^Well, women have never been equal to men (no matter what people claim). But I think what makes the 50's particularly alarming is how naive people seemed about it. I think that at other times people, women in particular, saw that they were being oppressed (not always but lot's did) but in the 50's it just seems like they were so ignorant of it. Women lived in a world with a nice house, husband, and 2.5 kids. But they were completely stifled in a way. I mean to go from WWII where women were part of the war effort to being back at home, it's completely degrading.
I mean, my granny was part of the WAC's (Women's Army Corps in the US) during WWII. She did her part for her country. But then after the war she settled down, married, and raised three kids. I don't know if it was completely her choice or if she felt compelled to do so by society. I think it might have been a mixture of the two. But still, I have to wonder, how did this affect her life? It must have because the granny that I know isn't like the granny that people tell me she was like. I think beginning a family in the 50's really impacted her. She felt tied down. I mean she traveled a lot with my granddad but other then that, what did she do? I can't even imagine it. It must have been so boring after living abroad and taking part in the war effort.
Also, from a literary standpoint I think Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar certainly had an impact on women when it was published in the 1960's. Women who had lived in the 50's really resonated with Plath's novel. There is one quote which has stood out to me every time I read it and probably encapsulates how a lot of women felt in the 50's;
"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."