early advertising of Maybelline, a key driver of its rise from a small mail-order outfit to a cosmetics powerhouse

The Birth of Lash-Brow-Ine (1915–1917)

Maybelline’s advertising story begins with "Lash-Brow-Ine," launched in 1915 by Tom Lyle Williams through Maybell Laboratories. These earliest ads were modest, text-heavy pitches in mail-order catalogs and women’s magazines like Photoplay. A typical ad might read: “Lash-Brow-Ine: Nourishes and promotes the growth of eyelashes and eyebrows. Harmless and guaranteed.” Priced at 75 cents (about $20 today), it targeted young women eager to emulate silent film stars. The packaging—a small tin with a cake of product, brush, and mirror—was practical, but the ads leaned on promises of beauty and safety, distancing the product from dubious homemade concoctions.

Tom Lyle, inspired by his brief stint at Montgomery Ward, understood mail-order’s power. He placed ads in movie magazines, tapping into the growing obsession with Hollywood glamour. Early visuals were simple: line drawings of a woman’s face, eyes accentuated, with florid copy about “lustrous lashes.” These ads didn’t feature models yet—photography was costly—but they planted the seed of aspiration. By 1917, when the product became "Maybelline" after a trademark tussle, sales hinted at a hungry market.

Hollywood Glamour and the 1920s Boom

The 1920s marked Maybelline’s advertising breakout, fueled by the flapper era and silent film culture. Tom Lyle ramped up spending, hitting over $1 million annually by decade’s end—an audacious bet for a small company. Ads shifted from text blocks to bold visuals in magazines like Motion Picture Classic and Screenland. A 1924 ad, for instance, featured actress Phyllis Haver, a “WAMPAS Baby Star,” gazing seductively with darkened lashes. The copy purred: “Maybelline—Instantly darkens eyelashes and eyebrows. Perfectly harmless, non-sticky.” Haver’s endorsement tied the brand to cinema’s allure, a masterstroke in an era when makeup was shedding its “painted lady” stigma.

The strategy was deliberate. Tom Lyle hired stars under exclusive contracts—Ethel Clayton, Viola Dana, and later Mildred Davis—paying them modest sums (sometimes just $100) for their likeness. Before-and-after images became a staple: one side showed a plain face, the other a dramatic, Maybelline-enhanced gaze. This visual proof was revolutionary, appealing to women navigating a post-Victorian world where makeup was newly acceptable. Sharrie Williams, via 

@SWMaybelline

, often highlights this era’s ingenuity, noting how her great-uncle “sold glamour in a tin.”

Ads also tackled practicality. A 1925 waterproof liquid mascara ad boasted a “built-in brush for easy application,” with a drawing of a sleek flapper applying it mid-dance. Priced at $1, it targeted urban trendsetters. By 1929, when eyeshadows and pencils launched, ads grew colorful—blue and violet shades popped in print, promising “eyes that mesmerize.” Placement mattered too: Maybelline ads flanked movie reviews, syncing with the rise of stars like Clara Bow, whose “It Girl” eyes became a cultural ideal.

The Drugstore Push and 1930s Innovation

The 1932 launch of the 10-cent cake mascara—a response to drugstore demand—shifted Maybelline’s ad game again. With the Great Depression squeezing wallets, Tom Lyle slashed prices and flooded five-and-dime stores like Woolworth’s. Ads in Good Housekeeping and Ladies’ Home Journal targeted housewives, not just flappers. A classic 1932 ad showed a smiling woman with a dime in hand: “Maybelline—Now 10¢ at your local store! Beautiful eyes for pennies.” The brush-and-cake duo was unchanged, but the messaging pivoted to affordability and ease, broadening the audience.

Radio ads, a 1930s first for cosmetics, amplified this reach. Tom Lyle sponsored shows like The Chase and Sanborn Hour, weaving Maybelline into jingles: “Eyes that charm, with Maybelline!” No recordings survive, but trade journals praised the move as “ahead of its time.” Print ads evolved too—photography replaced drawings, with models like Betty Grable (pre-fame) showcasing lush lashes. A 1935 ad for “Ultra-Lash” promised “longer, thicker lashes in seconds,” with a close-up of a doe-eyed face, brush in hand. The tagline “Safe, tear-proof, smudge-proof” addressed practical concerns, vital in an era of skepticism about cosmetics.

Cultural Context and Challenges

Early Maybelline ads navigated tricky terrain. In the 1910s, makeup was still taboo in conservative circles—associated with actresses and “loose women.” Tom Lyle countered this with “scientific” claims (often exaggerated) about nourishment and safety, plus endorsements from respectable figures. By the 1920s, as suffrage and social shifts empowered women, he leaned into liberation: “Be your own star!” A 1927 ad declared, sidestepping moral debates. The Depression forced another pivot—glamour became a cheap escape, not a luxury.

Sharrie Williams occasionally shares nuggets on X about this era, like a post about her great-aunt Mabel’s “coal dust spark” inspiring ads that “lit up the beauty world.” Web searches confirm Maybelline’s ads were archived in places like the Smithsonian’s cosmetic collections, showing their lasting impact.

Legacy of Early Ads

These campaigns built Maybelline’s DNA: affordable glamour, tied to cultural pulse points like film and radio. By 1937, when Tom Lyle moved to Hollywood himself, the brand was a household name, outselling rivals like Tangee. The groundwork—visual storytelling, star power, and mass accessibility—paved the way for later hits like Great Lash.