Buttons are like temporary tattoos!

You’ve probably worn a button at some point in your life. Folks wear them for all sorts of reasons: to state support for (or against) a political party or candidate, to proclaim membership in a group, to express an opinion, or to demonstrate “feels” for a pop-culture fandom, to name a few. Frequently, the goal is to shock and amuse simultaneously. Many buttons are intentionally obscure, with messages aimed at only a handful of strangers. While we can agree on what buttons are, most don’t know that they’re uniquely American.

They’re called “buttons,” because initially that’s what they were: buttons sewn to lapels to express support for a political candidate. The first known examples were made to promote George Washington as the first President. The button was similar to a coin (with his name, a Latin phrase, and his relief portrait stamped into metal) with a loop for stitching it onto fabric on the reverse. Washington’s supporters wore them on their coats at the First Inauguration in 1789. In February 2018, Heritage Auctions sold one, considered the Action Comics #1 of political buttons, for $225,000.

Buttons with mottos or sayings referring to a candidate continued to be worn in American politics until the Civil War. Perhaps the best-known example is the “O.K.” button, worn by supporters of Martin Van Buren for President in the 1840 election. “O.K.” was easier to read than “Van Buren”; it was short for his nickname, “Old Kinderhook.” Although it’s the first known appearance of O.K., Van Buren isn’t credited with originating the term, since he never used it to mean okay.

In the 1860 election, buttons featuring a photo of Abraham Lincoln were produced. The ambrotype was the “Cooper Union” portrait of Lincoln by Mathew Brady. It was set in an intricate metal frame with a straight pin back, more accurately called a brooch, and sold at that same auction for $35,000.

In 1892, Benjamin Whitehead devised a badge fronted by a sheet of clear celluloid behind which the wearer could slide a sheet of paper. Four years later, he patented the pinback button we all know today, allowing a button to be moved easily from one piece of clothing to another without stitching. Popular cartoon characters became obvious subjects for the inexpensively manufactured pinback button, enabling advertisers to step into the market once cornered by politicians. According to online sources, there were close to 150 different Yellow Kid button designs (based on the cartoon character by Richard Outcault) made in the late 1890s, hawking cigarettes to adults while appealing to children.

From the late 19th century through the 1930s, buttons were what we think of them as today: a piece of celluloid—later plastic—simultaneously wrapping and protecting a disc of paper, attaching it to a metal backing with a pin on it. Examples of these early pinback buttons turn up at the Elephant’s Trunk Flea Market, and the vendors selling them know how rare they are. These premiums were sometimes enclosed in bread and cereal packages or were available by mail for kids wanting to join a club they’d heard about on their favorite radio program. It’s up to collectors to decide what they’re willing to pay. Crossover interest between collectors’ fields can also drive up the price of certain buttons, since comic-book, Disney, advertising, political, old-car, Christmas, and memorabilia fans may find themselves vying for the same elusive 80+-year-old button.

Valerie seeks out ephemera from the 1930s and buys 1939 World’s Fair memorabilia when the condition and price are right. The Trylon and Perisphere are modern art symbols of tomorrow locked in the past. While the General Motors “I HAVE SEEN THE FUTURE” button is nice, the diminutive size and bold design makes the “I was there” button a personal favorite.

The paper insert in the back of the GM button reads: GENERAL MOTORS EXHIBIT, World’s Fair 1940 in New York. “Trylon” is a blend of “triangular” and “pylon.”

In 1945, when metal was available for commercial uses again, litho printing the artwork directly onto the metal pin substrate became popular. The colors weren’t as vibrant as the inks printed on white paper stock protected behind celluloid had been. Kellogg Company gave litho pinbacks away as premiums in boxes of Pep Cereal. Some Kellogg Pep buttons featured sayings and unit insignia of the World War II era.

Left: Navy Cruiser – Scouting Squadron – 2; Right: 27th Fighter Squadron

Until the 1960s, buttons were the province of commercial manufacturers. During the counterculture era, individuals started making their own, using a hand-operated version of the commercial button machine to make smaller batches to sell or give away. They were ubiquitous at 1970s parties.

Zander’s buttons from the early 80s, given the Empire Strikes Back reference.

The pinback button is an application of the First Amendment’s freedom of speech. If you can put it on paper, you can put it on a button. One exception to this is that ordinary citizens are not allowed to copy political-candidate campaign buttons. Other than that, have fun!

Valerie spent too much for a sandwich bag of hippie-era buttons from a flea market when she was in college. They were among the first things we sold when we started selling as Unusual Offerings at Elephant’s Trunk Flea Market. It took a couple weeks before we figured out how to display them properly. We were often surprised by who bought what button. Many with messages that hadn’t aged well were among the first sold.

Excuse the terrible photo, but this is the only picture we have of our groovy buttons. We put the objectionable ones on the back. Unsurprisingly, perhaps, those were among the first sold. We eventually displayed them in antique madeleine tins, which worked far better than the 1960s-era towel pinned to an unwieldy piece of foam core.

Although we seldom wear buttons these days, there are still dozens commemorating undying love of Rocky Horror Picture Show or punk rock squirreled away in keepsake boxes around the house. We’d love to hear about your favorite buttons in the comments, including any conversations with strangers you’ve had as a result of wearing one!

As a fan of The Onion in the 90s, we stayed away from wearing its logo buttons, as the publication gained popularity, favoring the more obscure examples in the top left, instead. When Valerie’s brother left The Onion and joined the NPR family, her loyalty transferred with him.

#Buttons