In 1967, Mary Kay Ash walked into a Lincoln dealership in Dallas, Texas. She and her husband Mel had just launched Mary Kay Cosmetics just four years ago, and now she was looking for a car that could suit her newfound success. She wanted it customized, something in a powdery pink, a light shade that matched the shade of blush in the cosmetics compact she carried. A salesman approached. Before she could even open up the compact, he stopped her: "Little lady," he said, "go home and get your husband. And when you come back, we'll get you into that Lincoln."

So the story goes, as oft-repeated by corporate spokespeople as necessary. (To be fair, Mary Kay never mentioned Lincoln by name.) The year she founded her own business, Mary Kay had quit her job of 25 years when she found herself passed up for a promotion in favor of a male employee she had trained herself.

Go home and get your husband. And when you come back, we'll get you into that Lincoln.

Mary Kay went to Frank Kent Cadillac in Fort Worth. She asked for a 1968 Sedan de Ville. The shade she had in mind matched a color that GM retired a decade earlier, called "Mountain Laurel." Mary Kay bought one, and then her sales directors bought matching ones. By 1969, she traded in her original and leased five 1970 sedans, as incentives for her top five earners. And thus, an icon—a pink Cadillac to match The King himself.

One hundred thousand Cadillacs have been produced for the cosmetics empire, since. The car has its own Twitter account. Each Cadillac is leased for two years: of the two current models, the CTS and the SRX, the latter is the most popular. Lower sales earners can also drive BMWs and Chevrolets, according to Mental Floss, but never in pink. (At one point, the BMW replaced a Ford Mustang.) Perhaps Mary Kay's empire has fared better overseas than Cadillac itself: in China, or most of Europe, top sellers can get a pink Mercedes-Benz. In Brazil, a Honda Civic. In Russia, a Ford Mondeo. In Australia, an Opel convertible.

Yes, they're all pink.

It's not easy to become a success in the Mary Kay Empire—one article published in Harpers paints a bleak picture and low wages, to say the least—but for the time being, if you generate six figures' worth of sales in a year, you get the keys to the Cadillac, oh you Queen of the Cosmetics, you golden-haired superstar of sales(wo)manship.

And the Lincoln story? Who knows if it's true, of course. But the little tale of casual Sixties sexism has been repeated enough times by the company that it sounds true, which is better anyway. And it's been repeated for a reason: to teach good customer service. "Think about it," said a Mary Kay executive. "Had that Lincoln dealer treated Mary Kay the way the Cadillac dealer did, the course of history would probably have changed."

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