How the bicycle set women free against a tide of petty outrage.
What if I told you that women riders outnumbered men at the Philadelphia Cycling Classic this summer? No lie — they made up more than half of the entire professional starting grid! And yet, at one time in our not-too-distant history, serious people debated whether or not the fair sex should even ride bicycles.
For polite society of the late 1800’s, there seemed no end to the ways these free-wheeling machines could spoil a good woman’s health, beauty, and character. Middle class sensibilities were not ready for women who could come and go on their own. Bring on the concern trolls! Among the day’s more sensational cautions was a disturbing new condition that could afflict even the most casual rider: bicycle face.
Symptoms varied depending on who you asked, but basically, the strain of balancing and pedaling ravaged a woman’s delicate features. The wind! The sweat! The mental stress! If she’s not careful, they warned, the damage could be permanent. She’ll wind up looking pinched, haggard, and less attractive to men forever.
There were other risks, too. “Cyclist’s hump,” for instance, was an irreversible skeletal deformity brought on by vigorous hunching over handlebars. Some sources claimed that breathing hard while moving fast could cause a woman to lose her voice, and that the vibrations of the bike frame disrupted menstrual regularity.
To hear them tell it, with every bump in her path, a woman’s “organs of matrimonial necessity” ping-ponged around her pelvic region like balls in a bingo cage. As if roadsides everywhere were littered with stray ovaries shaken loose by careless women going wherever they please. 👀👀👀
How dare they.
Good to Go
Bicycles had been around in various forms for decades, but early versions weren’t quite ready for prime time. The penny-farthing for example was a cultural sensation, but impractical for most people. Its towering design lifted riders many feet off the ground, where a sudden stop could hurl them over the handlebars, quite often to their death. The “safety bicycle” changed all that.
Invented in 1885, it’s the bike we all know today, that little kids have learned to ride for generations. Suddenly, cycling wasn’t a daredevil hobby but a trusty mode of transportation. Women took to it in droves. The bicycle offered a whole new scale of freedom: twenty or thirty miles in any direction they wanted to go.
A lady with a bike could visit friends, explore the countryside, take a class or volunteer or <gasp> work a job for pocket money. Bicycles offered women the thrill of self-reliance: she didn’t need coach fare or a chaperone, she could simply get on her wheels and roll. As far as her whims could take her.
Of course, all this newfound freedom was a big deal for half the population. Headlines of the day should’ve been cheering: Congratulations, ladies! On you go. Enjoy yourselves.
But no. Instead, things got weird.
For Shame
Everyone knew side-saddle was the only way for a decent woman to ride a mount. But then along comes this steed of steel with pedals that required the legs to <gasp again!> separate. With one leg on either side of the machine, a taut leather saddle pressed against this most sensitive part of the female anatomy, raising eyebrows and all kinds of questions about propriety.
For the patriarchy of the time, that sexy saddle was a real sticking point. A whole cottage industry popped up, hawking “hygienic” bike seats designed with cutouts around certain suspected pressure points, and ventilation to prevent overheating. Special shapes were proffered as well, to curb untoward stimulation of the nether regions. 😎
Plot twist: a lot of these designs were unintentionally ergonomic. Standard seats at the time were clunky things usually made of wood. Riding could be quite painful. These padded, contoured options were much more comfortable. Ironically, they allowed women to ride longer and farther than ever, feeding cultural panic.
Conservative commentators wrung their hands over how the bicycle pulled women from their “domestic sphere,” threatening to destroy the family unit. Women, apparently, lacked the mental faculties to navigate busy roads, and anti-cycling leagues even petitioned for speed limits just for women.
Pick-me gals of the era piled on. Charlotte Smith, president of the Woman’s Rescue League, breathlessly bashed the bicycle as “the devil’s advance agent” and warned that cycling was swelling the ranks of “reckless girls” who would eventually join the “standing army of outcast women.”
Oh no! What would become of these rogue hussies, flaunting their liberation? They’d keep riding, of course. And change the rules to suit their new-found independence. First up: fashion.
It’s Giving… Rebellion
Whalebone corsets supported the body from pits to hips — great for holding up layers of heavy skirts, but for cycling? Not so much. Women turned to waist-length cotton camisoles with elastic panels for extra give. They’d button into knee-length split drawers for full coverage. But realistically who’s looking at underwear?
Skirts, however, were another story. Designs were streamlined, shedding much of the bulk of hoops and petticoats. Lighter hems could be weighted with sewn-in lead or coins to help keep them down on the move. Hems got scandalously shorter, to the ankle or mid-calf.
The real trendsetters, though, were wearing bloomers aka “Turkish trousers” that puffed out from the waist and ended at the knee. Not for the faint of heart, just the sight of a woman wearing them could cause a literal mob to break out.
Less daring ladies could don secret pants instead. These “divided skirts” featured a center split hidden by pleats (like a giant skort). There were also convertible skirts you could discreetly lift and lower by pulley! Such outfits were paired with practical, adjustable-laced boots.
These cycle-centric solutions essentially birthed modern sportswear. Back then it was called “rational dress,” which was all about useful, sensible clothing as the occasion called for. The mass appeal of bike riding helped normalize a more fluid, less fussy silhouette in contrast to rigid Victorian conventions.
An Uphill Battle
Uh-oh. As women grew more comfortable moving about the world, they got bolder. They started speaking out against the public harassment they faced, and demanding police protection. When cafés and hotels refused service to unchaperoned or inappropriately attired lady cyclists, they rallied for a woman’s legal rights as a paying customer.
They questioned long-standing inequalities and double standards with the confidence that comes from traveling miles on your own propulsion. They canvassed for voice in government, riding together from town to town with “Votes for Women” banners strapped to their frames, and baskets full of suffrage literature on their handlebars.
By the turn of the century, this spirit of independence and equality had a name: the New Woman. She was educated, active, self-reliant and increasingly unwilling to organize her whole life around marriage and motherhood. Cartoonists portrayed her smoking, reading trash novels, and flashing her ankles in broad daylight. Very often, she had a bike with her. And a defiant smile on her face.
If you saw her today, she’d blend right in. But it wasn’t that long ago that she pedaled through shame, lies, and ridicule so the rest of us can ride free.
SORE WINNERS
Hell hath no fury like an entitled man.
Men! In 1897, the male students of Cambridge University basically lost their minds over a simple question: should women who complete the same coursework and pass the same exams as their male classmates earn the same degrees? At the time, women were permitted to study there but were awarded only “certificates of completion” instead of diplomas.
Equal recognition for equal work? Absurd. Big strong men were accustomed to being smarter than the ladies with their silly little brains. A woman with real academic cred would challenge that. How much could a fellow’s degree be worth, if someone without a proper penis could get one? Perish the thought!
When the issue came to a vote, nearly 20,000 men packed the square outside to mock and heckle the proposal. Among banners reading “Varsity for Men,” and “Frustrate the Feminine Fanatics,” the bros rolled out the star of the show: a grotesque, life-sized likeness of a New Woman.
Of course she was riding a bike. She wore big blue bloomers and clownishly stripped stockings, with her legs spread like a man’s across the frame. Her hair was slutty red and it was clear she wasn’t wearing a corset. The crowd below her, a sea of men armed with fireworks, confetti, and rotten eggs (still archived today in the University’s library).
When the news finally came that the women had lost by nearly three to one, the streets erupted in celebration. Like Eagles fans after a Super Bowl win, their joy and relief spilled over into violence lasting well into the night.
The mob smashed store windows and fired rockets through them. They tore down gas lamps and uprooted street signs. They ripped away shop doors and window shutters to feed a big bonfire in Market Square that grew so out of control a fire brigade was needed to put it out.
Their New Woman effigy got a special send-off: yanked down, decapitated, stripped naked, and torn limb to limb. The men then paraded the mangled form through the streets to the closest women’s college, where they stuffed the headless remains through the gates, evidently as some kind of threat to the students inside.
The ladies, meanwhile, were unimpressed. “After all, they are but boys,” seniors told The Westminster Review, “And not all are gentlemen.” By the time it was over, the damage ran to hundreds of pounds — roughly $45,000 to $100,000 today. None of the rioters faced any fines or other consequences.
A similar riot occurred in 1921, but instead of ripping a female figure to pieces they staged a mock funeral for “The Last Male Undergraduate” before battering the gates of the same women’s college and causing more destruction.
Women would not become full members of the university until 1948.
TO THE LIGHTHOUSE
The tale of a trailblazing Philadelphia landmark. 🚲🛶✊
At the end of Boathouse Row, where Kelly Drive bends along the river, sits a single, shingled Colonial Revival with one impossible-to-miss feature: a lighthouse. There’s nothing else like it in the city, sitting this far inland with a house around it.
Of course, there’s a story here. Sedgeley Club began in 1897, when Margaret Corlies and a group of Philly women founded the “Bicycle, Barge and Canoe Club,” the first all-women’s boating, rowing, and cycling club in the world. It quickly outgrew its Center City home, and by 1902 the women were asking to build along the Schuylkill with the other clubs — only to be flatly denied.
Undeterred, the women pulled every string they could, and within months the Park Commissioners relented.
There was one catch: their new clubhouse would have to include Turtle Rock Lighthouse, which had stood on the site since 1887 and, frankly, was a lot of upkeep that the City was only too happy to unload. The women agreed to take over the lighthouse’s care, and erected what became the first women’s clubhouse — and the last one built — on Boathouse Row.
Architect Arthur Brockie pulled off a brilliant design trick by wrapping a cozy country cottage completely around the existing stone tower. The result was a stunning layout where the lighthouse erupts directly through the roof, and the glass-walled dining room practically hovers over the Schuylkill. Inside, rich, natural wood paneling and the tower’s exposed brick masonry instantly soften the building’s quirky footprint, warming up the grand historic space.
Sedgeley Club today is still going strong with tours, book clubs, fundraisers, and other seasonal events as well as private parties. See their website for more details or to schedule a look.
📐Groovy Geometry: The lighthouse (c. 1887) tops out in a hexagonal lantern room surrounded by an octagonal walkway. Getting there requires a cement spiral, a narrow ladder, then iron steps embedded directly into the brick wall. No it is not safe to climb.
📍 Sedgeley Club / Turtle Rock Lighthouse
15 Kelly Drive, at the upriver end of Boathouse Row
sedgeleyclub.org | friendsofhistoricsedgeley.org
RIDE LIKE A GIRL
Turns out, that’s pretty damn fast.
A decade before the Classic returned, East Falls had a front-row seat. This August, the race came roaring back.
The women’s race had extra star power this year: Italian Olympic gold medalist Chiara Consonni was one of the marquee names, ultimately taking the title in a dramatic photo finish. Among the riders giving chase were five women with a hometown connection: KRT QRT (“Kings/Queens Rule Together”). Founded in NW Philly just seven years ago by cycling novices, QRT has blown past expectations. Their elite women’s pro program is barely two years old, yet there they were racing wheel-to-wheel with the sport’s global heavyweights.
Cheers to QRT’s rising stars. Congratulations, ladies. On you go.
“Let me tell you what I think of bicycling. I think it has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world.” ~ Susan B. Anthony (1896).
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