In the beginning, marketing informed customers about products. An 1871 ad simply said, “WM. Smith, Manufacturer of Patent Water Closets and Dealer in Plumbers’ Materials.” Now, these are fine dunnies. But that headline doesn’t make you feel anything inside.

The industry realised facts weren’t enough. They began to play on feelings—be happier, be wealthier, be more attractive, be more popular—positioning their products as solutions.

Lucky Strike ran one of the first advertising campaigns to target women. 1920s flapper fashions, designed for flat figures, had left upper and middle-class American women chasing slimness. The President of the American Tobacco Company, George Washington Hill, poured petrol on the fire. “Reach for a Lucky instead of a sweet” positioned nicotine products as women's little helper in the quest to lose weight.

The packet is tantalisingly half-open. The quotation marks imply a testimonial: this is the helpful recommendation of a friend. And of course, renowned showgirl “Miss Jean Ackerman, of Ziegfeld’s success ‘Whoopee’” and French couturier Paul Poiret legitimise weight loss via smoking as the done thing to do. The campaign increased Lucky Strike’s market share by over 200%. And propelled it to the best-selling brand until the 1950s.

Smoking might curb cravings. But it also kills you. Luckily, tapping into women’s emotions doesn’t have to be so dark.

In the 1950s, the typical Australian housewife spent an average 77.5 hours per week doing housework. 1953’s Housekeeping After Office Hours by Charlotte Adams lists an exhausting schedule including “rise two hours before going to work”, “polish silver, brass and copper”, “set table”, “wash dishes”, “empty ash trays and trash.” Of course, the family laundry was also the woman’s responsibility.

To sell Simpson washers, ads sold appliances as modern day miracles. Our perfectly made-up protagonist positively swoons over the shiny new machine. No less than four exclamation marks capture her excitement. Descriptions like “fully automatic” and “completely automatic” emphasise the product as freeing women from household drudgery.

There was nothing subtle about these headlines. They hit women (as we say today) right in the feels. “Who wouldn’t want to end it all?” empathises one ad, as the woman swoons over a giant laundry basket.

Maybe a 1950s woman had visions of walking out on her demanding family. “The completely automatic Simpson washer that lets you walk out on your washing” was the next best thing.

Boxed cake mixes were a Depression-era invention. Pittsburgh molasses company P. Duff and Sons wanted to use up surplus product, so they dehydrated it and combined it with flour, sugar and dried egg. But that doesn’t sound very appetising, does it?

So Pillsbury launched the first ever choc cake mix in 1948. At first, ads sold consistency, speed and convenience. “I guarantee a perfect cake every time you bake.” “Make it yourself in just 4 minutes.” And my personal favourite, "It’s a speedy way to make a man say 'Ah!'"

When sales started sliding like frosting in summer, psychologist Ernest Dichter surveyed 1950s American women. He said, Aha! Women feel guilty for not contributing more to the cake’s success.

Advertising pivoted. Now, women were encouraged to think of themselves as the masterful co-creator. “Remember—you and Ann Pillsbury can make a great team”, winks one tagline. Baking cakes from the premix was just one step in the process: ads helpfully suggested women decorate cakes to make them truly their own.

“Who… me?” “Could I?” “How’s your reputation?” “Don’t you… Won’t you?” “A gifted gal.” Pillsbury’s headlines are short, sharp and pump up even the worst Masterchef. The body copy is strangely sensory. “Give your family a thrill that they can feel right down to the tips of their toes.” (That's some powerful arvo tea.) The image is sloppily achievable. Even if a few walnuts are out of place, the woman shopper can still make a cake with “tender deliciousness” and "sumptuous come-hither”.