I’ve owned this old potato chip tin for many years. I acquired it from my grandmother, who made almost everything from scratch and used the can to store baking flour after having finished the chips sometime in the 1950s. Amidst the zany amalgamation of color, graphics and typography (including body text on the back set in Cooper Black) and downright astonishing health claims, there are so many things about this object that I enjoy, and a few that truly set it apart from equally charming but more conventional post-war packaging.
Let’s start with the name. The product—made by Nicolay-Dancey in Detroit—could just as easily have been named “Nic’s” or something equally generic. “New Era,” on the other hand, is decidedly modern and promises something bigger. It reveals the profound sense of optimism about science and technology (note “scientifically processed,” “on the alkaline side,” “science says,” “feast without fear” and even “hydrogenated vegetable shortening”) that would eventually lead to the popularity of such instant wonders as TV dinners, Tang®, and the curious phenomenon of frozen fish sticks.
And what does the future look like? Juxtaposed against a gigantic red snipe that contains the brand name is a female silhouette—notable for its posed, classical rendition of an idyllic figure that would have been rather slender for the time. She, a statue, stands poised amidst a group of active people engaged in all sorts of activities (tobogganing, fly fishing, diving, the usual)—all of whom are implicitly powered by a new “energy source” otherwise known as the potato chip. She is the matriarch of the New Era—able to provide her active family with a healthy, scientific diet while maintaining perfect posture. Trust me, she’s not planning on baking anything from scratch. If only she were smoking a cigarette. And perhaps she is; it’s just hidden behind that giant snipe.