When No wonder the sea serpent frequents our coast appeared in print, it became an instant talking point in American drawing rooms and editorial pages. The artist, Charles Dana Gibson, was already celebrated for his satirical wit and his creation of the "Gibson Girl," but here he turned his pen to the fevered public imagination surrounding sea monsters—a topic that gripped the late nineteenth-century press. The title itself is a sly nod to the era’s penchant for sensational headlines about mysterious creatures spotted off the Atlantic coast.

Gibson’s drawing lampoons not just the myth of the sea serpent, but also the social world that so eagerly consumed such tales. In the scene, a group of elegantly dressed women lounge on a rocky shore, their attention fixed on something just out of view—presumably the legendary serpent. The real subject, however, is not the monster but the spectacle of society itself: the women's elaborate hats and tightly corseted waists form a serpentine line, echoing the very creature they pretend to hunt. Gibson’s sharp ink lines and careful arrangement of figures turn the seaside gathering into a parody of both fashion and hysteria.

Unlike the dark, fearsome monsters of Gustave Doré’s illustrations, Gibson’s threat is social, not supernatural—the joke is on the viewers and their credulity. The original medium and date of No wonder the sea serpent frequents our coast remain uncertain, though it is consistent with Gibson’s prolific output for magazines like Life and Harper’s Weekly in the 1890s and early 1900s. As with many of his works, this drawing was likely reproduced widely in periodicals, reaching a broad audience and cementing Gibson’s reputation as a keen observer of American manners. Today, the piece survives in various collections and archives, a testament to the enduring appeal of Gibson’s humor and his ability to capture the anxieties and amusements of his age.