The history of First Ladies’ hairstyles, untangled

By Matthew Sweet

When Richard Nixon climbed into a helicopter waiting on the South Lawn of the White House on August 9th 1974, he became a rare example of someone ascending in disgrace. Pat Nixon (First Lady, 1969-74) took her seat first, whispering, “It’s so sad, it’s so sad.” Her husband raised his arms like a game-show host and a new President and First Lady waved back at their predecessors from the grass. Blades began to turn, churning the air and threshing the leaves of the magnolia tree planted by Andrew Jackson. Betty Ford smiled upwards. Her hair, neat, swept off her forehead, barely moved. On that day, what America needed was stability.

Hair in the White House is never just hair. It’s a political construct, assembled with combs and chemicals that the bearer, knowing that the final styling will be scrutinised, must endow with meaning that accords with a broader policy. Ronald Reagan spent a decade denying that he used hair dye until reporters became too embarrassed to mention it. Donald Trump’s hair – delicate, deceptive, insubstantial, expensive – stands for the man much as a fluttering skirt stands for Marilyn Monroe, or a toothbrush moustache for – well – let’s say Charlie Chaplin. (Trump may also have the most expensive presidential locks in history: according to his recently obtained tax statements, he claimed some $70,000 in expenses for hairstyling during several years of filming “The Apprentice”).