#The 1921 Atlantic City Pageant’s main event kicked off with the rolling chair parade, where hundreds of flower-adorned floats and chairs rumbled down the boardwalk, the city’s bustling central artery. The floats represented businesses, amusements, and civic groups, from the Rotary Club to the Press-Union Company, the latter showcasing a nine-foot-long replica of the Atlantic City Daily Press with a headline announcing the pageant. The nearby town of Ventnor’s procession stretched an entire block, with the mayor at the front,
accompanied by the police and fire departments. The contestants, dressed as beauties, flaunted their charms in hopes of winning one of the many prizes that would be awarded later that evening at the crowning ceremony. Margaret Gorman, Miss Washington, DC, stood out in her gold-spangled dress and bronze-tinted shoes, bowing and smiling at cheering fans, while children threw flowers in her path.
#The 16-year-old had already made a splash earlier that morning in the Bathers’ Revue, where she and other contestants marched along a 1,300-foot stretch of beach, roped off and marked with flags. Gorman wore a modest taffeta swimsuit with a tiered skirt and knee-high stockings, drawing cheers for her “natty beach rig” and earning points, as public enthusiasm contributed to contestants’ scores. Other contestants wore one- and two-piece suits, with a few featuring skirts down to the knee, and one—Miss Pittsburgh—sporting pants ending above mid-thigh.
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They wore headbands to keep their hair in place, belts or scarves at the waist, and boots, flats, or low heels, posing for photos with feet apart or even planted six inches apart, a contrast to the later “pretty feet” stance. The smiles, too, were not yet a reflex. Photos show the contestants looking amused, relaxed, bored, impatient, distracted, or even stern—charmingly human, closer to children than the women they were expected to be.
#But something controversial was unfolding. The New York Times reported that during the Bathers’ Revue, “the censor ban on bare knees and skintight bathing suits was suspended and thousands of spectators gasped as they applauded the girls, who were judged on their shapeliness and carriage, as well as beauty of face.”
The exposure of bare knees was not only unusual, it was illegal. Atlantic City’s 1907 Mackintosh Law prohibited swimwear above four inches from the knee unless stockings were rolled up over the thigh to close the gap. “Beach cops” enforced this, telling offenders to “Roll ‘em up, sister” (men also had to cover their chests with tank tops). Bathing machines—mobile changing rooms that discreetly deposited women in woolen dresses into the ocean—had been retired by the turn of the century, but swimwear still didn’t have a clear standard. In 1907, champion swimmer Annette Kellerman had been arrested for indecency when she wore a one-piece swimsuit at Revere Beach in Massachusetts. Her design, made for speed and worn without bloomers, was braless, skirtless, and form-fitting—especially when wet—making it hard for many to accept.
#The local press erupted with letters to the mayor protesting the swimsuits worn at the Bathers’ Revue, but one doctor defended it, pointing out that swimming with stockings was more difficult than without them. The pageant committee, unsure of how to handle the newly liberated female body, did what they would do in future controversies: they missed the point entirely. While the “Annette Kellerman” one-piece was allowed, it was tolerated only as a symbol of beauty, not athleticism.
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That night, Steel Pier’s ballroom was packed with 2,000 spectators eagerly awaiting the winner’s announcement. The ceremony ran long, partly due to the many prizes given out, but mostly because of Gorman. She claimed both the amateur Bathers’ Revue and the Inter-City Beauty Contest, the two top prizes. The crowd erupted in a frenzy of cheers, forcing the host to repeatedly walk her out and reintroduce her to calm the audience.
#Gorman was crowned the most beautiful girl in America, receiving the Golden Mermaid trophy, a gilded mermaid on a teakwood base adorned with seashells, and a two-foot-tall silver “beauty urn” from Annette Kellerman herself. There was no crown—this winner was a mermaid, not a queen. She would be retroactively named Miss America. The pageant ended in the early hours when King Neptune, having delivered his beauty to the Jersey Shore, returned to the sea. Gorman’s entire trip cost her just 35 cents—the price of a collect telegram from a fan reading, “Congratulations. Don’t get stuck up.”