Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence, set in Manhattan in the “early 1870s,” begins with Christine Nilsson singing at the Academy of Music. The opera is Gounod's Faust. The “world of fashion” has assembled in the boxes. In their own eyes the embodiment of “New York,” the fashionables are prisoners of convention: Newland Archer arrives late because “it was ‘not the thing’ to arrive early at the opera; and what was or was not ‘the thing’ played a part as important in Newland Archer's New York as the inscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies of his forefathers thousands of years ago.” Newland takes his place among “all the carefully-brushed, white-waist coated, buttonhole-flowered gentlemen who succeeded each other in the club box, exchanged friendly greetings with him, and turned their opera glasses critically on the circle of ladies who were the product of the system.” That “the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-speaking audiences” seems “as natural to Newland Archer as all the other conventions on which his life was moulded: such as the duty of using two silver-baked brushes with his monogram in blue enamel to part his hair, and of never appearing in society without a flower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole.” The box opposite belongs to “old Mrs. Manson Mingott, whose monstrous obesity had long since made it impossible for her to attend the Opera.” It contains a surprise: the Countess Olenska. This finding is assessed by Laurence Lefferts; the “foremost authority of ‘form’ in New York,” he has devoted long hours to such questions as when to wear a black tie with evening clothes and the matter of pumps versus Oxfords for the feet. The countess is next appraised by Sillerton Jackson, as great an expert on “family” as Leffert is on form.

During gigantic urban revivals in 1875 and 1876, the Chicago-shoe-salesman-turned-religious-evangelist Dwight Lyman Moody set the northern United States ablaze with the fires of a great religious awakening. Over two million Americans of all Protestant affiliations attended his meetings in Brooklyn, Philadelphia, New York City, and Chicago. Although his popularity had been unrivalled, Moody worried about his campaign that would begin in Boston in 1877. To carry the day, he knew that he would need the help of “the New England women.” “What a power they would be,” Moody claimed. For this reason, he sought out Frances E. Willard, an up-and-coming female leader and temperance advocate. When the two met, the evangelist asked, “Will you go with me to Boston and help in the women's meetings?” After considering the invitation for several days, Willard agreed to join him. She did more than merely minister to women, however. On one occasion, as she recounted later, “Mr. Moody…placed my name upon his program” to “literally preach” to men and women. Willard wondered aloud if the sight of a woman preaching would shock the audience: “Brother Moody…, perhaps you will hinder the work among these conservatives.” Responding, Moody “laughed in his cheery way, and declared that ‘it was just what they needed.’”

When historians describe the American woman who served overseas with the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) during World War I, they typically fall back on generalizations. The American women who served “over there” were white, single, well-educated, and from an urban area of the Northeast or West Coast of the United States. Most were gainfully employed before going to Europe, holding a teaching, clerical, or other position suitable for respectable white women of that period. Frequently, they were financially independent and lived on their own. While such generalizations are valuable, their obvious drawback is that they obscure the diversity of women serving in specific organizations. Also, such generalizations can prove misleading when applied to any one organization; what might be true for a YMCA worker might be false for a telephone operator.