A 1935 Selfie Obsession: Before Instagram, a Brooklyn Man Crafted His Image
Fifteen years after the launch of Instagram, a remarkable discovery reveals a strikingly modern phenomenon was flourishing nearly a century earlier: the selfie. A trove of photographs unearthed from family archives showcases Eli Fuchs, a young man in 1930s Brooklyn, meticulously constructing and capturing his own image, anticipating the self-presentation that defines the digital age.
The story began with a recent visit to his mother’s home in New Jersey, where the author stumbled upon “dozens of selfies” taken by his grandfather, Eli Fuchs, during the 1930s and 40s. These weren’t casual snapshots; they were carefully staged, ranging from “funny ones” to “flagrantly thirst-trappy ones,” revealing a surprisingly self-aware and image-conscious individual.
Eli Fuchs, as remembered by his son, was a reserved man who spent much of his adult life as an employee of the federal government at the Raritan Arsenal in Middlesex County. There, he designed and oversaw the production of posters, manuals, and booklets for the U.S. Army. However, this seemingly unassuming exterior concealed a vibrant artistic side. He was a gifted painter and photographer, even creating a portrait of his grandson as a child, albeit one undercut by the subject’s “goofy white seventies T-shirt.” He was also, by all accounts, a bit of a rebel, subscribing to Playboy and even taking “cheesecake shots and nudes” of his wife, Tessie.
But it is the selfies that truly astonish. The author notes the serendipitous timing, coinciding with the 15th anniversary of Apple’s iPhone 4 – the first smartphone with a front-facing camera – and the subsequent launch of Instagram in October 2010. These innovations democratized self-portraiture, offering immediacy and the potential for widespread attention.
Eli Fuchs, however, operated in a world devoid of such conveniences. His self-portraits were laborious undertakings. Early attempts clearly involved the use of a mirror and careful consideration of available light, followed by the painstaking process of film development. As the author’s mother, now 90, recalls, Eli maintained a dedicated darkroom, “with trays holding all sorts of different solvents,” and a makeshift drying line for his prints.
He later acquired a shutter-release cable, eliminating the need for a mirror, and eventually a 35-mm camera, allowing for greater portability. By the 1940s, Eli’s confidence in his appearance had visibly grown. Photos from this period depict a more filled-out physique, pomaded hair, and a stylish, pencil-thin mustache reminiscent of Clark Gable. The earlier “mugging” for the camera had given way to more posed and idealized images – lounging shirtless in a hammock, sporting a dapper suit with a boutonnière, or adopting an “about the author” pose. He even employed both the shutter-release cable and a mirror, subtly adjusting his gaze to check his reflection.
One particularly revealing series shows Eli dressed in a plaid oxford shirt and necktie, cycling through expressions – a sly grin, a cheeky wink – before removing his shirt and “sucking in” his stomach. Adding to the intrigue, some of these shoots weren’t solitary endeavors. The author recalls a photograph of his five-year-old mother standing behind Eli, dutifully pressing the shutter-clicker while he posed in his boxer briefs.
What’s most striking, the author argues, is the resonance between Eli’s early self-portraits and those of today. His motivation wasn’t artistic expression, akin to Rembrandt or Frida Kahlo. He possessed the skill for such endeavors, as evidenced by an elegant ink-wash self-portrait hanging in the author’s office. Rather, Eli Fuchs was simply a “young Brooklyn dude trying to create an idealized image of himself—to picture himself as a star.”
The author’s mother remembers Eli being self-conscious about his “hook nose,” a term that carried significant weight and, unfortunately, antisemitic connotations during that era. The author points to the prevalence of such derogatory language in James T. Farrell’s “Studs Lonigan” trilogy, where Jewish characters were frequently referred to with slurs. This detail adds a poignant layer to Eli’s self-portraiture, suggesting a desire to counteract negative perceptions and present a carefully curated image to the world.
