I love a good story about collecting, and Pilgrim’s begins thus:
David Pilgrim was 12 years old when he bought his first racist object at a flea market: a saltshaker in the shape of a Mammy. As a young black boy growing up in Mobile, Alabama, he’d seen similar knick-knacks in the homes of friends and neighbors, and he instinctively hated them. As soon as he handed over his money, he threw his purchase to the ground and shattered it into pieces.
But it get’s really interesting when Jennie Rothenberg Gritz, an Atlantic senior editor who wrote the piece and interviewed the collector, asked Pilgrim about his progression from destroying the objects to collecting them:
I went to a historically black college, Jarvis Christian College in Texas, and in addition to teaching the usual math and science, our professors would tell us stories of Jim Crow. One day, one of my professors came into the classroom with a chauffer’s cap. He set the hat down and asked what historical significance it had.
Now, the obvious answer was that blacks were denied many opportunities, and chauffeuring was one of the few jobs open to them. But that was not right answer. He told us that a lot of professional middle-class blacks in those days always traveled with a chauffer’s hat. The reason: If they were driving a nice new car through a small southern town, they didn’t want police officers, or any other whites, to know the car belonged to them.
I remember that story so vividly. No object has any meaning other than what we assign to it. But that was an incredible meaning to assign to an object that, on the surface, had little to do with racism.
As a feminist, I’ve often understood the old health concerns simply to be over-reactions — or outright orchestrations to limit women. But I bet some of those doctors are rolling over in their graves now.
For these works go beyond the issue of basic nudity in art, beyond even the matter of erotic art, to explore sexuality along with religion and what appears to be the opulence of wealth.
I’m no expert, in art or in the French language, but I’m rather certain these works by Marcel Vertes (Le Pays a Mon Gout aka The Country to Your Taste, 12 original lithograph prints, circa 1921) and Martin van Maele (De Sceleribus et Criminibus , 11 erotic etchings circa 1908) are not theoretical works expressing confusion or commentary on the corruption of religion or other issues of decadence, but rather are fantasies exploiting such distorted delights — i.e. they are 100% erotica, illustrated meant to arouse.
But does that make them any less interesting in terms of art? Does their age make them more credible as art? Does the status of the artists, one an Oscar winner the other an illustrator for the works of H. G. Wells, improve your opinion? Is it art, erotica, or just plain old porn?
…And if you say “porn” or “old porn,” doesn’t that mean it still moves you?
Which would rather give points for “timeless” or “classic” to the works as well as kudos to the artists themselves, wouldn’t it?
“Dior said that the forward thrust of the hips was a way for women to advertise their childrearing abilities, so he was certainly tapping into the emergence of the baby boom,” says Timothy Long, the costume curator at the Chicago History Museum. “But there’s no surprise that that whole idea of hyperfemininity is going to continue.” Long is the force behind the current exhibition Charles James: Genius Deconstructed which sheds new light on the unique way that the American couturier-said to have influenced Dior- crafted his dresses.
Does this mean that those 1950s-1960s New Look fashions we find so sexy are indeed incredibly sexist — by design? Or is our fertile femininity to be acknowledged, even celebrated, without judgement? It’s nearly impossible to say… History teaches us just how limited and controlled women were in those times. And the return of such looks — can it be completely coincidental in terms of the current assault on women?
A quick image search on Google, and I received the instant gratification I sought: vintage fashion labels for Jay Herbert of California.
My favorite is this fancier version in which the scroll work at the bottom somehow remind me of scissors. It still holds it’s logo value today, for somehow, in all my perusals of vintage fashions over the years, I retained the sight of it enough to recognize it on the lighter.
If I had to guess, I’d say the fancier labels are the older ones. But it would only be a guess. For aside from department store ads in old newspapers announcing the Jay Herbert of California brand, there’s scant information available on the fashion house.
One thing is for certain, though: Jay Herbert was not a fashion designer or even an actual person. Buried in a precedent setting legal case regarding the definition of an employee (at least for tax purposes), I discovered that Jay Herbert of California was the business name of partners Herbert Owen and Joseph Silverstein who “engaged in the manufacture and sale of ladies’ dresses” in 1960.
That technically means that references to Jay Herbert as a designer are false.
But there’s even more ambiguity…
It appears that Jay Herbert of California began appearing in vintage department store advertisements in the late 1950s but by the mid 1960s they fade away… And decades later, in the 1980s, the name Jay Herbert appears again — on handbags and wine caddies — but now simply as Jay Herbert, New York.
I’m not sure if this Jay Herbert, most known for their coveted quilted Chanel-inspired handbags, is related past anything but name. Trademark searches show no records for the name Jay Herbert, Jay Herbert of California, or Jay Herbert New York. The name could have been sold, licensed, or, having no protections, even just capitalized upon as having some recognition with retailers.
More contemporary handbags appear with metal tags bearing the Jay Herbert name and metal “coin” logos — but these handbags and purses are “by Sharif.”
Sharif, like Cher, uses only one name. The designer bags are sold mainly (if not only) on HSN. The designer incorporated as Sharif Designs Inc. in 1979, but it has a family history dates back to 1827 in Egypt.
Personally, I prefer the vintage bags over the new ones, and the vintage fashions even more. But it’s the vintage labels and logos I love most of all.
I hope this helps you with your Jay Herbert shopping and collecting. If you can add any information, please do!
Here’s a rundown of the celebratory event program:
NASA Administrator Charles Bolden and Glenn Director Ramon “Ray” Lugo will provide remarks during the one-hour program, which will include a welcome from Cleveland State University President Dr. Ronald Berkman. Space shuttle mission STS-95 pilot Steve Lindsey will pay tribute from the astronaut corps to Glenn. The program will culminate with a keynote address by the guest of honor Sen. John H. Glenn Jr.
Musical performances will be provided by the Cleveland Institute of Music, The Singing Angels and a soloist from Cleveland State University’s music program. Doors open at noon and a special pre-program musical performance by the Cleveland Institute of Music will begin at 12:15 p.m., followed by a video tribute to Glenn.
…Others attending the tribute event include agency officials, Ohio astronauts, NASA employees and contractors, elected officials, several hundred high school students throughout northeast Ohio, and 100 Twitter followers selected to participate in a day-long Tweetup event that includes tours of NASA Glenn and its visitor center at the Great Lakes Science Center.
After the official program, Glenn, Bolden and Lugo will participate in a Q&A session with the lucky Tweetup participants.
More than 800 complimentary tickets are being distributed to the general public for this event through a lottery by Cleveland State University in partnership with NASA Glenn. But don’t worry if you don’t win the lottery — the program will also be carried (streamed) live on NASA Television online. You might miss some swag and photo ops, but you can still see the event as it happens!
Today, February 28, 2012, Leaders from the Onondaga Nation and other Haudenosaunee leaders will travel to Washington, D.C. to file a formal appeal to their land claim, which was dismissed in court in 2010. And they will be bringing along with them George Washington’s Wampum Belt.
The longest wampum belt is the 1794 Canandaigua Treaty belt. This belt is 6 feet long and composed of thirteen figures holding hands connected to two figures and a house. The 13 figures represent the 13 States of the newly formed United States of America. The two figures and the house symbolize the Haudenosaunee. The two figures next to the longhouse are the Mohawk (Keepers of the Eastern Door) and the Seneca (Keepers of the Western Door).
President George Washington had this belt made to ratify a treaty with the Haudenosaunee to end the quarrels between us. That together we shall live in peace, friendship and forever.
The Onondaga want the federal government to honor the treaties signed with the Onondaga and other Indian tribes and are hoping that by “bringing the history to the attention of the public, healing and justice may be found.”
A press conference, with the wampum belt, will be held at 9:30 AM in the Murrow Room at the National Press Club in Washington, D.C. — and it will be webcast live (I’m guessing that’s 9:30 AM, local D.C. time).
A link round-up of what I’ve been reading and writing — not all of it, just the stuff I think you Kitsch Slapped readers might like.
What I’ve been writing:
What Girl Scout Cookies Fund
I wrote about the Girl Scouts celebrating 100 years, which reminds me of this graphic some anti-Girl-Scout, control-all-the-wombs, misogynistic self loathing person made. It’s supposed to make me not buy the cookies. But in fact, had me double my order this year. My hips can totally carry the extra weight; I can’t bear any more attacks on women and women’s rights.
This I actually read in hard copy — belatedly. Having grabbed a copy in November when I was seeing family for the holiday, the paper remained tucked inside my suitcase until I got home and after unpacking it, plopped it onto the magazine pile. Anyway, it’s still a fabulous read: Daughter Thinks It’s Time To Have Sex Talk With Parents.
Newt Gingrich continues to use the names of dead men inaccurately. Just as his faulty “recollections” Ronald Reagan are continuously used as a battle cry of “Republican Hero”, Newt’s now using Saul Alinsky’s name as some sort of devil. And just as wrongly.
I watched Almost Golden: The Jessica Savitch Story, starring Sela Ward, tonight. During commercial breaks, I Googled Jessica Savitch. To my surprise — and major disappointment — there’s not really any website devoted to this groundbreaking woman who earned four Emmys, an Alfred I. DuPont-Columbia University Award, and election to the board of trustees at Ithaca College.
http://youtu.be/hfwoELPJmC8
If you start at Wikipedia (and I never trust Wiki completely, so please only let it be a starting place), the entry on the anchorwoman pretty much follows the made for TV movie. The Accuracy Project has basic bio info, but leaves a lot to be desired as it really only presents corrections, and a handful of them at that. And there’s this bio by Abigail Griffith (Spring 2008).
Reading all of those, there are odd discrepancies which mainly center on Donald Rollie Payne, a gynecologist in Washington, DC, who was Savitch’s last husband who committed suicide on August 1, 1981 by hanging himself in the basement of their home. Abigail Griffith says that Payne “committed suicide after becoming aware of a diagnosis of incurable cancer,” while Wiki says he was a “closet homosexual.” I don’t suppose that matters much to most of us, but I’m certain these things mattered to Savitch and possibly say a lot about her (continued) relationship choices.
Since her death, Jessica Savitch’s been inducted into The Broadcast Pioneers of Philadelphia’s Hall of Fame, and the Park School of Communications at Ithaca College hosts a Journalism Lecture Series in her honor as well as named an on-campus television studio in her honor. There should be some sort of official website in her honor.
I bet Jessica would have loved the Internet, even if it/we would have had a field day of speculation and fun at her expense with the gaffes (largely exaggerated in the movie and historical footnotes) made on her last broadcast — just 20 days before her death. So someone, give her her due.
Before there was today’s code for handkerchiefs, there were other fashion accessories used in courtship for communicating and flirting. There was the fan, of course, and, according to this article found in the Bismarck Tribune (March 15, 1879), gloves were used too.
The Glove Language
The English girls have improved upon the language opf the fan and the handkerchief by devising a very copious vocabulary of the gloves, which for the benefit of American women we beg to “pirate”from an English contemporary. It runs thus:
Drop a glove — Yes
Crumple a glove in the right hand — No.
Half unglove the left hand — Indifference.
Tap the left shoulder with the glove — Follow me.
Tap the chin with the glove — I love you no longer.
Turn the gloves inside out — I hate you.
Fold the gloves neatly — I should like to be with you.
Put on the left glove, leaving the thumb uncovered — Do you love me?
Drop both gloves — I love you.
Twirl the gloves round the fingers — Be careful: we are watched.
Slap the back of the hand with the gloves — I am vexed.
Take a glove in each hand and separate the hands — I am furious.
A vintage pair of Unitex Sanitary Panties — brand new, unused, in the original box with all the instructions, etc.
The panties are made of sheer nylon with a rubber or vinyl-like pocket (likely the same material used to put over baby diapers) to insert your old fashioned sanitary napkin in.
The original tag says the panties must be worn “next to the body… Never over any other garment.” A-doi!
The seller says, “I bet there aren’t many of these left in existence.”
I had these buttons / pinbacks made back in the day — the early days of the gross ineptitude, racism, and misogyny of the political money-grubbing beast that is Newt Gingrich. Sold quite a number of ’em too.
Who knew they’d come back into the necessity of fashion again in 2011?
Then again, we never did quite flush Rush, either.
Like those helium poops, they just keep rising to the surface. Ugh. And *sigh*
Thankfully I collect political items, so I just resurrect them as needed. However depressing that is. Since Newt is unfortunately back, up to his old crap and more anti gay rights than ever, I’m selling the No Newt buttons again.
As a researcher *, I disagree that corsets were as restrictive as the roles women had in society. Because women controlled how tight they laced, could remove stays, etc., there was far more control by the individual over her corset than her culture. Culture has been far more damaging, suffocating, than any corset.
There were actually significant health issues directly tied to corsetry, as well, particularly when the fashions dictated the smallest possible waist. Women did permanent damage to their lungs and even rearranged their internal organs to accommodate corsets! Plus, it was (in my oh-so humble opinion) a lovely turn of phrase…and I love a good turn of phrase. :)
In that sense, women today who are not wearing a properly fitting comfortable bra are doing far worse things to themselves and their bodies than corsets, really. We are imprisoned by the places and times we live in, yes, but our ignorance of our bodies, our bras, is some sort of self-inflicted madness at this point…
Agreed, especially as society is less rigid today and women have much more opportunity to make decisions for themselves about how to dress, especially underneath their clothes.
To that extent, I see your book as a companion piece to the iconic Our Bodies, Ourselves. How can we be the action figures we need to be in our lives without knowing this fundamental functional part of our lives? That question may be rhetorical… (Feel free to comment though!)
Busted By Ali Cudby
Naturally, I love the idea of being a companion piece to the seminal Our Bodies, Ourselves! When it comes to bras, specifically, the thing I love is how empowered women feel when they figure out how fit works on their bodies. It’s fantastic to help a woman feel better in her skin and move past the negative body image messages perpetrated by the media.
I’m glad you mentioned body image messages in the media… Fundamentally, we women think we know our breasts. But we really don’t. I think we more about how our breasts are “supposed” to appear, clothed or not, and we certainly have feelings about that… But we really don’t know our own breasts, do we? How does this compound the matter of fit?
I don’t think I’ve said that women don’t know their own breasts, but women certainly get mixed messages about the role of breasts in society.
No, you didn’t say that bit about women not knowing our own breasts; I did. *wink* It seems we don’t know as much as we should, or we wouldn’t suffer with bras that don’t fit!
If you’ve never been taught how a bra should fit, and you may not even be aware of brands that are designed for your specific body type, it’s like trying to hit a moving target with a blindfold on!
In Chapter Two, in Once Upon A Time, When Fit Was A Fairy Tale, you discuss the fairy tale of fit:
Bra fitting can be confusing because there are so many pieces to literally fit together, and it’s not something most American women are taught — not at home, in school, or anywhere else. There’s no real mechanism for that education. It’s not taught in high school health classes. Many mothers overlook the chance to help their daughters get fit correctly, perhaps because they never experienced the benefits of the right fit themselves.
So poor bra fit is literally passed down through the generations!
Historically, speaking, what’s to blame for this? How much of women’s ignorance to the issues of bra fit are our fault? How much do we, must we, hold others accountable for? How do we take back our breasts, our health, our lives? Is there anything we can do at the consumer level?
I think economics and the bottom-line thinking that has been so pervasive in America is the culprit. Customer service has left the building in a lot of areas of the department store (except the men’s suit department…hmmm).
The good news is that I see a swing of the pendulum in the opposite direction. There are an increasing number of fit-based boutiques out there. Right now, most of them cater to the high end of the market, but it could be a beginning of a movement. I’d like to think so, at least! The product is there, the message is getting out…so I’m optimistic about the direction this industry is going.
We’ve all heard (and quite possibly ignored) the percentages of women who are not wearing a properly fitting bra; what does this percentage mean in terms of number of women?
The numbers are staggering. Between 80-100 million American women spend several billion dollars each year on bras that don’t fit and cause them physical and emotional harm!
And that’s just women over the age of 18 — the youngest group of women are actually most likely to wear bras that don’t fit.
Warning! The Wrong Bra Can Be Hazardous To Your Health
I know you’re not a doctor; and neither am I, but I’d guess this phenomenon of poor fitting bras and the increase of medications for depression, anxiety, aches and pains, lethargy, et al. is likely related. My readers might think I exaggerate — do you have any comments on the links between poor fitting bras and the things that ail us?
I know that women who have gotten fitted report that they no longer have daily headaches, shoulder aches and back pain. They stand taller and feel better — both physically and emotionally. I know that was true for me, and my experience is what led to me writing this book.
To say that proper bra fit can be life-changing may sound overblown to some, but I’ve seen it happen way too many times to question the phenomenon!
The reason I find your work, your book, so amazing is that women spend how many hours a day in their bras? I mean, even if we take them off the second we can, it’s a lot of hours to be miserable! Like that seminal feminist work, Busted! is based on the principal that we can be instruments of change — for ourselves, personally, and for society itself. In order to do that, we need to be educated. Did you have any idea when you began your work as a bra coach that you’d be writing such a book? Did the connections between bras and health, society, etc. surprise you?
First off, thanks! I really appreciate it. My work has evolved very organically. It started with my own moment of realization, when I found pretty bras that fit and were comfortable. I started talking to my friends about my discoveries and began helping them. Then friends started bringing friends, and the seeds of my fit methodology began to gel, and I started talking to industry experts and blogging about my experiences. The more I learned, the more I realized how pervasive this issue is, both from a comfort standpoint and also that connection to self-image so many women face.
Bra coaching goes way beyond bras — it goes to the core of how we carry ourselves as women. I didn’t expect that, and every time I hear back from someone who has benefitted from my fit methodology, it’s incredibly fulfilling. Helping women feel better about themselves is rewarding on so many levels.
Is this an American problem; are things better in the UK or elsewhere?
Culturally, women from the European countries seem to value buying fewer items of better quality more than in the US. And in the UK there is a wider array of product available in more places, it’s just easier to find stores that carry a variety of sizes. But availability of product doesn’t necessarily translate into excellence of fit. Fit is a challenge worldwide, simply because there are so few standards for sizing within the industry.
I would love to see American women placing more value on finding a quality garment that fits, versus going for the least expensive, or only buying on promotion.
Since you work with bra designers and other in the manufacturing industry I have to ask, how much of the problems regarding limited bra sizes begin there? Or is it the retailers who are the biggest problem?
I think there’s a ton of great product out there in a huge range of sizes – like I’ve said, 28AAA through 56N. The challenge is finding what works for you.
There are real issues for retailers when it comes to stocking that wide range of products, the amount of inventory required is mind-boggling. So (as with most things in life) it’s more complicated than it seems and I honestly believe that most manufacturers and retailers want their customers to be thrilled with their purchases.
Rather than focus on the inherent problems, I see a great opportunity for women — own the solution by understanding fit on your own body and finding the products that work for you, either in local stores or online. It’s very empowering!
Now go forth, ladies, empower yourselves with Busted!
* In fairness to Ali, and for clarification for you readers, I should note the following. Ali and I had a bit more of a discussion about corsets and history. She is operating off the more generally accepted wisdom about corsets, yet when I proffered her my research (What If Everything You Knew About The Corset Was Wrong?, Corsets Are Too Sexy?, Corsets Bound To Stay Suffrage), she not only read the posts but called them “fascinating!” We happily agreed to the following: Corsets, while restrictive, may not have been AS restrictive as women’s roles in society. That is probably more than a humble research obsessed feminist historical blogger can really ask for.
Beautiful female silent film stars, the joy and anguish of impeccable obsessive research, a case of mistaken (or misleading) identity which is only partially solved… For now.
Ankerich may have proved that Olive Borden was not Sybil Tinkle (despite the perpetuation of the story long after it was corrected), but so many questions remain…
Why does mythinformation continue to spread? What is it about this legend that keeps it going? Why the mix-up in the first place? Accident or on purpose?
And, most importantly, whatever happened to Sybil Tinkle?
I want to know because I’ve fallen in love with her.
Young Sybil was said to be the first girl in Timpson, Texas, to smoke and “often painted outdoors, clad only in lingerie.” After a disastrous marriage in the early 1920s, Sybil ran away to California where she attempted to break into the movies. “Once in Hollywood, she wrote notes and sent portraits but, after a while, the family lost touch with her–forever!” (I say, has anyone ever looked at her husband?!)
From there, the Tinkle trail runs dry. A tasteless pun, perhaps; but it also captures the essence of things for me… Researching through old newspapers and other ephemera is rather like CSI work: you can only work off of the evidence left behind and, as time passes, it’s much harder.
Kudos to you, Mr. Ankerich, for the work you’ve done, for the women you’ve introduced me to — and for leaving just enough of a mystery for me to become obsessed with.
The people who stamp about the streets playing a double whistle are blind Shampooers, i.e. “Massage” operators by trade.
Japanese baths are generally heated with charcoal, and it is well to be careful of asphyxia from the fumes. The bath-houses with men and women bathing in full sight of each other, are a curiosity to Europeans.
This idea of co-ed bath-houses, or at least visibility in Japanese bath-houses, contradicts everything we think we know about Japanese modesty, i.e. the information on this antique, circa 1915, lantern slide literature piece:
The woman is taught from girlhood to be modest, retiring and obedient as daughter and wife, and as a rule she is almost certain to avoid spinsterhood, so well-planned is the marriage machinery in Japan. Courtship is unknown as we know it. The bringing about of marriages regularly the work of a private go-between, who brings the young people together after the parents on both sides, with additional precautionary inquisitorial go-between, have agreed to a proposed match. Thus girls often select their husbands unknown to the bridegroom himself, for the selection is usually supposed to be and usually is the result of the go-between’s astute observation, the initiative coming from one or the other parents, who says in effect, ‘Pray you good friend, find a spouse for my daughter– or son” as the case may be. In this way even when a young man or young woman has a small purse or a bodily defect some one equally short in cast or corporal perfection is found and the thing is done. The young people meet at a theater or feast; they chat gingerly with each other and final consent is given. No courtship and absolutely no kissing!’
Listed on the same page of this antique Japan travel guide as Japanese Wrestling, Public Libraries, Museums, Places Of Worship — and across from the small map of the Temples of Shiba — are the Geisha or Singing girls, which could be ordered through the tea-house.
The geisha houses, rather humble, certainly unpretentious abodes, group themselves in certain quarters, and the hiring of the girls is done methodically through a central office. The hiring should be accomplished by the restaurant keeper or by the housewife as early in the afternoon as possible, but not after six in the evening, unless absolutely unavoidable. For the preparation of the Geisha is an elaborate affair from the wonderful coiling and adorning of her hair to the fit of her white, heelless shoes. They are taken in rickishas to the house of entertainment and carried home in the same way when all is over.
In Chapter V, day trips in the area surround Tokyo, Geisha girls — “pleasure boats full” — are also mentioned.
The geisha or singing girl to the “Western” mind fills out the romantic ideal of modern Japan. To the native she is simply a sublimated waitress with dancing and singing trimmings, but she is also a chosen vehicle of Japanese romance. Visions of her dressed in showy silken robes waving a large fan, her black hair marvelously coifed, a fixed smile on her face and moving in rhythmic steps with a special flowing elegance of gesture, rise before those who have seen her at her high functions. Ever to the accompaniment of the tinkling strings of the of the samisen and the full beat of the tsuzumi that picture comes back to the foreigner as the flower of his reminiscence of Japan.
The 14th day, suggests the “opportunity of witnessing the theatres,” of which “Danjuro is admittedly the best actor in Japan.” This 1915 lantern slide is presumably the man himself; likely a descendant of this Danjuro.
And the 15th day one must go to the Bazaar in Shiba Park to “see the gamour dancing girls at the Maple Club, (Koyo Kwan) for which you must obtain an introduction from a member, and afterwards go to the No Dances, a kind of ancient opera, held in the immediate vicinity.”
The most the ordinary globe-scorcher has to say for Japanese theatres is that they please the Japanese — common Japanese. The good-class Japanese do not go to them. They go in for No-dances, which strike the scoffing European as very well-named; not being dances at all, but a sort of religious play, with posturing and singing and declamation.
The Japanese love the theater, and it is a thoroughly national institution. You will be told in select circles how up to the Restoration in 1868 the theater was looked down on, and actors in the view of the samurai class were beneath contempt– the offensive manifestants of a degrading kind of exhibition. There was, no doubt, much affectation in this. The popular theater was supposed to clash with the traditions of the Japanese classic drama know as the “No or “No Dance”.
Today there are hundreds of theaters giving popular drama. The “No” is a collection of some two hundred and thirty-two dramatic episodes, mostly tragic, which were collected and given permanent form in the early fifteenth century.
A more subtle Cold War publication, preaching that we must do more than “learn the values & working habits of democracy,” we must “live it” to “strengthen national security and to win the peace.” “We must also work together — to keep democracy free and make it strong and positive.” On the last page, advice on “cooperating” with the Motion Picture Council to “encourage the showing and reshowing of movies that stimulate an understanding and appreciation of American democracy” in your own community. Other media is included in this vintage propaganda booklet; but the film section rather covers it all — the seemingly benign advocacy setting darker things in motion…
A promotional item from Benjamin Harrison’s run for the presidency, it bears the slogan “Protection To American Labor And American Industries.” It makes you wonder — I mean really wonder — at the possibility of running on the idea of being pro-Union and pro-industry. I mean, progressives like me believe it’s possible, but would a single candidate dare today?
In No Sex, Please, We’re Literary!, author Karen Essex discusses the double-standard which goes past the roles and experiences of the characters, to the limitations of the authors. Here’s a quick snippet; but please go read the rest.
The point of my books is to give voice to otherwise voiceless females from history and myth; to unlock what has been secreted away in women’s hearts and minds for thousands of years; to express what has been unutterable. Historically, women have either been reduced to nothing but their sexuality, or stripped of it entirely; the Madonna or the whore. Are those two options not more degrading to a female character than allowing her the full range of human experience?
Karen Essex has also just earned a permanent link on the blogroll for that post; but she’s an achiever. You should also read Women: Is it our own fault? — which is in response to her earlier post, Take Back The Tit, which also rather addresses the icky HuffPo post too. See? Now we’ve come full circle!
Image credits: Katharine, Marion and Peg Hepburn photo taken by Martin Munkacsi, August 1939, via.
[A] community for collaborative fiction and role play writing. Whether you just want to browse and read, or whether you want to write one or many different stories from the point of view of your characters this is the place for you. In addition to the stories there are fun discussions, games, contests, and many opportunities to make new friends. Inside you can find all your favorite genres: science fiction, fantasy, horror, history, and more. You can explore over one hundred different collaborative novels, join in, create your own home pages for your characters, learn from others on how to design great homes, create fabulous graphics, or just hone your creative writing skills with others of like interests.
Pan Historia is run by librarians and researchers, rumor has it.
And Pan Historia is blowing my mind.
But Pan Historia is also a bit too intimidating for a girl like me. I’m down with the ; I’m just not a fiction writer or a gamer, so I don’t think I can . Unless my character is a Medieval fish out of water in a post apocalyptic desert. And possibly mute.
In 2008, author Midori Snyder posted a photograph from the 1940s of her maternal grandmother at a crowded kitchen table, drinking and smoking with friends:
It was a cute, rather sentimental post, not only laden with nostalgia but whispering of stories and potential stories; charming, but nothing earth-shattering. Then, in June of this year, something happened…
On June 8, 2011, Snyder posted an update involving that vintage photograph. Snyder received an email from a middle school English teacher who’d been teaching poetry to sixth graders. This teacher was trying to move the students past the “misconception that all poetry is cryptic and impenetrable by nature,” including the use of photographs as inspiration, instructing the students to “bring in a picture to which they are emotionally connected in some way.” Knowing the err, limitations and penchants of students, the teacher had gone to the Internet in search of photographs for students who failed to bring their own in. Along the way, she had found Snyder’s photo. That photo became the “back up” photograph so that students could continue their classwork.
That was the moment of intersection between the teacher and Snyder.
This would be cool enough on it’s own. But what’s cooler than that, was the intersection between Snyder’s grandmother and her adult gal pals from the 1940s and 11 to 12 year old kids in school — and how that fictional “what if” emotional connection bridged a gap to inscrutable poetry. In the teacher’s words:
We wrote. I wrote one too, alongside them. We read them, we clapped, we nodded our heads, we listened. The purpose of this email is to let you know that the act of putting that picture out there changed some of us. It helped us look deeper. It forced us to connect. It made us listen to each other and see things the way we wouldtn’ve on our own, perhaps.
If Snyder had been too “embarrassed” or otherwise dismissed the idea of sharing such a little thing as an old family photograph (and some thoughts about it to assist searches), this magic may not have happened. Yes, the teacher is to be applauded; I make no mistake about that! But she and others like her would have lots less to choose from if the rest of us didn’t offer up our photographs, scans, images, etc.
This time is was a school teacher. And one who took the time to inform Snyder how great her act of sharing was; no small thing to those of us who do share. But every day, lots of other intersections and connections are made from the bits of “stuff” and pieces of “junk” that everyday folks and collectors share. These images and objects help connect students to literature, journalists to stories, researchers to proof, collectors to information, people to memories, individuals to their ancestors in family trees, nerds to history… People connect for the first time to abstract theories. People rediscover individual intimate connections. People reclaim the past, work toward a future. People find answers; people like me find more questions… Heck, people even just find more objects and photographs they must have (often in pursuit of much loftier things than materialistic motives).
The moral of the story is this: No matter what you have, no matter how big or small, how Big Picture or insignificant you think it is — someone is just waiting to see it, learn from it, remember it, be inspired by it.
Two photos from the 1920s featuring women and their motorcycles — vintage Indian motorcycles & sidecars. But the ladies don’t just sit in the sidecars. …Maybe little girls do. But not women. Photos via Lynnstudios.
Message in Washington, D.C., July 28, 1922; message to Washington, D.C. today.
Don’t let the tea party-ers or republicans fool you: the hold-up on the debt ceiling has nothing to do with balancing the budget or creating smaller, less intrusive government. Despite running on such slogans, or “jobs,” those who were swept into office also swept in their own dirty under-the-rug ideologue agendas. Look at restrictions on abortion, for example. Fear, misogyny and racism rule; using legislation to create more government intrusion to benefit wealthy white men. Meanwhile, these elected conservative officials pass on the lies and deny the reality of the Bush tax cuts which, by the way, blew-through Clinton’s surplus and, along with deregulation and cronyism, created this mess.
Other shades and shadows from the 1920s which are today’s boogeymen:
The Immigration Act of 1924 places restrictions on immigration. National quotas curbed most Eastern and Southern European nationalities, further enforced the ban on immigration of East Asians, Indians and Africans, and put mild regulations on nationalities from the Western Hemisphere (Latin Americans).
Growth and general acceptance of the Ku Klux Klan in America.
The Scopes Trial (1925) which declared that John T. Scopes had violated the law by teaching evolution in schools, creating tension between the competing theories of creationism and evolution.
I haven’t read the works under discussion and, embarrassingly, my knowledge of George Eliot wouldn’t fill a thimble — but that doesn’t put an end to my opining. For it’s not the “did she or didn’t she” of the argument which has me most fascinated, but the “how” of it all…
Once there was a school of thought that held that autobiographies were superior to biographies; a person is the only one who really knows their own life, no amount of research can replace that. Along the way, the sub-genre of memoirs was created in order for a person to be able to tell a smaller story, the story of only a chapter or two in their lives as opposed to the whole story. Memoirs were greatly discredited in the whole Oprah-Frey fiasco. None of that memoirs stuff is of importance here; but memory is.
You see, I don’t remember things by dates. I have a linear concept of time, but dates are not my thing. And time itself passes unevenly for me — for most of us. My children, for example, grew up overnight despite those sleepless nights which I thought would never end. Time waiting for a child in a counseling appointment without a book vs. the same one hour appointment with a book, well, you know how that goes. And then there’s the matter of memory…
What I remember and what my husband remembers about things we’ve done, conversations held, etc. clearly exposes problems with perceptions. What I consider significant, he may not; and vice versa. And I, like many people I am told, often walk to the kitchen only to wonder why I went there.
Memory is a twisty thing.
So how reliable am I in terms of writing my autobiography?
I’m guessing not good at all.
So would the biographer be better?
I swore I wrote about (some of) this before, but I write so many places that if I did, I couldn’t find it; if I do find it, I’ll update with a link. [Note to self: you’re loosing your mind.]
But that is, in part, precisely what I’m talking about. If I were writing my own biography or memoir, I might just reference something I believed I wrote. And even upon being unable to produce it, would swear it was misplaced (or, if I’d grow even more paranoid, claim it was stolen). I’m that convinced I did it. Even if I hadn’t included that tidbit in my autobiography, some researcher pouring through my personal effects, correspondence I’d written over the years, etc. might just find that I’d penned a letter in which I swore that I had written on the subject. Perhaps I’d even accuse a person of the theft of it. This poor researcher / author would then have proof of my presumption, but not what actually happened.
And this is only one example which is far more cut and dried than other realities… The article or written work exists or it doesn’t; my faulty memory may be found out due to evidence one way or another. But what of my motivations?
What if I insisted I wrote something, knowing I did not, but wished to claim the work of someone else? What if I hated someone so much I convinced myself the story was true, could even pass a lie detector test because I, in fact, believed what I was saying? Maybe I did believe it so much because I was unable to be truthful with myself about my own actions?
We all tell ourselves lies everyday. Just to get through the day. Most of them aren’t so big and bad as accusing someone of theft. We usually don’t lie to hurt others but rather to protect ourselves. We lie to ourselves about the deeper things we cannot face, little and big vanities alike.
Whatever George Eliot aka Mary Ann Evans aka Mary Anne Cross writes to her friends she is also writing to herself. She has her reasons as much as her denials to motivate her. And so, even a historian with access to public and private works, letters and diaries, is still limited by the memories and motivations of their subject.
Did Eliot consider her last marriage an act of dependence? An independent or vain act that would ensure her legacy? Was it just easier to count on someone in her old age, easier to tell people that, or what?
Who knows.
It’s intellectual fun to pluck at the strings left behind, like clues leading to the the ball of yarn that is a hero’s psyche. But we don’t know. We cannot read their soul.
Marilyn Monroe
This is why we have so many biographies. Even after the memoirs and autobiographies (with and without the help of others), even after hundreds of other biographies, there’s still room for more.
Some people who count such things say there are 600 books on Marilyn Monroe alone — with new releases each year. Because she continues to fascinate me us. Forget the suicide-or-murder debate; forget the motivations, cover-ups, bungles, etc. of other people; we can never know what went on in Marilyn’s head or heart because no one, not even her contemporaries and confidants, knew that.
Marilyn and Mary Anne, and all the others, will continue to fascinate us because we will never ever know. We will never be truly sated by any “definitive” book on a person because we can never ever have the definitive answers.
Whatever the subjects of biographies and autobiographies leave for us, whatever they tell us, remains forever between the memory gaps, what they believed, the stories they’ve told themselves, what they believed they needed to protect when they told others their stories…
That is unsettling.
It’s a realization that we cannot ever really know anyone.
And so we continue to read, investigate, interpret, what we can. …Still hoping we will find The Truth.
On the front of this 5 3/4 X 3 1/2 “snapshot,” which the seller says is circa 1915, someone has printed “AN ARIZONA SUFFRAGETTE.”
As I cannot handle this photograph, I am not certain of it’s age — but I am certain that the “suffragette” it is a man wearing a dress and apron. Something about the photo feels more modern than 1915… Maybe it’s just that men putting on dresses to mock women for being too masculine to be pretty, that equal rights for women is as silly as a man wearing a dress, that the whole thing is just too-too familiar.
In The Washington Post, November 1, 1909, an unidentified “London fashion designer” gets bitchy and judgmental about how suffragettes dress. Yes, even though I don’t know if this possibly fictitious designer is male or female, I say “bitchy.” For even should ye olde fashion designer be both real and male (gay stereotypes aside), the fact that this item appeared at all in the Society pages, is proof of the bitch factor.
But perhaps most importantly are the number of appearances of myths, stereotypes, and general mean spiritedness which are preyed and played upon today:
The worst blow the cause of equal suffrage has received is the charge that its champions are careless in dress. Women who are not neat in attire and care nothing for personal adornment cannot hope to attract or influence men, and the future is gloomy for the British suffragettes at least. A London fashion designer has divided the suffragettes into four classes, each one marked by distinctiveness in dress.
“In the first is the woman of independent means,” says this fashion critic, “who can can and following her habit does dress well, and also the woman of limited income with an instinct for clothes Secondly, there is the working suffragette, who, as a rule, is a typewriter, and goes to the office in neat shirt waist and skirt She does not differ in any way from the woman clerk in any ordinary office, or the school teacher and secretary Thirdly we arrive at the thin, corsetless esthetic type, the modern development of the love-sick maiden who adorned Bunthorne These ‘willowy’ suffragettes adopt the empire and pinafore gown, with strange embroideries and sometimes strange results Last of all comes the suffragette who looks as though she had just returned from the wars and was still in fighting kit She generally wears a green costume of skimp design and rough material, a purple scarf, an impossible complexion, ‘something’ on her head and ‘something’ on her feet Few suffragettes have the faintest idea how to dress their hair Either they have not the time to spare from work for the great cause to give their hair ordinary care or attention, or else the languid drooping style and the straying wisps of hair are meant to illustrate the down-trodden station of women”
All of which should make the most ardent suffragette pause!
