Sexy stewardesses were exploited by airlines to sell more tickets — until women fought back
Welcome to mid-century air travel, where marriage, pregnancy, and being over thirty could get you fired
“I’m Cheryl. Fly Me.” The 1971 National Airlines campaign featuring its stewardesses was just another “sex sells” salvo in the cutthroat world of American air travel. The Civil Aeronautics Board controlled rates and route assignments for the tightly regulated industry. But airlines controlled branding, and stewardesses were part of the brand.
Some of the first women in the military were World War II pilots flying non-combat missions as members of the Women Airforce Service Pilots, but in peacetime, conservative gender roles had replaced the “We Can Do It!” ethos. During the 1950s, as travel by plane began to surpass that by rail, becoming a stewardess was a glamorous way for adventurous young women of the middle class to escape careers as teachers, nurses, stenographers, or housewives. But it wasn’t an easy job to get, and it wasn’t a life of absolute freedom.
The stewardess field was competitive, with very few openings. Most airlines wanted applicants to have some college education, and interviewers screened out women who didn’t fit the corporate standards of beauty. There were compulsory finishing schools where the basic requirements of passenger safety and comfort were taught alongside classes on posture, cosmetics, and physical fitness. Once on the job, stewardesses suffered pre-flight weigh-ins and could be forced to wear girdles or other form-contorting underwear. There were on-brand makeup schemes and fines for smoking while in uniform. And no matter how perfectly coiffed and catwalk ready a stewardess was, no matter how professional and dedicated to her job, she could not be married. A stewardess could not be pregnant. A stewardess could not grow older than her early thirties.
In the fifties, flying was a rarefied form of travel for a well-heeled clientele, women in matronly uniforms served dinner on trays and poured cocktails. As businessmen came to dominate commuter flights, particularly in the smaller regional markets, the uniforms became less austere. “Does your wife know you’re flying with us?” asked ads for Braniff Airways. Pacific Southwest Airlines led the race to the bottom by dressing its stewardesses in colorful miniskirts and go-go boots through the late sixties, before delving into hot pants in the early seventies.
Despite their dual roles as mothering servant and objects of sexual fantasy, women were fighting for changes inside the airline industry. Throughout the sixties, stewardesses filed discrimination suits with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, citing Title VII of the 1964 Civil Rights Act as grounds to end the policy of firing women who married, became pregnant, or grew older. The years of proceedings and setbacks began to pay off in the early seventies, laying a foundation of legal precedence that changed labor relations in the airline industry. They also paved the way for men to become stewards, leading to the adoption of the term “flight attendant.” The death knell for hot pants and go-go boots came in 1978 when President Carter deregulated the industry, allowing the regional airlines to wage war with one another over cheap fares instead of cheap miniskirts.
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