{"id":143209,"date":"2020-03-03T13:48:05","date_gmt":"2020-03-03T18:48:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=143209"},"modified":"2020-04-07T18:06:29","modified_gmt":"2020-04-07T22:06:29","slug":"oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/","title":{"rendered":"Oh, Do Tone It Down, Ladies"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Auguste Toulmouche, The Reluctant Bride<\/em>, 1866. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.<\/p><\/div>\n

Docile quietude has long been wielded by conduct books as a specifically feminine virtue. In 1946, the magazine Photoplay<\/em> published the article \u201cThat Romantic Look,\u201d an instructional piece for women who were aiding their soldier husbands in acclimating to civilian life after World War II. The paramount goal was to minister to one\u2019s head of household without injuring his proud masculinity:<\/p>\n

Listen to your laughter too. Let it come easily, especially when you\u2019re with boys who had little to laugh at for too long. Laugh at the silly things you used to do together. Laugh for the sweet sake of laughter. And if you hear your laugh sound hysterical, giddy, or loud, tone it down, oh do tone it down!<\/em><\/p>\n

Easy enough to say, \u201cSpeak gently. Laugh softly,\u201d I know. The tone of our voice and laughter generates within us. When we\u2019re worried or rushed, it\u2019s in our voice and laughter that hysteria will manifest itself \u2026 Serenity is the very wellspring of a romantic look. In it you have the beginning of the smooth brow, the easy carriage, the low voice, the gentle smile. This Christmas with our men home, surely we should know serenity. So let us look happy and contented and starry-eyed.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Historical context aside, these directives might have come from a Victorian lady\u2019s etiquette book. Midcentury America draws liberally upon the rhetoric of hysteria in admonishing its women to cultivate placid demeanors and soft, dulcet tones. And yet, with a more modern and progressive approach, this conversation\u2014how to aid someone in the transition from a violent, traumatic context to the routines of daily life\u2014would be a productive one. It would not be until the Vietnam War that we began even to discuss how to engage with those suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder: these early efforts to soothe those who had recently endured the unthinkable are well intentioned but, unsurprisingly, entrenched in gender-normative philosophies regarding femininity and distribution of emotional labor. Oh, do tone it down, ladies. <\/p>\n

As for nineteenth-century etiquette books, their positions on women\u2019s voices and general dispositions are what you might suppose: if, as the old chestnut goes, children were to be seen and not heard, women\u2019s guidelines hardly differed. Feminine exuberance would have been received as unseemly at best when so much as opening one\u2019s mouth demanded special care and modulation. As in all other topics, Ella Adelia Fletcher\u2019s The Woman Beautiful<\/em> takes a maniacally specific approach to addressing how a woman should speak without afflicting the genteel ears of those present. After instructing her readers in how to beautify their mouths and lips, Fletcher proceeds to tackle voice:<\/p>\n

Naturally, the beautiful mouth and coral lips should be fittingly completed by a lovely voice; but, too often, this harmonious trinity is violated by a discordant, rasping, badly-placed voice. It is usually the result, not of any physical defect, but of careless habits: careless habits of breathing, of thinking, and of speaking. The commonest defect in a woman\u2019s voice is pitching it too high; and often this is accompanied by a nervous tension which holds the muscles of the throat taut and strained; and by short, hurried breathing which cuts the vibrations, destroys the overtones, and imparts an unpleasant rasping, dead, or shrill timbre<\/em> to the voice.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Based on her account, it seems that Fletcher keeps close company with a hoard of verbal zombies, such is the purported ghastliness of women\u2019s faulty speaking habits. It\u2019s unclear how Fletcher has arrived at her conclusions regarding the ways that one might butcher her tone of voice\u2014her description doesn\u2019t strike me as especially scientific\u2014but her paramount motivation is not educating her readers on the mechanics of vocal cords and breath. Rather, the primary object is to render women more hesitant before they speak, less eager to pipe up in conversation, and more inclined to focus their efforts on adopting speech patterns that, while likely difficult to maintain, ensure that Victorian women uphold their foremost public role: emollient decoration. As Fletcher has made eminently clear, there is no aspect of one\u2019s person that cannot be chiseled and squeezed and pressed upon until it obliges masculine sensibilities of female beauty and, above all, does not agitate a man\u2019s amour propre. A woman should arrange herself so that she serves as a complement to bolder, brasher masculinity:<\/p>\n

Train your ear to notice pleasant, agreeable voices, and listen to your own critically. In the seclusion of your own room, try the pitch of your voice until you discover its most melodious one, that upon which you can develop the fullest and sweetest timbre<\/em>, \u2014the tone which you determine shall be known by your friends as your voice.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

It\u2019s a wonder that anyone could proffer an argument for essentialist gender types, when literature like this makes no bones that femininity arises from an assemblage of learned behaviors and traits. Although Fletcher does not directly address relations with men, the issue looms large on every page, with the implicit argument that if one liturgically adheres to her lessons, she will be the sort of woman who is pleasing to men and will therefore attract their attention, as opposed to her imagined \u201crasping, dead\u201d-voiced competition.<\/p>\n

While Fletcher was dispensing her advice across the pond, Mrs. C.\u2009E. \u201cMadge\u201d Humphry, one of the first female journalists in Great Britain, was also publishing etiquette manuals for men and women alike. In 1898, she released A Word to Women<\/em>, which followed her popular 1897 volume Manners for Women<\/em>. Her advice, rooted snugly in fin-de-si\u00e8cle gender politics, acknowledges women\u2019s increased, but tenuous, presence in the public sphere while adhering to the enduring philosophy of the \u201cAngel in the House\u201d\u2014in other words, the Victorian argument that a woman\u2019s rightful place was the domestic sphere, which she should cultivate as a place of pacific harmony, a palliative contrast to the rough-and-tumble of male-dominated public life.<\/p>\n

Humphry reiterates the necessity of maintaining tranquility in the home, but moreover directs women to wield this influence in whatever social context they may inhabit. In her chapter titled \u201cGolden Silence\u201d she posits that a woman should limit her chatter without becoming tedious company:<\/p>\n

The lesson of quiet composure has to be learned soon or late, and it is generally soon in the higher classes of society. In fact the quality of reticence, and even stoicism, is so early implanted in the daughters of the cultivated classes that a rather trying monotony is sometimes the result. After a while the girls outgrow it, learning how to exercise the acquired habit of self-control without losing the charm of individuality. When maturity is reached, one of the most useful and delightful of social qualities is sometimes attained\u2014not always\u2014that of silently passing over much that, if noticed, would make for discord. Truth to tell, there is often far too much talking going on.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Humphry\u2019s lessons are evidently aimed at \u201cthe cultivated classes\u201d in English society, not surprising in such a trenchantly hierarchical arrangement. And as she vigorously indicates, one mark of good breeding is striking the balance between boring one\u2019s company and not allowing the \u201ccharm of individuality\u201d to unravel into dreaded loquaciousness. A woman, she insinuates, ought to be a peacemaker; that is to say, she should not address comments that are upsetting or inappropriate; after all, this would introduce \u201cdiscord\u201d into the atmosphere. Instead, one must suppress one\u2019s more ardent impulses to ensure smoother discourse. Being oneself was welcomed so long as that self was stringently groomed with the paramount goal of appealing to everybody and offending no one.<\/p>\n

For, as Humphry elucidates in a later chapter, \u201cLightheartedness,\u201d it is not sufficient for a woman to monitor the quality and effect of her conversation; she must perform these feats with a smile. Unsurprisingly, the infuriating habit perpetuated by so many men\u2014\u201cGive me a smile, baby\u201d\u2014has firm roots in Victorian expectations of women to ameliorate every social environment, to transform their surroundings into pleasant, cheery contexts through the performance of good humor:<\/p>\n

Men are always telling women that it is the duty of the less-burdened sex to meet their lords and masters with cheerful faces; and if any doubt were felt as to the value of the acquirement\u2014for cheerfulness often has to be acquired and cultivated like any other marketable accomplishment\u2014shall we not find a mass of evidence in the advertisement columns of the daily papers? Do not all the lady-housekeepers and companions describe themselves as \u201ccheerful\u201d? Lone, lorn women could scarcely be successes in either capacity, and cheerfulness is a distinct qualification for either post.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Humphry\u2019s chain of rhetorical questions is telling. For a late Victorian woman, what men desire\u2014to be greeted as kings of their castles by beaming, beatific faces\u2014demands attention and supplication (for sanity\u2019s sake, we\u2019ll pass over the suggestion that women are \u201cthe less-burdened sex\u201d). \u201cWell, \u2019tis our duty to be cheerful,\u201d Humphry concludes, soon after these remarks. For that matter, she treats her commentary regarding the necessity of \u201ccheerfulness\u201d in service positions as something of an afterthought; the greatest sign of \u201cthe value of the acquirement\u201d lies in male pleasure. But in mentioning the necessity of a sunny disposition in \u201clady-housekeepers and companions,\u201d two positions in which a woman joins a household as an inferior member, Humphry lays bare a larger truth: that all women must be at the service of their so-called male betters, and that they must quash their own uglier sentiments so that they may ensure they do not detract from the social atmosphere. Humphry is not so naive to overlook the \u201cmarketability\u201d of this quality: by drawing a comparison between good breeding and business transactions, she insinuates that women are always, to some extent, selling themselves as welcome members of polite company. But in this case, that which is \u201cmarketable\u201d happens to be inextricable from ironbound duty.<\/p>\n

And yet Humphry resists the perspective that a woman\u2019s purpose is exclusively to serve as a decorative vessel. Overlooking the extent to which women\u2019s education has been obstructed and regarded as unnecessary, she censures her readers in a chapter aptly named \u201cDeadly Dulness\u201d (sic<\/em>) for failing to elevate their minds beyond more trivial pursuits. \u201cNinety out of every hundred women bury their minds alive,\u201d she declares. \u201cThey do not live, they merely exist.\u201d But the fault, she maintains, rests with women, for being inclined to indulge in less intellectual activities, for occupying themselves with fashionable trends rather than, say, reading the newspaper:<\/p>\n

The great world and its doings go on unheeded by us, in our absorption in matters infinitesimally small. We fish for minnows and neglect our coral reefs \u2026 And yet the news of the universe, the latest discoveries in science, the newest tales of searchings among the stars, to say nothing of the doings of our own fellow creatures in the life of every day, should be of interest. But we think more of the party over the way, and the wedding round the corner. Is it not true, oh sisters?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

On the one hand, it\u2019s not undesirable for a Victorian woman with some influence to encourage reading and self-education. But clearly she\u2019s referring to her \u201csisters\u201d in equal or loftier socioeconomic classes: Humphry, like so many other Victorians, evinces little interest in empowering women of the working class. What\u2019s more, women were often condemned for acclimating to their prisons: while certainly intellectual curiosity varied\u2014not every Victorian woman was a Bront\u00eb sister or George Eliot\u2014it was a vastly uphill battle for women to procure the sort of education so readily available to men of a certain economic or social stature.<\/p>\n

It was also not uncommon for intellectual women to accuse others among their ranks of silliness. In 1856, George Eliot penned the scathing essay \u201cSilly Novels By Lady Novelists,\u201d wherein she derides\u2014with gusto\u2014the sort of literature written by her female contemporaries, arguing that it is frivolous, detached from reality, and altogether an indication of what the novel should not<\/em> be. Jane Austen delighted in the ridiculous social manners of men and women, although her critiques of women, in light of their often circumscribed opportunities, sometimes blistered with especial cruelty. And in this case, Mrs. Humphry castigates women of means for frittering away their days with dresses, parties, and wouldn\u2019t you know\u2014fiddling novels. Women, it seems, were enthusiastic about the wrong things precisely because they were coded as undeniably feminine. To edify oneself, according to Humphry, requires one to consider more sober goings-on. Not a deleterious endeavor on its own, but its purpose here is to teach women to behave so that they will be taken seriously by men, or shall we say, as serious as ever a man might have taken a woman in 1898 British high society.<\/p>\n

Perhaps, buried within the coils of internalized sexism, is Humphry\u2019s genuine desire for women to navigate a world that regards them as subordinate and foolish. Three decades prior, the American etiquette writer Florence Hartley undertook a different task, one that resembles Ella Adelia Fletcher\u2019s scrupulous methodology of behavioral micromanagement. In The Ladies\u2019 Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness<\/em> (1860), Hartley reminds women readers through every possible avenue that their primary object in all things is \u201ctrue politeness.\u201d And in the chapter \u201cPolite Deportment, and Good Habits,\u201d she delineates how politeness should manifest in a woman\u2019s every gesture, admonishing especially against exuberance and volume:<\/p>\n

Many ladies, moving, too, in good society, will affect a forward, bold manner, very disagreeable to persons of sense. They will tell of their wondrous feats, when engaged in pursuits only suited for men; they will converse in a loud, boisterous tone; laugh loudly; sing comic songs, or dashing bravuras in a style only fit for the stage or a gentleman\u2019s after-dinner party \u2026 It may be encouraged, admired, in their presence, by gentlemen, and imitated by younger ladies, but, be sure, it is looked upon with contempt, and disapproval by every one of good sense, and that to persons of real refinement it is absolutely disgusting.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Hartley\u2019s rhetorical maneuvers in this passage lean heavily on emotional manipulation. You may believe that others enjoy your company, that you are a social success, but everyone who matters, everyone whose approval you should<\/em> crave, finds you \u201cabsolutely disgusting.\u201d For, as she insinuates, this \u201cloud, boisterous\u201d behavior only suits women of questionable virtue, the so-called fallen women who often made their livings catering to rich men in after-hours. What we now refer to as slut-shaming Hartley deploys as a tactic of dissuasion: it\u2019s best to pipe down or else everyone will think you loose and skanky.<\/p>\n

But rather than merely dispense this warning against unwomanly conduct, Hartley offers guidelines that demand the most punishing regimens of self-monitoring. It is not enough to keep one\u2019s voice soft; every muscle must be trained to enact genial docility:<\/p>\n

Never gesticulate when conversing; it looks theatrical, and is ill-bred; so are all contortions of the features, shrugging of shoulders, raising of the eyebrows, or hands.<\/p>\n

When you open a conversation, do so with a slight bow and smile, but be careful not to simper, and not to smile too often, if the conversation becomes serious.<\/p>\n

Never point. It is excessively ill-bred.<\/p>\n

Avoid exclamations; they are in excessively bad taste, and are apt to be vulgar words. A lady may express as much polite surprise or concern by a few simple, earnest words, or in her manner, as she can by exclaiming \u201cGood gracious!\u201d \u201cMercy!\u201d or \u201cDear me!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2026<\/p>\n

Avoid a muttering, mouthing, stuttering, droning, guttural, nasal, or lisping, pronunciation.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

The list continues in a similarly\u2014and obsessively\u2014fastidious manner. At base, Hartley, Humphry, and Fletcher share a common assumption: women should not gab so much that these exacting rules for discourse are difficult to follow. Being \u201ccheerful\u201d as Humphry directs is by no means a state to be confused with an easy, relaxed attitude; although, if one practices the appearance of it enough, perhaps verisimilitude will suffice. Nineteenth-century women generally understood the constrictions of their milieu: they would not be regarded as men\u2019s equals no matter their accomplishments or character. Women of privilege, those born to families with wealth and status, knew that, at best, they could distinguish themselves as examples of genteel femininity. But to achieve this distinction demanded an unyielding suppression of too muchness\u2014of brash opinions and political fervor and heated emotions. After all, Victorian literary heroines like Middlemarch<\/em>\u2019s Dorothea Brooke were beloved for their gentle, not dispassionate, but certainly refined demeanors. Maggie Tulliver, from The Mill on the Floss<\/em>, and the most famous of chatterboxes, Anne Shirley, learn to lower their voices and quench their confabulation as they grow older. Most of Victorian literature\u2019s notoriously headstrong heroines, like Elizabeth Gaskell\u2019s Margaret Hale or Charlotte Bront\u00eb\u2019s Shirley Keeldar, could hardly be described as bombastic, though Shirley Keeldar, who is proud and difficult and sometimes deliciously rude, perhaps comes closest. To seize the tatters of respect and tolerance has always meant whittling ourselves into shapes that are legible and, above all, the easiest to swallow. And indeed: we\u2019ve been swallowed whole, consumed for centuries in our most palatable, pleasing forms. To live authentically, and thereby refuse this protracted social annihilation\u2014that\u2019s the aim.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Rachel Vorona Cote<\/a> publishes frequently in such outlets as <\/em>The New Republic, <\/em>Longreads, <\/em>Pitchfork, <\/em>Rolling Stone, <\/em>Literary Hub, <\/em>Catapult, the <\/em>Poetry Foundation, <\/em>Hazlitt, and the <\/em>Los Angeles Review of Books, where her essay on Taylor Swift and Victorian female friendship was one of the site\u2019s most popular essays in 2015. She was also previously a contributing writer at <\/em>Jezebel. Rachel holds a B.A. from the College of William and Mary and was A.B.D. in a doctoral program in English at the University of Maryland, studying and teaching the literature of the Victorian period. She and her husband live in Takoma Park, Maryland, just outside of Washington, D.C.<\/em><\/p>\n

Excerpted from <\/em>Too Much: How Victorian Constraints Still Bind Women Today<\/a>. Copyright \u00a9 2020 by Rachel Vorona Cote. Reprinted with permission of Grand Central Publishing. All rights reserved.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

If, as the old chestnut goes, Victorian children were to be seen and not heard, the guidelines for women of the era hardly differed.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1918,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[419],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-143209","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-arts-culture"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nOh, Do Tone It Down, Ladies by Rachel Vorona Cote<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"If, as the old chestnut goes, Victorian children were to be seen and not heard, the guidelines for women of the era hardly differed.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Oh, Do Tone It Down, Ladies by Rachel Vorona Cote\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"March 3, 2020 \u2013 If, as the old chestnut goes, Victorian children were to be seen and not heard, the guidelines for women of the era hardly differed.\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"The Paris Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2020-03-03T18:48:05+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2020-04-07T22:06:29+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/03\/toulmouche_bride.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"749\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Rachel Vorona Cote\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@parisreview\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@parisreview\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Rachel Vorona Cote\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"15 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Rachel Vorona Cote\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/d4a22eaca5d3ea2c7e8b59134c5b0575\"},\"headline\":\"Oh, Do Tone It Down, Ladies\",\"datePublished\":\"2020-03-03T18:48:05+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2020-04-07T22:06:29+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/\"},\"wordCount\":3066,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/03\/toulmouche_bride.jpg\",\"articleSection\":[\"Arts & Culture\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/\",\"name\":\"Oh, Do Tone It Down, Ladies by Rachel Vorona Cote\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/03\/toulmouche_bride.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2020-03-03T18:48:05+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2020-04-07T22:06:29+00:00\",\"description\":\"If, as the old chestnut goes, Victorian children were to be seen and not heard, the guidelines for women of the era hardly differed.\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/03\/toulmouche_bride.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/03\/toulmouche_bride.jpg\"},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Oh, Do Tone It Down, Ladies\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/\",\"name\":\"The Paris Review\",\"description\":\"The best prose, interviews, poetry, and art. Since 1953.\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization\",\"name\":\"The Paris Review\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png\",\"width\":696,\"height\":696,\"caption\":\"The Paris Review\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/\",\"https:\/\/x.com\/parisreview\",\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/parisreview\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/d4a22eaca5d3ea2c7e8b59134c5b0575\",\"name\":\"Rachel Vorona Cote\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/a85b3f85bbc5e64a59b4006f43c2bce67628e3c8120201bb8eb640cff0dcd3e8?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/a85b3f85bbc5e64a59b4006f43c2bce67628e3c8120201bb8eb640cff0dcd3e8?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Rachel Vorona Cote\"},\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/author\/rvoronacote\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Oh, Do Tone It Down, Ladies by Rachel Vorona Cote","description":"If, as the old chestnut goes, Victorian children were to be seen and not heard, the guidelines for women of the era hardly differed.","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Oh, Do Tone It Down, Ladies by Rachel Vorona Cote","og_description":"March 3, 2020 \u2013 If, as the old chestnut goes, Victorian children were to be seen and not heard, the guidelines for women of the era hardly differed.","og_url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/","og_site_name":"The Paris Review","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/","article_published_time":"2020-03-03T18:48:05+00:00","article_modified_time":"2020-04-07T22:06:29+00:00","og_image":[{"width":1000,"height":749,"url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/03\/toulmouche_bride.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Rachel Vorona Cote","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@parisreview","twitter_site":"@parisreview","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Rachel Vorona Cote","Est. reading time":"15 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/"},"author":{"name":"Rachel Vorona Cote","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/d4a22eaca5d3ea2c7e8b59134c5b0575"},"headline":"Oh, Do Tone It Down, Ladies","datePublished":"2020-03-03T18:48:05+00:00","dateModified":"2020-04-07T22:06:29+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/"},"wordCount":3066,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/03\/toulmouche_bride.jpg","articleSection":["Arts & Culture"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/","name":"Oh, Do Tone It Down, Ladies by Rachel Vorona Cote","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/03\/toulmouche_bride.jpg","datePublished":"2020-03-03T18:48:05+00:00","dateModified":"2020-04-07T22:06:29+00:00","description":"If, as the old chestnut goes, Victorian children were to be seen and not heard, the guidelines for women of the era hardly differed.","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/03\/toulmouche_bride.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/03\/toulmouche_bride.jpg"},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2020\/03\/03\/oh-do-tone-it-down-ladies\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Oh, Do Tone It Down, Ladies"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#website","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/","name":"The Paris Review","description":"The best prose, interviews, poetry, and art. Since 1953.","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#organization","name":"The Paris Review","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png","contentUrl":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/tpr-hadada-roundell-logo-square.png","width":696,"height":696,"caption":"The Paris Review"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/parisreview\/","https:\/\/x.com\/parisreview","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/parisreview"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/d4a22eaca5d3ea2c7e8b59134c5b0575","name":"Rachel Vorona Cote","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/a85b3f85bbc5e64a59b4006f43c2bce67628e3c8120201bb8eb640cff0dcd3e8?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/a85b3f85bbc5e64a59b4006f43c2bce67628e3c8120201bb8eb640cff0dcd3e8?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Rachel Vorona Cote"},"url":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/author\/rvoronacote\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/143209","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1918"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=143209"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/143209\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":144185,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/143209\/revisions\/144185"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=143209"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=143209"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=143209"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}