In this 1884 Puck cover, artist Bernhard Gillam ridicules political posturing through a would-be statesman styled as a Don Quixote–like wandering knight. Mounted on horseback and draped in banners of empty “issues,” he charges forward on spectacle alone, while his page staggers behind beneath the weight of slogans and props.
The cartoon reduces politics to performance. Substance gives way to display, and ambition is armored with noise rather than ideas. Through exaggerated costume and mock-heroic pose, Puck exposes how Gilded Age politics often rewarded theatrics over responsibility—a joke that still lands.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
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In this August 10, 1887 Puck cover by Joseph Keppler, a political matron labeled “Ohio” physically pushes John Sherman forward, presenting him less as an independent candidate than as a managed figure. In the background, a bored party official leans from a window marked “Endorsement,” signaling support without effort or conviction.
The cartoon treats politics as theater. Sherman is staged, endorsements are routine, and public life is reduced to performance. Through exaggerated gesture and visible control, Puck suggests that machine politics replaced genuine democratic choice with choreography.
Real ink. Real artists. Real archives. Revived for a democracy worth defending.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
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In this 1887 Puck satire by Louis M. Dalrymple, a small political figure is dragged helplessly down the street by a monstrous kettle labeled Notoriety, with the strap of Excommunication snapping behind it. It’s a sharp visual jab at the way public scandal takes on a life of its own, exposing how institutions—especially religious ones—often use moral condemnation to inflate minor controversies into full-blown spectacles.
The cartoon skewers the mechanics of power: the frenzy of notoriety, the theatrics of punishment, and the eagerness of authorities to weaponize shame. More than a century later, the dynamic is as familiar as ever.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Blank | 5x7 in.
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This 1889 Judge magazine cover illustrated by Victor Gillam turns the autumn elections into a baseball showdown—one where the Republican Party can’t keep its head in the game. The elephant at the plate, dressed in full GOP uniform, is surrounded by opponents ready to capitalize on every mistake, while the caption warns that the party is playing so carelessly it risks being “struck out.” It’s classic Gilded Age political satire: sharp, funny, and brutally honest about how complacency and corruption undermine a democracy. Over a century later, the message still holds—authoritarian movements thrive when the party in power stops playing by the rules and starts taking voters for granted.
A perfect piece of authentic resistance art from 1889—real ink, real artists, real archives.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Blank | 5x7 in.
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Santa Claus in a Quandary appeared in Judge Magazine during the height of the Gilded Age fights over the Republican “spoils system.” Here, President Benjamin Harrison—drawn by Bernhard Gillam as a weary Santa—staggers under the weight of impossible political demands, while party bosses Platt and Foraker lurk in the trees demanding their cut of federal appointments. The oversized basket labeled “Fill her right up or you are another political failure” nails the point: corruption wasn’t subtle, it was expected. Judge’s artists used holiday whimsy to expose a very real political rot—how patronage, party pressure, and back-room dealmaking strangled the public interest.
More than a century later, the dynamic is painfully familiar: authoritarian movements thrive when loyalty matters more than competence and when political bosses treat democracy like a gift bag to divide among themselves.
A sharp piece of historical resistance art, perfect for anyone who believes good governance beats corruption every time.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Blank | 5x7 in.
Published on December 23, 1891, this Puck cover lampoons one of the most dreaded editorial rituals of the era: slogging through the president’s annual message. An exhausted editor battles a never-ending scroll of dry facts, figures, and political boilerplate, scissors in hand, condemned to cut it down for readers who no longer care to read it at all.
The cartoon nails the disconnect between political leaders who produce grand, verbose statements and the people tasked with making sense of them. Bureaucratic drama piles up while the public tunes out, leaving editors, journalists, and ordinary citizens overwhelmed by noise instead of clarity.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
This 1891 Judge illustration by Grant E. Hamilton captures the fatigue of political journalism during an era dominated by endless stump speeches and partisan rhetoric. Inside the editorial office of a Democratic newspaper, a weary editor is buried beneath towering piles of speeches from President Benjamin Harrison, each tied to cities across the country. At his side stands a caricatured Harrison figure hauling armfuls of encyclopedias, a visual jab at how heavily the president relied on prepared, scripted addresses.
Judge uses humor here to highlight a familiar tension: the struggle of editors to interpret, critique, and keep pace with an overwhelming political message machine. The image reflects a broader frustration with formulaic political communication and the drudgery of campaigning in the late nineteenth century.
Drawn from an issue preserved in the archives, this journal offers a snapshot of American political satire at a moment when newspapers served as the primary arena for national debate. A distinctive companion for notes, writing, or everyday planning.
Metal spiral binding | Interior document pocket | Ruled | 6x8 in.
In this 1891 Judge cartoon illustrated by Victor Gillam, Grover Cleveland appears as a showy jackdaw parading in borrowed peacock feathers—each labeled with a different state election. The joke is simple and brutal: a politician trying to claim victories he didn’t actually win.
More than a century later, the image lands with the same force. American politics is still full of figures who take credit for other people’s work, rewrite outcomes to suit their narrative, and strut like winners no matter what the truth is. If anything, today’s authoritarian-leaning politicians have perfected this move—declaring triumph where there was none, spinning losses into “stolen victories,” and treating democratic processes as props for personal glory.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Blank | 5x7 in.
In this 1891 Judge cover by Bernhard Gillam, titled “The Duet of the Saint and the Sinner,” a monk and a court jester—moral opposites by design—attempt to play from the same sheet of music. The pairing is deliberately absurd: sanctity and spectacle staged side by side, forced into a single performance.
The joke is visual and direct. Harmony is announced rather than achieved, and agreement appears as display rather than order. By setting the saint and the sinner together, Gillam turns cooperation into farce, suggesting that unity proclaimed across incompatible roles is more theater than governance.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
In this 1891 Judge cartoon, Victor Gillam depicts a parade of political insiders trudging through the snow toward the gates of “Miss Columbia,” only to find a sign that reads: “Not at home this year.” The message was sharp then and sharper now—when corruption, entitlement, and backroom influence start lining up for their usual privileges, a healthy democracy has every right to slam the gate shut.
This artwork poked fun at the power brokers who thought the nation owed them access. Today, it reads like a reminder that the republic belongs to the people, not to the grifters, deal-makers, and would-be authoritarians who keep trying to sneak in through the side door.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Blank | 5x7 in.
This sweeping two-page Puck illustration captures the full energy and contradiction of American public life in the early 1890s. Joseph Keppler fills the scene with a dense crowd of characters—politicians, immigrants, performers, soldiers, photographers, and everyday strivers—each animated under the shade of two large trees by the water. The composition unfolds as a lively panorama of humor, ambition, and social tension, rendered with Puck’s characteristic blend of mischief and sharp observation.
At first glance, it resembles a festive gathering. Look closer and it becomes a commentary on how national myths are staged, who participates in the civic spectacle, and how easily public enthusiasm spills into disorder. Keppler’s work has a way of exposing the performance of power with clarity and wit.
Drawn from an original issue preserved in the archives, this journal carries forward the color, movement, and crowded storytelling of one of Puck’s most ambitious ensemble scenes. A distinctive companion for notes, ideas, or daily reflections.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Blank | 5x7 in.
Published in July 1896 in Judge, this large-format cartoon anticipates imperial conflict before it arrives, responding directly to the Venezuelan Question while widening its critique to empire more broadly. European powers and the United States appear as caricatured figures advancing with official statements rather than weapons, as a dark shadow stretches between them, signaling consequences already in motion.
Drawn by Grant E. Hamilton, the image targets rhetoric instead of combat. Authority speaks in proclamations, but the direction of power is already visible. Appearing nearly two years before the Spanish-American War, the cartoon reflects a strain of American satire skeptical of expansionist logic and the claims used to justify it.
Original illustration from an 1896 issue of Judge, preserved as an archival artifact of anti-imperial dissent.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
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This 1897 Puck cover turns a Fourth of July celebration into a visual complaint. Louis M. Dalrymple’s Uncle Sam struggles to light a rocket labeled “Prosperity,” while dark storm clouds marked “Tariff for Trusts” gather overhead. The scene suggests a holiday weighed down by economic policy rather than lifted by it.
The satire is blunt and symbolic. National optimism sputters as protection and monopoly overshadow public benefit. By staging celebration under threatening skies, Puck frames prosperity as something promised but difficult to launch—especially when burdened by the interests it is meant to restrain.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
Published in Puck during the Spanish–American War, this 1898 cartoon by Louis M. Dalrymple critiques the growing power of yellow journalism to intrude on political decision-making. President William McKinley reviews his war plans as a sensationalist press figure—labeled “Yellow Journalism War Plan”—forces himself through the window, embodying media pressure disguised as public demand.
Rather than celebrating conflict, the image warns how manufactured outrage and spectacle can push a nation toward war. Drawn from the original pages of Puck, it remains a pointed reminder of how easily propaganda can overtake restraint.
Metal spiral binding | Interior document pocket | Ruled | 6x8 in.
This 1915 cover from La Baïonnette, illustrated by Louis Renéfer, turns aerial warfare into bitter farce. As soldiers fire wildly at unseen planes, civilians scatter in panic—children, women, and bystanders caught in the absurd logic of modern war. The original caption reassures onlookers, “Don’t be afraid… they don’t kill civilians,” a line made brutally ironic by the chaos unfolding below.
French wartime satire at its sharpest, exposing how easily civilians become collateral in the name of progress.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
Drawn by Léonnec for a 1915 issue of La Baïonnette, this illustration shifts attention away from the battlefield to a private moment inside a hospital ward. A nurse, still in uniform, pauses to adjust her stockings, her posture poised between fatigue and composure.
The caption frames the contrast directly: public heroism versus private vulnerability. Decorated service and daily strain sit side by side, rendered with gentle humor rather than mockery. By focusing on an unguarded gesture, La Baïonnette captures the human cost of wartime service without spectacle.
Metal spiral binding | Front illustration and dark grey back cover | Interior document pocket | 6x8 in.
Drawn by Sobek for a 1915 wartime issue of La Baïonnette, this interior illustration shows a nurse paused while reading a letter from the front. Her posture is steady, but her expression carries the weight of fatigue and restraint.
The caption supplies the dark irony: the soldier writes that he has received both a medal and grievous injury at once. Understatement collides with brutality. With minimal gesture and muted tone, the image exposes the human cost of war through stillness rather than spectacle.
Metal spiral binding | Front illustration and dark grey back cover | Interior document pocket | 6x8 in.
Illustrated by Louis Icart, this 1915 La Baïonnette cartoon punctures the superstition and bravado that often accompany war. A uniformed officer tumbles helplessly through the air, clutching his “lucky charm” as weapons, symbols, and personal effects scatter above the battlefield below. The joke is blunt and unsparing: talismans, rituals, and authority offer no protection once violence takes over.
Like much of La Baïonnette’s wartime satire, the image refuses heroic consolation, exposing how easily faith in symbols collapses under real conditions of war.
Metal spiral binding | Interior document pocket | Ruled | 6x8 in.
This 1916 page from La Baïonnette, illustrated by Jacques Nam, presents a compact allegory of wartime transformation. In the upper panel, Médor lies at ease, a domestic companion guarding private virtue. Below, the same dog stands alert and watchful, recast as a sentinel of national duty. The caption makes the shift explicit: “Before, I guarded Ninette’s virtue. Now, I guard the honor of France.”
Simple and striking, the image reflects how war quietly redraws the boundaries between private life and public obligation. Loyalty, once personal and familiar, is redefined as a national resource. Without depicting battle or heroics, the cartoon captures the moral logic of total war, where even everyday symbols are pressed into service.
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Designed by Lucien-Henri Weiluc for a 1916 issue of La Baïonnette, this cover condenses wartime censorship into a single, exaggerated gesture. A wide-eyed figure presses a finger to her lips beneath the command Taisez-vous! Méfiez-vous!—“Keep quiet. Be careful.”
The image turns instruction into satire. Silence becomes performative, caution exaggerated, and vigilance visibly anxious. With distortion and direct address, La Baïonnette captures how censorship on the home front seeped into everyday expression, shaping speech through fear as much as decree.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
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This 1916 La Baïonnette illustration by Sacha Zaliouk presents a lineup of “undesirables”: financiers, profiteers, and political operators rendered as exposed heads, stripped of setting and pretense. Each face is isolated and economically drawn, inviting recognition rather than explanation.
The satire relies on accumulation. No single figure dominates; together they form a type—the familiar human inventory of wartime corruption. The original caption openly wishes that the winds of war might rid society of them for good, turning caricature into judgment rather than humor.
Revived now as a reminder that corruption never really disappears, but history always keeps the receipts.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5.75×8 in.
Illustrated by Fabien Fabiano in January 1917, this La Baïonnette cover captures a quieter side of the First World War. A decorated French soldier smiles while holding a small portrait of a woman—treated less as a keepsake than as a lucky charm.
Titled Fétiches et Mascottes, the image reflects how wartime culture encouraged soldiers to carry talismans and symbolic objects as emotional stabilizers. Affection becomes portable; intimacy is reduced to an image meant to steady men amid industrial violence.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled
Illustrated by Jacques Nam, this January 10, 1917 centerpiece from La Baïonnette assembles a loose inventory of the fetishes, mascots, and symbolic figures that circulated through the French army during the First World War. Animals, caricatures, and objects appear side by side, each labeled or implied as a bearer of meaning, luck, or morale.
Rather than depicting combat or command, the image treats superstition and symbolism as ordinary features of wartime life. Official insignia, private rituals, and humorous stand-ins occupy the same visual space, without hierarchy or emphasis.
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
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WHY THIS OBJECT EXISTS
During the First World War, satire became one of the few public ways to speak plainly about power, bureaucracy, and survival. This image belongs to that moment. Owning it isn’t about nostalgia for Chaplin or caricature — it’s about keeping a visual language of dissent present in everyday life.
WHAT YOU’RE BUYING
An archival illustration adapted for practical use. Not decorative. Not neutral. Meant to be handled, written in, and lived with.
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This 1917 cover from La Baïonnette introduces Pierre-Henri Cami’s satirical feature “Charlot correspondant de Guerre,” a wartime send-up of Charlie Chaplin’s iconic screen persona. The original French subtitle, “texte et dessins de Cami” (text and drawings by Cami), signals the issue’s focus on Charlot as a caricatured war correspondent navigating the absurdities of military life.
The back cover reproduces a page from the same 22 March 1917 issue, including Cami’s line drawings and French dialogue, preserving the texture and humor of the publication as it originally appeared. Together, the front and back covers form a small archival object from a moment when European satire met the theatricality of power with ink, irony, and invention.
See the full Cami: Charlie Chaplin Collection here
Casewrap sewn binding | Vibrant, crisp vintage tones | Ruled | 5x7 in.
Produced in small batches from archival sources. Availability varies.
Published during the First World War, this illustration from La Baïonnette sets domestic calm against the language of wartime heroism. A woman reclines reading, surrounded by resting animals, while stylized wings frame the scene beneath the caption “Aux aviateurs, rien d’impossible” (“For aviators, nothing is impossible”).
Rather than celebrating flight or military achievement, the image deflates heroic rhetoric through contrast. Ordinary life remains untroubled, intimate, and unmoved, quietly puncturing inflated claims of progress and glory.
Created by Jacques Nam, the illustration reflects a strain of wartime satire in which irony, not spectacle, becomes a form of resistance.
Metal spiral binding | Interior document pocket | Ruled | 6x8 in.
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In this 1883 Puck cartoon, Bernhard Gillam exposes the rot inside America’s political patronage system. A line of would-be Congressmen sits on a bench labeled “Congressional Seats,” waiting to be chosen like customers at a marketplace. Enter James Gordon Bennett of the New York Herald, offering to help “old gentlemen” find their way into office—if the political winds shift in their favor. Gillam paints the whole scene as a cynical transaction: patched clothing, improvised credentials, and men who look more desperate than qualified.
The joke lands because the corruption was real. Political machines traded influence for loyalty, and newspapers wielded outsized power in determining who might get a seat.
More than a century later, the details have changed—but the critique of access, privilege, and backroom politics feels strikingly contemporary.
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In this 1884 Puck cover, Bernhard Gillam lampoons the era’s loudest political showmen: the self-styled “knights” who thunder into public office armed with nothing but bluster, vanity, and slogans. The cartoon turns a would-be statesman into a Don Quixote figure—riding high on ego while his page trails behind, weighed down by banners of empty “issues,” bloody-shirt theatrics, and partisan noise.
It’s a sharp reminder that political windbags aren’t new. Gilded Age corruption thrived on theatrics over substance—and the cartoon calls it out with surgical clarity. More than a century later, the joke still lands.
A razor-sharp 1884 Puck satire by Bernhard Gillam, showing politicians dressed as Renaissance courtiers fighting over a gigantic pile of “surplus” gold — the product of over-taxation and government mismanagement. Every figure is a type: the self-satisfied king, the grasping ministers, the scheming advisors, and the theatrical fools begging for their share of the public treasury. The cartoon unmasks a political class more eager to divide spoils than serve citizens. This print comes from a German-language edition of Puck, which kept all the original English captions in the artwork.
Originally published to expose elite corruption and mock the pageantry of power, it still resonates today.
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In this 1884 Puck cover—printed in German but published for American readers—the artist imagines a “Wall Street cleaner” thundering through the financial district, sweeping out gamblers, stock-jobbers, and speculative fraud with a giant “Clearing House” brush. It’s a jab at the era’s reckless over-certification schemes and a reminder that markets crash hardest when greed sets the pace. More than a century later, the message hits just as sharply: unchecked speculation and political cowardice still distort the economy, and the people who cause the damage always try to pretend they’re innocent. Historical satire like this exposes the cycle—grift, crash, denial—that unfettered power repeats again and again.
Authentic 19th-century resistance art, revived for a modern audience. Sip from a deep black canvas that turns your morning ritual into a quiet, mindful moment.
A razor-sharp 1884 Puck satire by Bernhard Gillam, showing politicians dressed as Renaissance courtiers fighting over a gigantic pile of “surplus” gold — the product of over-taxation and government mismanagement. Every figure is a type: the self-satisfied king, the grasping ministers, the scheming advisors, and the theatrical fools begging for their share of the public treasury. The cartoon unmasks a political class more eager to divide spoils than serve citizens. This print comes from a German-language edition of Puck, which kept all the original English captions in the artwork. The German text appears only in the cast list and bottom line — part of the historical publication and preserved here for authenticity. Originally published to expose elite corruption and mock the pageantry of power, it still resonates today. Authoritarians thrive when public wealth becomes private favor, and when government becomes a court of sycophants instead of a service to the people.
This is resistance art with teeth — exposing the kind of corruption that thrives in plain sight.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
In this 1884 Puck cartoon illustrated by Frederick Burr Opper, a crooked Pied Piper cast as James G. Blaine puffs on a magical flute labeled “Magnetic Influence” while trying to lure newspaper editors into supporting his presidential ambitions. Each “child” carries a newspaper title—and each one refuses to follow. The message was unmistakable: a free press cannot be bought, charmed, or intimidated into obedience. Puck published this during the Republican National Convention, warning that political demagogues thrive only when journalists stop asking hard questions.
More than a century later, it still hits home. A restored illustration reminding us that independent journalism is democracy’s immune system.
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In this 1884 Puck cartoon, James G. Blaine appears as a crooked Pied Piper, puffing on a magical flute labeled “Magnetic Influence” while trying to lure newspaper editors into supporting his presidential ambitions. Each “child” carries a newspaper title—and each one refuses to follow. The message was unmistakable: a free press cannot be bought, charmed, or intimidated into obedience. This edition was printed for Puck’s German-speaking readership, which is why the caption beneath the image is in German—but the cartoon itself retains its original English labels and satire. Nothing has been altered; the artwork is presented exactly as it appeared in 1884. Puck published this during the Republican National Convention, warning that political demagogues thrive only when journalists stop asking hard questions. More than a century later, it still hits home.
A restored antique illustration reminding us that independent journalism is democracy’s immune system.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
In this 1884 Puck cartoon, a police officer strolls arm in arm with a shady “policy dealer,” united not by duty or principle but— as the caption says — by the almighty dollar. It’s a crisp piece of resistance satire that cuts through the myths of policing and power, showing how public authority and private vice often move in step when profit leads the way.
A sharp reminder that when power and profit align, accountability is the first thing to disappear.
This 1889 Judge Magazine cover turns the fight to host the 1893 World’s Fair into a piece of pure political theater. Chicago, New York, St. Louis, and Washington appear like anxious suitors peeking through the curtain, each one hoping to be chosen while a family watches the drama unfold. It’s a gentle but sharp jab at how civic pride, national ambition, and political lobbying often slide into spectacle. Originally printed at a moment when cities were pouring money, favors, and political capital into winning the Fair, this illustration captures the competition with humor and a surprisingly modern eye.
Over a century later, it still reads as a reminder that the scramble for power and prestige has never been rational — just louder, more frantic, and always a bit ridiculous.
Trying to Fish McGinty from the Bottom of the Sea appeared in Judge Magazine in 1889, during an era when American politics was drenched in patronage, bribery, and machine control. “McGinty” was Judge’s running symbol for the incompetent, scandal-ridden party boss who keeps dragging his allies down with him. Here he sits literally on the ocean floor—entangled in wreckage and corruption—while party operatives desperately try to haul him back to the surface. The message was unmistakable then, and still relevant today: you can’t rescue a sinking political machine by pretending it isn’t sinking.
Judge’s artists used humor to expose the cowardice of politicians who protect failed leaders instead of confronting the rot that keeps dragging democracy under.
This 1889 Judge cover by Victor Gillam turns the autumn elections into a baseball showdown—one where the Republican Party can’t keep its head in the game. The elephant at the plate, dressed in full GOP uniform, is surrounded by opponents ready to capitalize on every mistake, while the caption warns that the party is playing so carelessly it risks being “struck out.” It’s classic Gilded Age political satire: sharp, funny, and brutally honest about how complacency and corruption undermine a democracy.
Over a century later, the message still holds—authoritarian movements thrive when the party in power stops playing by the rules and starts taking voters for granted.
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Santa Claus in a Quandary appeared in Judge Magazine during the height of the Gilded Age fights over the Republican “spoils system.” Here, President Benjamin Harrison—drawn as a weary Santa—staggers under the weight of impossible political demands, while party bosses Platt and Foraker lurk in the trees demanding their cut of federal appointments. The oversized basket labeled “Fill her right up or you are another political failure” nails the point: corruption wasn’t subtle, it was expected. Judge’s artists used holiday whimsy to expose a very real political rot—how patronage, party pressure, and back-room dealmaking strangled the public interest.
More than a century later, the dynamic is painfully familiar: authoritarian movements thrive when loyalty matters more than competence and when political bosses treat democracy like a gift bag to divide among themselves.
A sharp piece of historical resistance art, perfect for anyone who believes good governance beats corruption every time.
This 1889 cartoon from Judge Magazine skewers James G. Blaine’s dream of steering South America into the arms of U.S. power. Blaine—drawn here as a self-styled frontier “guide”—tries to lead the nations of Latin America toward American markets whether they want guiding or not. The artist exposes the arrogance baked into this foreign-policy fantasy: a belief that other nations exist to be directed, managed, or economically harvested at Washington’s convenience. More than a century later, the joke still lands. Imperial posturing, manufactured influence, and “we know what’s best for you” politics remain the old tricks of would-be global strongmen.
This piece calls that out with the sharp humor of the Gilded Age—reminding us how easily power slides into domination when left unchecked. Authentic resistance art from 1889, revived for a new fight.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
In the 1890s, ballot reform was so threatening to political machines that they fought it tooth and nail. This Judge cartoon captured that fear — corruption hanging on for dear life while the idea of fair elections pulled away faster than they could stop it.
More than a century later, the cast of characters has changed, but the panic looks the same. Whenever democracy becomes harder to rig, the same old forces — different names, same instincts — scramble to block it. This artwork isn’t about left or right. It’s about the people who fear fair elections, and the democratic reforms they try to drag down with them.
Vintage satire, modern warnings. Real ink. Real history. Anti-authoritarian then and now.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
In this 1890 Judge cover by Grant E. Hamilton, “La Grippe” — the flu epidemic then sweeping the country — is illustrated as a smug, cloaked visitor paying a call on a bedridden Uncle Sam. Bottles of patent “cures,” useless pills, and a wrecked sickroom complete the scene. It’s medical satire, yes, but also a criticism of how America responds when crisis walks in the door: too little preparation, too much bravado, and a nation left holding the bill. A century later, the image feels uncomfortably familiar.
As modern political movements deny science, sabotage public health, and treat national illness as a culture-war prop, this cartoon reminds us that epidemics don’t care about slogans — and that ignoring reality has always come with a cost.
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In 1890, Judge Magazine took aim at Chicago’s swaggering bid to host the World’s Fair. The artist imagines the city as an overconfident cowboy straining beneath a globe-sized promise, while Uncle Sam looks on with a familiar mix of annoyance and inevitability. It’s a classic American problem: leaders who chase spectacle, prestige, and headlines—and then expect the public to carry the weight when reality hits.
This piece lands squarely in the tradition of resistance satire that exposes political vanity and the empty theatrics of power.
Then as now, grand projects can become distractions from real governance, transparency, and accountability.
In 1890, Judge magazine imagined the Republican Party as an unstoppable force of “progress,” crushing obstacles and dismissing all opposition as mere obstruction. Seen from the vantage point of today, the irony is impossible to miss. The cartoon tells us more about political mythology than political reality. Then as now, powerful parties love to portray themselves as the righteous engine of history — even when their real movement leads somewhere far darker. What gets branded as “moving forward” often means rolling over anyone who stands in the way of concentrated power. Looking at this image today, the warning is clear: authoritarian drift always masks itself as momentum. It never calls itself what it is.
Vintage satire repurposed for a modern truth: progress isn’t measured by who shouts the loudest, but by who protects democracy instead of trampling it.
In 1890, Judge ran this blistering satire of New York’s so-called “law and order” institutions. The cartoon tears into the Police Department and District Attorney’s Office—showing bribery, stolen-goods rings, and corruption piled so high it can’t be ignored. A press investigator arrives to document the mess, while politicians scramble to avoid accountability.
This vintage illustration exposes the same rot we continue fighting today—selective prosecution, politicized policing, and the corruption that authoritarian movements depend on.
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In this satirical Judge spread, Bernhard Gillam recasts America’s major political players as nervous animals crowding toward an improvised “Ark” run by the Farmers’ Alliance. The message is clear: in an age of corruption, graft, and economic upheaval, even the most powerful party figures scramble for cover. Gillam uses the familiar Noah’s Ark story to skewer the era’s political opportunism—showing lions, elephants, foxes, and donkeys all trying to dodge a storm they helped create.
It’s a razor-sharp commentary on how political coalitions behave when the public mood shifts: unity suddenly matters, principles bend, and every creature hustles for a spot on the next safe ship.
More than a century later, the scene feels familiar. The storm changes, the scramble remains.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free
Grant E. Hamilton’s Judge illustration skewers the era’s rigged gambling rackets—and the political corruption that made them possible. A naïve bettor in a “Fool’s Cap” places his wager while, just over the fence, a row of crooks labeled “Scoundrel,” “Blockie,” “Quincy,” “Swindler Thief,” and more manipulate the entire race with dangling fishing poles. The “judges” themselves sit in a tower that’s every bit as compromised.
What looks like a farce was deadly serious in its time: systems built so the powerful win and the public loses. More than a century later, Hamilton’s message still lands—when the game is rigged, the outcome isn’t fate, it’s design.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free
Grant E. Hamilton’s Judge illustration skewers the era’s rigged gambling rackets—and the political corruption that made them possible. A naïve bettor in a “Fool’s Cap” places his wager while, just over the fence, a row of crooks labeled “Scoundrel,” “Blockie,” “Quincy,” “Swindler Thief,” and more manipulate the entire race with dangling fishing poles. The “judges” themselves sit in a tower that’s every bit as compromised.
What looks like a farce was deadly serious in its time: systems built so the powerful win and the public loses. More than a century later, Hamilton’s message still lands—when the game is rigged, the outcome isn’t fate, it’s design.
This 1891 Judge Magazine cover skewers political theatrics long before Twitter ever existed. A monk and a court jester—one solemn, one scheming—attempt a “duet” that’s really just noisy, mismatched chaos. Their sheet music jokes about “They’re after me” and “Razzle Dazzle,” mocking politicians who talk harmony while delivering nothing but discord. A century later, the message still lands: when politicians substitute drama for substance, when ego drowns out governance, democracy suffers.
Real historical satire brought back for the present fight—because political dysfunction has always been a warning sign, and these old cartoons saw it coming.
In this 1891 Judge cartoon, Grover Cleveland is depicted by Victor Gillam as a showy jackdaw parading in borrowed peacock feathers—each labeled with a different state election. The joke is simple and brutal: a politician trying to claim victories he didn’t actually win. Today’s authoritarian-leaning politicians have perfected this move—declaring triumph where there was none, spinning losses into “stolen victories,” and treating democratic processes as props for personal glory.
Opportunism, ego, and the hunger for unearned power aren’t new—but calling them out never goes out of style.
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This illustration comes from an 1891 issue of Judge, capturing a moment when political elites proudly defended a tariff law not because it worked, but because no one had the courage to change it. The text openly admits the damage was already done and the politics were too risky for anyone to fix the mess—a perfect snapshot of Gilded Age self-congratulation. A century later, it feels familiar: leaders praising “victories” that mostly protect themselves, while the public absorbs the fallout.
Real history, real satire, and a reminder that political cowardice has a long American pedigree. Tariffs: Bad policy, great cowardice.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
Published just days after the Wounded Knee Massacre, this 1891 Judge cover by Bernhard Gillam delivers one of the sharpest moral indictments of U.S. Indian policy ever put to print. A smug senator strolls past a skeletal camp labeled “Starved into rebellion, then shot,” exposing the government’s long pattern of starving Native communities, provoking resistance, and then justifying brutal retaliation.
The cartoon flips the era’s racist slogan — “the only good Indian is the dead one” — to expose the cruelty behind it. This isn’t humor at Indigenous expense; it’s satire aimed squarely at the policymakers who engineered displacement, broken treaties, and mass death.
As authoritarian movements try again to sanitize history, images like this matter. They remind us that resistance art has always existed — and that confronting state violence is not new, but necessary.
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In this 1891 Judge cartoon, a parade of political insiders trudges through the snow toward the gates of “Miss Columbia,” only to find a sign that reads: “Not at home this year.” The message was sharp then and sharper now—when corruption, entitlement, and backroom influence start lining up for their usual privileges, a healthy democracy has every right to slam the gate shut. This artwork poked fun at the power brokers who thought the nation owed them access. Today, it reads like a reminder that the republic belongs to the people, not to the grifters, deal-makers, and would-be authoritarians who keep trying to sneak in through the side door.
Authentic Gilded Age resistance art—because the faces change, but the corruption never does.
In this 1891 Judge cartoon, a military-style brass band refuses to keep playing the same tired tune for their blustering commander. The musicians are done, the public is done, and the leader is furious that no one wants his one-note message anymore. More than a century later, the scene feels painfully familiar. When political movements rely on repetition instead of ideas—and when leaders demand loyalty instead of results—the “music” always falls flat.
This illustration calls out the danger of stagnant, authoritarian politics: the refusal to evolve, the insistence on obedience, and the belief that the public will never demand something better.
A perfect piece for anyone who’s tired of propaganda loops, personality cults, and leaders who only know how to play one broken tune.
This 1891 cartoon from Judge turns the biblical story of Samson and Delilah into a battle for American democracy. Columbia — standing in for the public — quietly cuts away the “strength” of a corrupt political boss, with shears labeled Ballot Reform, Registration, and The Australian Ballot. In its own era, this image mocked the political machines that thrived on secrecy, intimidation, and rigged systems. More than a century later, the symbolism lands even harder. The tools have changed, but the threat is the same: powerful figures doing everything they can to keep the public disorganized, distracted, or asleep. And once again, the answer is the same too — protect the vote, defend the process, and cut authoritarian power down to size.
Resistance art isn’t new. Americans have been fighting corruption since before these pages were printed. You’re holding a piece of that ongoing story.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
This 1891 illustration by Grant E. Hamilton for Judge reduces the U.S. Senate to a single, overstuffed chair. Lawmakers scramble, shove, and collapse over one another, each clutching scraps of legislation and factional labels, while the institution itself grinds to a halt.
Hamilton’s satire is not aimed at a single party or personality, but at a political system consumed by its own internal struggles. Power becomes crowded, inward-facing, and ultimately inert—busy occupying space rather than exercising responsibility. The result is motion without movement, process without outcome.
More than a century later, the image remains unsettlingly legible. It captures a familiar pattern: institutions so congested with ambition and obstruction that they become their own greatest obstacle.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free
This 1891 Judge illustration exposes a problem as old as American politics: leaders who talk endlessly about “reform” while doing nothing to improve the lives of ordinary people. In the scene, two exhausted farmers stand ankle-deep in discarded “reform” speeches, campaign promises, and empty policy scrolls, while the Capitol dome heckles in the distance. Even Congress is tired of the grift.
A century later, the pattern hasn’t changed. Today’s bad-faith politicians — especially within the modern GOP — still use “reform” as a slogan to justify voter suppression, deregulation, and attacks on democratic institutions.
This piece lands as a reminder that performative politics is a tool of authoritarianism, and that real democracy requires more than speeches: it requires accountability.
Unconditional Surrender appeared in Judge Magazine at a moment when political cowardice was becoming a national joke. Using Civil War imagery, the artist shows so-called “Republican Copperheads” handing themselves over to old Confederate brigadiers — a sharp critique of leaders who claim loyalty to the Union while enabling its enemies. The point was clear then, and remains painfully clear now: authoritarian movements thrive when politicians surrender instead of standing up. This is resistance art with teeth. Judge was warning that appeasement isn’t compromise — it’s complicity.
A perfect piece for anyone who refuses to bow to modern strongmen, culture-war bullies, or would-be tyrants.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
This 1891 Judge magazine cartoon pokes fun at Chicago’s over-the-top campaign to secure the World’s Fair. The “average Chicago man” is shown buried under booster slogans, puffed-up pride, and frantic political pressure—every pocket stuffed with propaganda, every sign insisting the city must win. It’s satire aimed at civic ego and the way power structures hype themselves into inevitability. More than a century later, the joke still lands.
Whenever politicians treat public institutions as tools to boost their own image—or when local power brokers insist that their interests are everyone’s interests—this kind of satire becomes timeless.
Published in April 1891, this cartoon from Judge depicts factional maneuvering within the Democratic Party as debates over Free Silver intensify ahead of the 1892 election. Grover Cleveland is shown being prodded by party figures pressing new demands and attempting to reshape the party’s direction.
Rather than arguing policy, the image focuses on political pressure itself—teasing, persistence, and leverage used to test authority. Drawn by Bernhard Gillam, the cartoon reflects Judge’s skepticism toward internal party gamesmanship and the tactics used to push established figures out of step with a changing political landscape.
In this 1890s Puck centerfold, “Columbus-Puck” arrives not to discover a continent, but to discover something far stranger — American political humor. The scene is packed with the era’s crooked politicians, frantic partisans, and theatrical public figures, all brawling, posing, and performing for attention while ordinary people stand bewildered at the edges. Printed in German for immigrant readers, the cartoon satirizes nationalism, political vanity, and the chaotic spectacle of American democracy in the Gilded Age. Over a century later, the imagery is hauntingly familiar: leaders obsessed with theatrics, crowds whipped into frenzy, and a culture that turns politics into a circus instead of a public good.
This original vintage illustration is perfect for anyone who loves sharp historical satire and resistance art that still speaks directly to the present.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.
In this 1892 Puck cover, Louis M. Dalrymple exposes a Republican machine so corrupt it openly tries to purchase votes. A party operative, pockets bulging with cash, slips bribe money into envelopes while carrying a rifle and a smug grin. The printed letter beside him—reproduced from an actual political circular—spells out the strategy: pay Democrats to switch their votes and keep the operation secret. Puck specialized in calling out fraud, bribery, and authoritarian tactics masquerading as “moral ideas.” This cover makes clear that the threat to democracy has never come from ordinary voters — but from political insiders willing to buy power at any cost.
More than a century later, it still resonates: corruption erodes democracy when parties treat elections as something to purchase, not something to earn.
Published in July 1896 in Judge, this large-format cartoon anticipates imperial conflict before it arrives, responding directly to the Venezuelan Question while widening its critique to empire more broadly. European powers and the United States appear as caricatured figures advancing with official statements rather than weapons, as a dark shadow stretches between them, signaling consequences already in motion.
Drawn by Grant E. Hamilton, the image targets rhetoric instead of combat. Authority speaks in proclamations, but the direction of power is already visible. Appearing nearly two years before the Spanish-American War, the cartoon reflects a strain of American satire skeptical of expansionist logic and the claims used to justify it.
Original illustration from an 1896 issue of Judge, preserved as an archival artifact of anti-imperial dissent.
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Drawn by Fabien Fabiano for the 1915 issue of La Baïonnette, this spread gathers a series of small scenes around a bold red cross, each capturing a different facet of wartime nursing. The illustrations move from quiet conversations to quick moments of comfort, revealing how medical care relied as much on presence and steadiness as on skill.
Among the vignettes, a bedside exchange offers the clearest expression of the plate’s spirit: a nurse leaning close to reassure a wounded soldier, “You will heal here.” The line distills the mixture of duty, tenderness, and resolve that shaped the daily rhythm of First World War hospitals.
A richly composed portrayal of nursing as both labor and refuge within the broader landscape of war.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free
This 1915 La Baïonnette cartoon by Emmanuel Barcet skewers the militarized paranoia that swept France during World War I. Two refined men peer over a ruined hillside and whisper about how “perfect” it once was for a 420-mm gun — the kind of fear-logic that turns ordinary places into imagined battlegrounds. The joke isn’t the woman; it’s how war rewires civilians to see threats everywhere.
A century later, the warning remains the same: fear is a powerful storyteller, and it can redraw a whole landscape long before the fighting begins.
Published in October 1916, this cover from La Baïonnette presents a stark “before and after” rendering of Kaiser Wilhelm II himself. Split cleanly down the center, the image shows the same imperial figure before the war and after its toll: on one side intact and authoritative, on the other hollowed, darkened, and visibly eroded by prolonged violence.
Signed by Gus Bofa, the image avoids battlefield spectacle in favor of moral indictment. Uniform, rank, and medals remain intact, but the face of command bears the cost of what it has unleashed. The symmetry turns caricature into accusation, suggesting that militarism ultimately consumes those who wield it.
Created at the height of the First World War, the cover reflects a broader current in French wartime satire that treated empire as self-corrosive rather than heroic. Power survives, but only as something depleted.
Illustrated by Adolphe Willette during the First World War, this La Baïonnette image shows the imperial German eagle wounded and forced low, its promise of dominance reduced to exhaustion and blood.
French wartime satire regularly used the eagle to embody militarism and authoritarian power. Here, the symbol is stripped of grandeur and made to confront its own limits.
A century-old example of resistance art: unsentimental, direct, and openly contemptuous of the myth of invincible empire.
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A century-old French satire, now on a mug. From the WWI magazine La Baïonnette, this caricature page mocked the “undesirables” of its day — politicians, profiteers, and blowhards who thought they were untouchable.
The caption reads:
“Quelques têtes d’indésirables — History will take out the trash.”
Perfect for desks, offices, and anyone who appreciates anti-authoritarian humor.
Drawn by Opnor and originally published in the French political magazine La Baïonnette, this 1916 cartoon skewers the machinery of authoritarian bureaucracy. The figure at its center is not solving problems or producing results—he is generating paperwork, defending procedure, and mistaking process for authority.
The satire cuts deeper than its moment. Authoritarian systems do not require effectiveness to function. They require documentation, repetition, and compliance. When power turns inward to protect itself, paperwork becomes not a byproduct, but the weapon.
This is resistance art — not nostalgia. In 1916, the French satirical magazine La Baïonnette used cartoons to challenge authoritarian government culture. They couldn’t openly say “the system is failing,” so they drew the failure instead. A century later, the message still hits: power protecting paperwork instead of people.
Monsieur Lebureau, buried in documents, insists: “I swear the bureaucracy will hold!”
This 1916 La Baïonnette cartoon captures a pattern we still know too well: the comfortable lecturing the wounded about “sacrifice.” A plump rear-guard bourgeois complains about rising prices while a frontline soldier sits bandaged beside him—an early reminder that privilege has always tried to borrow the language of suffering.
In Gilded Age 2.0, the script hasn’t changed much. Those insulated from the consequences keep insisting they’re the ones who feel them most. Satire like this makes the gap impossible to ignore.
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“À la porte les tyrans” (“Out with the tyrants”). Drawn by A. Willette during the First World War, this La Baïonnetteillustration channels popular anger into blunt visual command. Tyranny is not debated, reformed, or negotiated—it is expelled.
Revisited today, the image reads less as propaganda than as warning. Authoritarian power rarely exits on its own. It leaves only when challenged, resisted, and pushed back beyond the threshold.
This 1916 page from La Baïonnette, illustrated by Jacques Nam, presents a compact allegory of wartime transformation. In the upper panel, Médor lies at ease, a domestic companion guarding private virtue. Below, the same dog stands alert and watchful, recast as a sentinel of national duty. The caption makes the shift explicit: “Before, I guarded Ninette’s virtue. Now, I guard the honor of France.”
Simple and striking, the image reflects how war quietly redraws the boundaries between private life and public obligation. Loyalty, once personal and familiar, is redefined as a national resource.
Without depicting battle or heroics, the cartoon captures the moral logic of total war, where even everyday symbols are pressed into service.
Illustrated by Charles Léandre and published in 1916, this drawing captures the weary theater of political power at work. Two officials confer, gesture, and posture, insulated by procedure while real consequences remain offstage.
The caption reads simply: La séance continue — “The session continues.” It is less an observation than an indictment. Meetings extend, debates circle, and responsibility dissolves into ritual.
A century later, the mechanics are familiar. Authority still performs continuity as a substitute for action. The language has changed. The routine has not.
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Drawn by Ray Ordner and published in 1916 in La Baïonnette, this French political cartoon targets the circular logic of authoritarian bureaucracy. An official issues the command: “Sort every document… then destroy them.” Obedience replaces purpose, and procedure becomes power even when the work itself is rendered meaningless.
A century later, the joke still lands. Bureaucratic authority continues to assert itself through rules, paperwork, and compliance for their own sake—proof that absurdity is not a flaw of authoritarian systems, but one of their tools.
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La Baïonnette’s 1917 caricature imagines Kaiser Wilhelm II attempting to enlist “Master Charlot” in a theatrical imperial fantasy. The French caption has the Kaiser saying, “Voulez-vous jouer avec moi, master Charlot? Prenez cette couronne, vous allez me sacrer empereur du monde” (Do you want to play with me, Master Charlot? Take this crown and you will crown me emperor of the world). The joke turns on Charlot’s quiet refusal: instead of cooperating, he appears with an oversized mallet, poised to puncture the spectacle.
Pierre Henri Cami’s wartime satire exposes the brittle vanity of authoritarian ambition during the First World War, using Charlie Chaplin’s screen persona to puncture the pretensions of power. A striking piece of early twentieth-century political humor with enduring relevance.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free
Cami stages an explosive encounter between Charlot and the Kaiser, turning imperial swagger into slapstick. The Tramp—balanced on a chair and armed with an oversized mallet—brings it down on the Kaiser’s spiked helmet with comic precision. The cartoon’s theatrical costumes and outsized props mock wartime pomposity, showing how performance and power often collapse into farce.
A sharp example of Cami’s 1917 satire, where humor doubles as critique.
Illustrated by Fabien Fabiano in January 1917, this La Baïonnette cover captures a quieter side of the First World War. A decorated French soldier smiles while holding a small portrait of a woman—treated less as a keepsake than as a lucky charm.
Titled Fétiches et Mascottes, the image reflects how wartime culture encouraged soldiers to carry talismans and symbolic objects as emotional stabilizers.
Affection becomes portable; intimacy is reduced to an image meant to steady men amid industrial violence.
This 1889 Judge cover by Grant E. Hamilton turns the fight to host the 1893 World’s Fair into a piece of political theater. Chicago, New York, St. Louis, and Washington appear like anxious suitors peeking through a curtain, each hoping to be chosen while a family watches the drama unfold. It’s a gentle but sharp jab at how civic pride, national ambition, and political lobbying often slide into spectacle.
Printed at a moment when cities were pouring money, favors, and political capital into winning the Fair, the illustration captures the competition with humor and a surprisingly modern eye.
Over a century later, it still reads as a reminder that the scramble for power and prestige has never been rational—just louder, more frantic, and always a bit ridiculous.
Natural wood, black, or white frames with matching hands | Silent quartz mechanism
A 1916 illustration from La Baïonnette by Jacques Nam presents a playful animal fable staged like a chorus. Gathered creatures look inward as the talkative magpie at the center has finally been silenced, allowing the rest to be heard. The humor lies in gesture and arrangement rather than exaggeration, turning group dynamics into quiet satire.
The original caption captures the punchline more directly: “Did you see the magpie? It was the only way to make her keep quiet!” Nam lets the animals carry the joke, relying on posture, expression, and rhythm rather than exaggeration.
Natural wood, black, or white frames with matching hands | Silent quartz mechanism
In the 1890s, ballot reform was so threatening to political machines that they fought it tooth and nail. This Judge cartoon captured that fear — corruption hanging on for dear life while the idea of fair elections pulled away faster than they could stop it. More than a century later, the cast of characters has changed, but the panic looks the same. Whenever democracy becomes harder to rig, the same old forces — different names, same instincts — scramble to block it. This artwork isn’t about left or right. It’s about the people who fear fair elections, and the democratic reforms they try to drag down with them. Vintage satire, modern warnings. Real ink. Real history. Anti-authoritarian then and now.
100% certified organic ring-spun cotton | Tear-away label and Econscious tag
In this satirical Judge spread, Bernhard Gillam recasts America’s major political players as nervous animals crowding toward an improvised “Ark” run by the Farmers’ Alliance. The message is clear: in an age of corruption, graft, and economic upheaval, even the most powerful party figures scramble for cover. Gillam uses the familiar Noah’s Ark story to skewer the era’s political opportunism—showing lions, elephants, foxes, and donkeys all trying to dodge a storm they helped create.
It’s a razor-sharp commentary on how political coalitions behave when the public mood shifts: unity suddenly matters, principles bend, and every creature hustles for a spot on the next safe ship.
More than a century later, the scene feels familiar. The storm changes, the scramble remains.
100% certified organic ring-spun cotton | Grown without pesticides
Illustrated by F. M. Howarth, this July 6, 1898 Puck page delivers a tidy lesson in overconfidence. A self-satisfied cyclist plots a petty revenge, certain he controls both the situation and the road ahead. Panel by panel, bravado turns into spectacle as his scheme quite literally flips against him, leaving humiliation where triumph was expected.
The humor is gentle but pointed, exposing how ego and small scheming so often collapse under their own weight.
100% heavy cotton canvas | Flat corners and sewn construction with reinforced stitching
Finally — a tote that tells fascists where to go. Taken from a 1916 French magazine cover and paired with the slogan “À LA PORTE LES TYRANS” (Out the door, tyrants), this bag blends vintage art with modern defiance.
Art. History. Resistance. And room for snacks.
100% heavy cotton canvas | Flat corners and sewn construction with reinforced stitching
This two-sided tote pairs two satirical illustrations from Cami’s 1917 feature “Charlot correspondant de Guerre” in La Baïonnette. On one side, Charlot receives a registered letter from a uniformed official beneath the line, “Voici une lettre recommandée que je vous apporte” (Here is a registered letter I am delivering to you), a small moment of wartime bureaucracy rendered in Cami’s playful hand.
The reverse side reproduces a companion drawing in which Charlot, flustered and anxious, faces an authority figure ready to give orders. These scenes come from the same 22 March 1917 issue and reflect Cami’s larger project: using Chaplin’s persona to expose the absurdities of military life, wartime paperwork, and the comical posturing of officials. Together, they create a portable archival vignette of early twentieth-century satire.
100% heavy cotton canvas | Flat corners and sewn construction with reinforced stitching
A 1916 World War I illustration by A. Willette, published in La Baïonnette, this cartoon leaves little to interpretation. Entrenched power is not shown stepping aside voluntarily; it is forced out through collective action. Willette frames political removal as a physical, popular act rather than a polite appeal to authority.
Created during the collapse of old empires, the image reflects a moment when public patience with authoritarian bravado had worn thin. A century later, its message remains direct and unsettlingly familiar: when power refuses accountability, pressure does not come from above—it comes from below.
100% ring-spun cotton | Pearlized tear-away label | Unisex
Illustrated by Armand Gallo, this La Baïonnette image, published during the First World War, turns wartime censorship into quiet satire. A fox looks upward while a crow perches above beside a warning nailed to a tree: “Taisez-vous — Méfiez-vous!” (“Keep quiet — be on your guard”).
Rather than depicting battle or heroism, the image shows authority as atmosphere—posted warnings, enforced vigilance, and speech reduced to risk. Using animal figures, the cartoon exposes how obedience takes hold not through force, but through fear made routine.
Original illustration from the French political magazine La Baïonnette, preserved as an archival artifact of wartime control and dissent.
100% ring-spun cotton | Pearlized, tear-away label | Oeko-Tex certified | Unisex
This 1916 illustration from La Baïonnette, drawn by Gerda Wegener, turns wartime paranoia into social farce. Three women lean together in exaggerated secrecy while two dachshunds move anxiously below them—literal punchlines to the caption’s warning that “they have ears.”
The image captures an atmosphere shaped less by official authority than by rumor and suspicion. Wegener exaggerates fashion and posture alike, stretching bodies into caricature while preserving the delicacy of watercolor and line. The preserved oval frame reinforces the sense of a composed illustration plate, exposing how quickly fear reorganizes everyday social life under pressure.
100% ring-spun cotton | Pearlized, tear-away label | Oeko-Tex certified | Unisex
Jacques Nam stages a lively animal fable: a circle of creatures gathered like a choir, framed by rows of watchful crows. Each figure reacts to the small drama at the center, where the talkative magpie has finally been quieted so the others can be heard. The scene balances humor with a touch of mischief, turning group dynamics into light satire.
The original caption captures the punchline more directly: “Did you see the magpie? It was the only way to make her keep quiet!” Nam lets the animals carry the joke, relying on posture, expression, and rhythm rather than exaggeration.
A charming glimpse of early twentieth-century illustration, playful without losing its wit.
100% ring-spun cotton | Pearlized, tear-away label | Oeko-Tex certified | Unisex
In this 1884 Puck cartoon, James G. Blaine appears as a crooked Pied Piper, puffing on a magical flute labeled “Magnetic Influence” while trying to lure newspaper editors into supporting his presidential ambitions. Each “child” carries a newspaper title—and each one refuses to follow. The message was unmistakable: a free press cannot be bought, charmed, or intimidated into obedience. This edition was printed for Puck’s German-speaking readership, which is why the caption beneath the image is in German—but the cartoon itself retains its original English labels and satire. Nothing has been altered; the artwork is presented exactly as it appeared in 1884. Puck published this during the Republican National Convention, warning that political demagogues thrive only when journalists stop asking hard questions.
More than a century later, it still hits home. A restored antique print reminding us that independent journalism is democracy’s immune system.
Crew length | Recycled Polyester-Cotton blend | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
This 1889 Judge magazine cover turns the autumn elections into a baseball showdown—one where the Republican Party can’t keep its head in the game. The elephant at the plate, dressed in full GOP uniform, is surrounded by opponents ready to capitalize on every mistake, while the caption warns that the party is playing so carelessly it risks being “struck out.” It’s classic Gilded Age political satire: sharp, funny, and brutally honest about how complacency and corruption undermine a democracy.
Over a century later, the message still holds—authoritarian movements thrive when the party in power stops playing by the rules and starts taking voters for granted. A perfect piece of authentic resistance art from 1889—real ink, artists, real archives.
Crew length | Recycled Polyester-Cotton blend | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
In 1890, Judge Magazine took aim at Chicago’s swaggering bid to host the World’s Fair. The artist imagines the city as an overconfident cowboy straining beneath a globe-sized promise, while Uncle Sam looks on with a familiar mix of annoyance and inevitability. It’s a classic American problem: leaders who chase spectacle, prestige, and headlines—and then expect the public to carry the weight when reality hits. This piece lands squarely in the tradition of resistance satire that exposes political vanity and the empty theatrics of power. Then as now, grand projects can become distractions from real governance, transparency, and accountability. A perfect choice for anyone who enjoys watching hubris get the skewering it deserves.
Crew length | Recycled Polyester-Cotton blend | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
This 1891 Judge Magazine cover skewers political theatrics long before Twitter ever existed. A monk and a court jester—one solemn, one scheming—attempt a “duet” that’s really just noisy, mismatched chaos. Their sheet music jokes about “They’re after me” and “Razzle Dazzle,” mocking politicians who talk harmony while delivering nothing but discord. A century later, the message still lands: when politicians substitute drama for substance, when ego drowns out governance, democracy suffers.
This vintage piece is part of The Antifascist Shop’s mission to bring real historical satire back into the present fight—because political dysfunction has always been a warning sign, and these old cartoons saw it coming.
Crew length | Recycled Polyester-Cotton blend | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
In this 1897 Puck cover, Louis Dalrymple turns a Fourth of July celebration into a sharp critique of Gilded Age economics. A downcast Uncle Sam struggles to ignite a rocket labeled “Prosperity,” while black clouds marked “Tariff for Trusts” gather overhead. The promise of national well-being is literally sputtering in the rain—undercut not by weather, but by the political choices feeding corporate monopolies.
It’s a classic Puck indictment: when government shields the powerful instead of the public, even national holidays lose their spark. A century later, the warning still holds.
Crew length | Recycled Polyester-Cotton blend | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
Drawn by Léonnec for the1915 issue of La Baïonnette, this illustration captures the mix of competence, fatigue, and unguarded humanity that marked the daily life of wartime nurses. Rather than focusing on the front lines, it turns inward to a private moment at the edge of a hospital ward.
The caption provides the twist: “Where heroism becomes woman again — Of course, I saw the Battle of the Marne, but this… I cannot do.” It’s a sly nod to the gulf between public expectation and personal limits, using gentle comedy to show how even decorated nurses navigated ordinary vulnerabilities.
A lively example of Léonnec’s wartime style, balancing humor with the subtle pressures of service.
Crew length | Recycled Polyester-Cotton blend | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
This 1916 page from La Baïonnette, illustrated by Jacques Nam, presents a compact allegory of wartime transformation. In the upper panel, Médor lies at ease, a domestic companion guarding private virtue. Below, the same dog stands alert and watchful, recast as a sentinel of national duty. The caption makes the shift explicit: “Before, I guarded Ninette’s virtue. Now, I guard the honor of France.”
Simple and striking, the image reflects how war quietly redraws the boundaries between private life and public obligation. Loyalty, once personal and familiar, is redefined as a national resource. Without depicting battle or heroics, the cartoon captures the moral logic of total war, where even everyday symbols are pressed into service.
Crew length | Casual, dress, active | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
This 1916 page from La Baïonnette, illustrated by Jacques Nam, presents a compact allegory of wartime transformation. In the upper panel, Médor lies at ease, a domestic companion guarding private virtue. Below, the same dog stands alert and watchful, recast as a sentinel of national duty. The caption makes the shift explicit: “Before, I guarded Ninette’s virtue. Now, I guard the honor of France.”
Simple and striking, the image reflects how war quietly redraws the boundaries between private life and public obligation. Loyalty, once personal and familiar, is redefined as a national resource. Without depicting battle or heroics, the cartoon captures the moral logic of total war, where even everyday symbols are pressed into service.
Crew length | Casual, dress, active | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
A century before memes, there was La Baïonnette — a French satirical magazine that used illustration as resistance. This piece, “L’Aigle Impérial” (The Imperial Eagle), was published during World War I. In the cartoon, the eagle represents German imperial power under Kaiser Wilhelm II. Its wings are tattered, its body is wounded, and the caption beneath the image reads: “He will return to his nest, stripped and wounded — and never come out again.” It wasn’t just art — it was prophecy, mocking the collapse of a regime that believed itself unstoppable.
Perfect for: anti-authoritarian energy lovers of vintage illustration anyone who enjoys their coffee with a side of political catharsis Public domain artwork, restored from an original 1916 print. Because resistance art never goes out of style.
Crew length | Recycled Polyester-Cotton blend | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
A wartime caricature in which Cami lampoons the Kaiser’s theatrical posturing, portraying him as a stiff, blood-spattered figure collapsing under his own bluster. The exaggerated uniform and rigid stance echo the brittle self-importance Cami found in wartime leadership.
Beside it, the stark line-drawing variant strips the same figure down to its essentials, emphasizing the nervous tension and fragile bravado beneath the pomp. Together the two images form a pointed critique of authoritarian performance in the late-war atmosphere.
Crew length | Recycled Polyester-Cotton blend | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
These socks feature Cami’s 1917 illustration “Jalousie!” from La Baïonnette, a sharp caricature of Kaiser Wilhelm II reacting to the popularity of Charlot—Charlie Chaplin’s French screen persona. The original caption includes the plea, “Ne jalousez pas Charlot, Sire! Votre orgueil peut se rassurer! Jamais Charlot ne fera rire autant que vous faites pleurer!” (Do not be jealous of Charlot, Sire! Your pride may rest easy! Charlot will never make people laugh as much as you make them cry!).
The image shows the Kaiser clutching a special issue of La Baïonnette devoted to Charlot, his face twisted with theatrical resentment. Cami’s satire captures the fragile vanity of imperial power during the First World War, exaggerating posture and expression to expose the insecurity beneath the uniform. Rendered in bold color blocks, the illustration translates strikingly into wearable art.
Crew length | Recycled poly-cotton blend | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
A century before memes, there was La Baïonnette — a French satirical magazine that used illustration as resistance. This piece, “L’Aigle Impérial” (The Imperial Eagle), was published during World War I. In the cartoon, the eagle represents German imperial power under Kaiser Wilhelm II. Its wings are tattered, its body is wounded, and the caption beneath the image reads: “He will return to his nest, stripped and wounded — and never come out again.” It wasn’t just art — it was prophecy, mocking the collapse of a regime that believed itself unstoppable.
Perfect for: anti-authoritarian energy; lovers of vintage illustration; anyone who enjoys their coffee with a side of political catharsis artwork from 1916. Because resistance art never goes out of style.
In this 1891 Judge cartoon, Grover Cleveland appears as a jackdaw parading in borrowed peacock feathers—each one a state election he tries to claim as his own. The joke is sharp and simple: a politician taking credit he didn’t earn. More than a century later, the image still lands. American politics is full of figures who rewrite outcomes, inflate their wins, and strut like victors no matter the truth. Today’s authoritarian-leaning politicians have perfected the move—turning losses into “stolen victories” and treating democratic processes as props for personal glory.
This piece fits squarely within the mission of The Antifascist Shop: real historical art exposing the recurring tactics of opportunism, ego, and the hunger for unearned power. Some patterns never fade—so neither should the satire that calls them out.
Crew length | Recycled Polyester-Cotton blend | All-over print with solid black toe and heel accents
This 1889 Judge Magazine illustration shows a stagecoach halted on the snowy plains by a rowdy band of armed frontiersmen who treat intimidation as holiday cheer. The caption’s joke—calling the gang “Shanty Claws”—was Judge’s way of mocking America’s romanticized Wild West mythos, where mob rule and gun swagger were dressed up as folklore. Viewed today, the scene resonates uncomfortably: groups who imagine themselves as patriots while using fear and force to control others. Judge was warning that violence wrapped in cultural costume is still violence—and still a threat to the common good.
A bold piece of authentic resistance art from the Gilded Age, revived for a moment when democratic courage matters more than ever.
Durable stainless steel core with enamel finish resists rust and staining | Lead and BPA-free | Not suitable for microwave use | Hand wash only.