Actually, it wasn’t Revlon; it was Cutex, a name we associate today strictly with nails, not lips. But back in the day, they offered coordinated colors for style from head to toe! Step off, Satan! I’m fabulous!
This all seems fishy. Let’s print it!
Networks don’t care about accuracy. They want ratings. Unity doesn’t get viewers. So why not flat-out tell lies, “change the narrative,” incite violence and unrest, and frighten folks with the scariest topics we can find. Corona! Lockdown! Second wave! Riots! Wildfires! Floods! Division! Your neighbor hates you and always has! The economy is sinking! What about your 401K? And all this followed by that incessant Boy Scout rape commercial that lasts about four minutes. Wouldn’t it be nice to watch a Good News network? Journalists, tell us something positive!
Let’s call the editor and give her a piece of what for.
What’s that? A march for hope and joy? People lining the streets with smiles on their faces? What’s that? We have more in common with each other than what separates us?
Sure, 2020 sucks. No doubt about it. And it does seem to be getting worse–and getting better and getting worse. But, hey, you and I are still alive to blog. Most of us probably even had the virus by now. But, wait! You’ll have everlasting side effects that destroy your health! Maybe, but life is a crapshoot. Any day we wake up is a gift. No guarantees.
At least we can still spin some vinyl.
We can still dance, if only with one partner, or even by ourselves.
We can still buy hats–or even masks that reflect our political, religious, or social ideologies–if that floats your boat.
We can nap and read periodicals.
We can still drive.
And most of us can still eat out.
And guess what? When the holiday season starts in one month, we can start wearing festive Christmas sweaters again.
Who can be sad with reindeer on their chests?
So just remember, it’s okay to relate to this.
But don’t forget this:
Miss Lesley E. Bogert strides with purpose through a parking lot of curvaceous vehicles, off to cavort among fellow Newport socialites of the 1930s. Her father, Beverley Bogert, was a prominent New York banker.
This article from the April 14, 1935 Daily News gives the deets on her relationship with Russia’s Prince George. Note how she is described as “apple-cheeked, plump and roly-poly,” which seems inconsistent with the image above.
By the way, “caracul” is an Asian sheep with a dark curled fleece when young. You know, like most of us wear.
This gal throws much attitude, but I honestly can’t tell if she’s 13 or 23. Huge Jackie O sunglasses, permed bob, lip gloss, tight waist. Love it! While her shirt cuffs are reminiscent of my own tees in 1985, this was actually September of 1975, exactly 45 years ago. That was the year emissions testing on the exhaust analyzer went into effect, and she was watching her go through testing at an inspection station in Cincinnati, Ohio.
What I don’t get is the possessive S after banana. Is the world going bananas? Sure, that’s solid. But banana’s? Certainly it doesn’t own her. She looks like the boss of herself.
In every yearbook of a certain vintage, several pages are devoted to beauty queens and runner-ups, “bluebells” to “sponsors” for men’s organizations. Today we feature not merely the campus beauties of Georgia Tech way back in 1947, but the ones with interesting names. Let’s start the ball rolling with Miss Elizabeth Cottongim!
Nope, it’s not the Eli Whitney cotton gin; it’s gim, which is neither alcohol nor an engine. And evidently the name is still going strong in Georgia, where Cottongim Services addresses all your heating and cooling needs.
Next up is a name I bet you’ve never heard, and probably can’t pronounce. It’s Miss Ygondine Walker! And as you can see by the cropped page, she was a SPON-sor. Extra credit for getting nominated by Mr. Pettyjohn, though I’d rather hear a Pettytom.
Next in line is typical for the era; when a woman married, she lost her own name entirely and became the Mrs. to her husband. So in this case, it’s Mrs. J.O. Paine. I feel your paine, honey. And check out that hair crown!
As we continue on down our list, we showcase Helen Quattlebaum. Evidently famous Quattlebaums existed, such as Cephas and Corey Bear. I guess she also knew a fellow named John Kennedy? Is she even wearing a dress?
And last but not least, let’s sound the chorus for Doris Boris! She might have done well to marry soon after and shed that rhyming surname.
Well, that’s it for today, folks! Enjoy your quarantine! And the next time that you meet an Ygondine or answer yet another Eli Whitney trivia question, think of me and how I just don’t get it.
1920 is most remembered as the year women got the vote, and perhaps these very women DID vote that year. However, this was a day of leisure, a pleasant afternoon of watching boats shuttle visitors to and from the San Jacinto battlegrounds in Houston. Most Texans know the battle happened in 1836, the year Texas won its independence from Mexico, in a fight that lasted 18 minutes and wound up with Santa Anna getting his boo-tay handed to him by Sam Houston.
And while this image seems so very long ago, and none of us was alive, let’s remember that John McCain’s mom was already EIGHT years old when this photo was taken, tackling third grade and cursive. Just throwing that out there for some perspective. And she’s STILL alive.
It’s 1911 in Antartica, and British engineer Bernard C. Day returns to base camp after driving one of the first motor sledges used in Polar exploration, during the South Polar Expedition aka the Terra Nova Expedition aka the British Antarctic Expedition led by Robert Falcon Scott (photo by Herbert G. Ponting from Then & Now). While Scott perished the following year, trying to be the first to reach the South Pole, Day lived till 1934.
What do you think? Hat or no hat?
Must … wear … Laconian Debs.
Y’all, it is rare indeed when a Google search turns up with zilch, nada. But such is the case for Laconian Debs. I guess they only existed for this one moment in my 1947 Seventeen magazine, which evidently could hardly contain their foot fetish. Apparently, those weren’t the only Debs around. Polly Debs were climbing up the charts.
I just don’t get this. These are NOT super flat. They have at least a one inch heel. And what a metaphor! Is a Coke comfy? That’s an odd word choice. You’ll love them like Mink? What? Are we talking about fur now? I’m so confused. But it’s good to know they’re live. All shoes should be live. Shouldn’t they?
Let’s move on to Kickerinos. That’s just fun to say, like Vinnie Barbarino. Anything -ino. It must be eye-talian!
Next up are the musical Monomacs, in either elk or Bucko Calf. Bucko Calf? There’s another thing Google’s never heard of. What a banner day!
I don’t know what music has to do with moccasins, or why tiny elves are handstitching the seams, but there you go. Now on to something south of the border!
Finally, something I’ve heard of. Huarache sandals, too …. A bushy, bushy blond hairdo … Surfin’ USA. ♫♪♫ Calf skin? I’m familiar with it. I get it. Wait, they come with foot shortening vamp? What the heck is that?
Who knew shoes could be so complicated?
Before a cutter was a person who took a knife to their skin just to “feel something” in a world of apathy, Cutters were shoes worn to catch men’s eyes. Maybe he’s not a breast or a thigh man; maybe he’s more interested in your arches. Super. And these would have been the choice for any butterface gal back in ’47 (that’s a woman who looks lovely everywhere “but her” face).
Let’s enjoy the symmetry of this next ad.
Three shoes, six gals, three shoes. Finally, some order. Everyone needs a few smooth, young Connies. Wouldn’t you agree? But smooth, young Connies grow up to become Old Town Trollers. It’s inevitable.
Two more years and I’ll be one myself. But at least I’ll be queen of them all! Still, nobody likes a troller. I’d take these adjectives any day. 
Soft and supple. By the way, I’ve heard about Teena’s “brilliant night play.” Now, THAT’S something Google understands.
I Don't Get It 