Let me qualify that. Male Puerto Ricans. Puertorriqueños. From his bangs to his jaunty mustache, to his feminized clunky yellow sandals, to his flesh belt matching flesh socks, to his choice of stool, everything is wrong wrong wrong. Even 41 years later, his lady friend looks stylish and composed. But Enrique, not so much. I mean, look at his jean hem! Look at the cut of it!
I know Puerto Rico wants to be able to vote, and I don’t blame them. Really, the main barrier I can see is that we’d have to add another star to our flag, and OCD people would go nuts with an odd number of states. It wouldn’t line up correctly on the flag. We’d have to adopt yet another state to make it even. Or Texas could secede! Most folks my age still think we have nine planets; we’re not going to suddenly remember 51 states. Or we’ll say it with finger quotes, as if it isn’t real yet.
But maybe Enrique’s problem was that he was lit, juiced up on the rum for which he was plugging in this ad.
The thing is, they knew they were being photographed. Ingrid should have offered spously guidance. Could they even possibly still be married, after this atrocity? Or is the rum that good?
Wow, this ad campaign has got it all. The bandwagon technique; he’s running with the pack. He doesn’t care about personality; he only dates Eye Tonics. So if you’re the angel cake that’s trying to catch the eye of a dark hunk of muscle like Chuck, you better spread some fancy frosting all over you, ladies! It’s not optional; Chuck says it’s glamour homework. It’s your assignment! Remember, he’s for the filly with an even pace!
So what is this ad even selling, other than insecurity? This stylish lass, though trim and decked out in modern garb, seems to be apprehensive about her potential suitors. Probably because she has a secret. A secret that keeps her elbows close to her side, while the boys wave their arms about. She reeks.
But for a few coins, she can rate with fellows like Chuck. Thank you, ARRID!
Seems like an easy way to snag a date with boys who possess a molasses drawl. Just a swipe in your pits, and you’re done!
You heard it right, folks. 2020 has been a tough year on all of us, especially George, who evidently had a few too many old-fashioneds and plowed his car into yet another Bedford Falls tree. Environmental agencies are livid. As you can see, even Shirley Temple tried to uproot nature’s oxygen-releaser to replant it in a safer space, preferably Holmby Hills. This time, poor weather could not be blamed.
The recorded dialog below reveals that food vendor Pietro was understandably incensed. “You pay for my vegetables–yes?” In this year of electorate division, I think we can all agree. Pay for the vegetables, George.
Joyce is over the moon with this new shade of nylons–in stylish palomino! The golden color would cover up her pasty white legs in no time!
Ladies, when’s the last time you gave an ounce of thought to the color of your pantyhose? Have you even purchased hose in this millennium? I never see anyone sporting them these days. Probably because they didn’t have EZ glove to remove “mannish leg-hair.”
But once those legs were shaved, it was time to don some Dancing Twins! And remember folks, these nylons necessitated garter belts. Peggy Sue hadn’t yet invented pantyhose. 😉 Seam-free nylons did the trick for THIS cute trick.
If nylons weren’t up your alley in 1947, you could stay feet-focused on trendy bobby sox, in an assortment of colors, sure to entice your local soda jerk.
And if you were a girl who knows what goes, you’d pull on some Bonnie Doons before strapping on your skates to burn off the calories from eating too many Lorna Doones.
But socks weren’t the end of the conversation. You had to accessorize them. Everybody’s doing it!
So much pressure on young women! These days, a woman can just pick an atrocious tattoo to reflect her inner soul. But back in 1947, sock buttons were the way to express yourself. Can you imagine anyone taking the TIME to interpret your sock buttons?
Italian teens peddle their wares for coins on the Boston streets near Quincy Market and Feneuil Hall, which opened in 1743. 1743? You Northeasterners will be much more familiar with structures that old, but for a Texan, 1743 meant my state was still Mexico. How interesting it would be to imagine your great-great-great grandparents walking the same Boston streets centuries before you, keeping the city fed during the Depression, and feeling pride in work.
Below, we see plump green cucumbers being sold by pushcart vendor Signor Passanisil, as the Customhouse Tower rises in the background.
This billboard was situated on Elizabeth Street in Sydney, Australia, advertising Kiwi Shoe Polish, with an image of an unidentified man who coincidentally, bore a strong resemblance to the current president of the United States. Evidently, FDR had not authorized use of his likeness. I can’t imagine that a billboard in the US of an Australia Prime Minister would help sales of shoe polish over here. In fact, I doubt any of us could name one Australian Prime Minister.
Drag off a cigarette, that is.
While modern voices find much merriment in decrying systemic racism, declaring the US a consistently racist environment, despite the fact that millions of immigrants have moved here over the last 200 years to pursue (and succeed) in one of the few countries affording them that freedom, no one could argue that America seemed to get it 100% right in this 1938 LIFE article, slamming the Anti-Semitic sentiment which mirrored the growing Nazi party. Very woke indeed.