITICIANS, AND ACTIVISTSand yettheir namesare almost forgottentoday.
From the inventor of modern Bluetooth technology and the first democratically elected president of parliament to the creative mind behind the legendary “I Love New York” slogan, this Callwey book presents outstanding female pioneers who once made a huge impact, and brings them back into the spotlight. Captivating portraits and fascinating facts trace their extraordinary life stories, enhanced by voices of prominent people of today who remind us of their importance.