Honestly, if you close your eyes and think of Catwoman, you aren’t seeing a gritty, tactical anti-hero in a functional military harness. You’re seeing a six-foot-tall Amazon with gold-tipped claws and a walk that could make a statue sweat. That's the Julie Newmar Catwoman effect. Even sixty years later, her performance in the 1966 Batman TV series remains the gold standard for every "feline fatale" that followed.
It’s kinda wild when you look at the math. Julie Newmar was only in thirteen episodes of the show. That’s it. In a series that ran for 120 episodes, she occupied a tiny fraction of the screen time, yet her shadow covers the entire franchise. People often forget that she wasn't even in the third season—Eartha Kitt took over then—and she missed the 1966 feature film because of a scheduling conflict with a movie called Monsieur Lecoq.
But those thirteen episodes? They changed everything.
The Secret Sauce of the Julie Newmar Catwoman Suit
Most people think a costume is just something an actor puts on. With Newmar, it was basically an engineering project. She didn't just wear the suit; she helped build it. She was already a Tony Award-winning dancer and a bit of a genius with a needle and thread.
She felt the original design for the catsuit was "off," so she made a few executive decisions that would become legendary.
First, she moved the belt.
Instead of sitting at the natural waist, she dropped it down to her hips to emphasize her five-foot-eleven frame and hourglass figure. She also chose the fabric: black Lurex. It had this specific, glittery sheen that caught the studio lights like a disco ball.
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"I sewed an 'S-curve' into the waistline. You put the costume on, put a mark where your waistline is... it automatically improves the hang of the whole costume." — Julie Newmar via Television Academy interview.
There is a huge misconception that the suit in the Smithsonian Institution is the one she wore on camera. Hardcore fans and costume historians have pointed out for years that the Smithsonian version has a front zipper, while the screen-used suits zipped up the back. It turns out the museum piece was likely a promotional suit or one she used for later appearances. Still, the fact that a "superhero costume" is even in the Smithsonian tells you everything about her cultural footprint.
Why She Was Smarter Than Batman (and the Producers)
In the 1960s, women on TV were usually there to be rescued or to bring someone a sandwich. Julie Newmar Catwoman was different. She was a legitimate threat. She was faster, funnier, and—let's be real—smarter than Adam West’s Batman.
Newmar’s background as a prima ballerina meant she "physicalized" the role in a way nobody else could. She didn't just walk into a room; she slinked. She once choreographed a scene where she slid down a railing and landed in a pose that was basically a love letter to Bob Fosse.
Here is the really cool part: she was saving the studio money while being a diva. There’s a famous story about a seduction scene between her and Adam West. The crew was exhausted and they were about to hit "Golden Time"—which meant the producers would have to pay everyone triple. Newmar, knowing her way around a stage better than the director, stepped up and blocked the entire scene herself.
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She organized the camera moves, hit every mark, and they nailed it in exactly one take. No rehearsal. Just pure, professional instinct.
The Misconception of the "Love Interest"
A lot of modern retrospectives try to paint the 66 Catwoman as just a romantic foil. That’s a bit of a disservice. While the chemistry between her and Adam West was electric, she was a stone-cold criminal.
She had no "Selina Kyle" alter ego in the show. No tragic backstory about falling out of a window with cats. She was just "The Princess of Plunder." She wanted to be with Batman, sure, but her solution was usually to try and kill Robin because he was "a bit of a bore."
- She was the first live-action version to ever use the "nine lives" trope, surviving falls that would kill anyone else.
- She refused to work with the Joker because she hated his green hair.
- She once tried to poison Batman with a perfume called "Pussycat."
The Legacy of the Claws
When you look at Michelle Pfeiffer, Anne Hathaway, or Zoë Kravitz, you can see bits of Julie in the DNA. Pfeiffer got the madness, Hathaway got the class, and Kravitz got the agility. But Newmar was the only one who made being a villain look like a total blast.
She has often said that playing Catwoman was satisfying because, in the 50s and 60s, women weren't allowed to be "nasty" or "mean" unless they were in a B-movie. She brought a high-art sensibility to a campy TV show and, in doing so, gave a generation of young girls a blueprint for a woman who didn't take orders from anyone.
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Newmar is still active, by the way. She’s in her 90s now, tending to her award-winning rose garden in Los Angeles (she even has a rose named after her: the "Julie Newmar" rose, which is melon-yellow). She’s spent decades as a real estate mogul and a staunch advocate for LGBTQ+ rights, proving she was always more than just a girl in a shiny suit.
How to Appreciate the Julie Newmar Era Today
If you want to actually "get" why she matters, don't just look at stills on Pinterest. You have to see the movement.
- Watch Season 2, Episode 37: "Catwoman Goes to College." It’s her at her most manipulative and stylish.
- Look for the "S-Curve": Pay attention to the silhouette of the costume. It’s a masterclass in how tailoring can define a character's personality before they even speak.
- Check out the 2016 Animated Film: Batman: Return of the Caped Crusaders. Julie returned to voice Catwoman at age 83, and she still sounded exactly like the 1966 icon.
If you’re a collector or a fan of the aesthetic, look into the 1966 archive footage rather than the modern HD remakes. There is something about the way that Lurex fabric interacts with 60s Technicolor that modern CGI just can't replicate. The era of the Julie Newmar Catwoman wasn't just a moment in TV history; it was the birth of the modern female anti-hero.
To dig deeper into the history of the 66 series, research the production notes of William Dozier. He was the visionary who insisted the show look like "pop art come to life," which provided the perfect canvas for Newmar to paint her masterpiece of a performance.