Odd Curator’s Notes & Whatjamacallit Wednesday

Consider it stuff I could have tweeted if I weren’t so long-winded & too lazy to work within the 140 character limit; yes, you can take the title to mean the following are odd notes by the curator, or notes from the odd curator.

Upon donning my new bra, making adjustments & checking self out in mirror: Why aren’t bras made in as many flesh tone shades as makeup — they are both the foundations of “beauty,” right?

Eldest daughter is selling magazines for high school choir. Upon paging through the catalog & spotting Horse and Rider magazine: They should have Horse & Writer magazine… I still don’t have a horse, but I’ve never outgrown my appreciation; I can’t be the only one…

Reading to hubby the latest Tweet from @shitmydadsays. Post giggle, I say, “Ah, if only our dads abused & confused us more… Well, my biological dad probably would have, but he died when I was little.” I would have added on a glib, “What’s your dad’s excuse?” but hubby’s face but the kabosh on that.

And now what you’ve been waiting for… This week’s Whatjamacallit Wednesday.

I found this in a box full of old pinbacks at a local antique shop — the pin reads “Menopausal Women Nostalgic for Choice.”

menopausal-women-nostalgic-for-choice

See, if you are crazy enough to diligently pour through the hundreds of things in a box or pile, you can find an awesome surprise.

Cheap Thrills Thursday: Throwing Out Body Issues

They say you can tell a lot about a culture by their garbage — “they” being anthropologists, social scientists, & historians (their amateur varieties too), folks who monitor consumerism, as well environmentalists & “green” eco types. And dumpster-diving garbage pickers like me & my family.

Yes, I dumpster dive and “rescue” things found curb-side — and I’m not embarrassed to admit that we teach our children how to appropriately do the same. Especially during our city’s annual cleanup week; that time of year when folks are assisted in their spring cleaning (and post-flood clean-up) efforts by being allowed to rid their homes & garages of things that normally cannot be left curb-side for the municipal garbage pick-up.

This year, during our city’s annual cleanup week, among the major appliances & numerous vintage toilets (presumably so plentiful this year due to flooded basements resulting in insurance checks to refurbish basement bathrooms), we scored big time (including, not shown there, boxes of books and antique farm items). But there were also number of things I just took photographs of because they were too telling about our society…

One was this old personal home sauna — one of those kitschy retro icons of weight-loss & female self-es-steam, er, self-esteem — modeled here by my daughter Destiny.

retro-home-weight-loss-sauna

(Probably the grossest thing she touched that day; imagine the sweaty, possibly nude behinds, that sat in that seat! Hand sanitizer to the rescue!)

retro-vita-master-sauna

Another day & neighborhood away, we found this orange nightstand covered in food, fashion & weight-loss clippings.

kitschy-decoupage-weight-loss-clippings-orange-nightstand

Both girls both, 13 and 20, loved this & were planning a battle for which one would get it. *sigh*

Unwilling to allow either girl to absorb the sorrow of such a “motivational” piece of furniture, I forbade either of them to get it.

But, willing to concede the cool factor of reinventing a shabby piece of furniture, I told them to keep their eyes open (curbside or at thrift shops, rummage sales &/or flea markets) for a small piece of functional yet ugly furniture and I’d show them how to transform it with paint, magazine clippings & decoupage glue. They’ll just have to select some other theme.

Because there’s no way I’m adding more female body issues to the world; not with my kids, and not in memorabilia for future trash collectors & anthropologists.

Quick, Check Your Stone Tablet For The Date!

A recent study reports that today, in 2009, 71% of Americans think women should take their spouses name after marriage — and half of the respondents said the act should be a legal requirement!

Researchers from Indiana University and University of Utah say these findings come despite a clear shift to more gender-neutral language. “The figures were a bit sobering for us because there seems to be change in so many areas. If names are a core aspect of our identity, this is important,” said Brian Powell, professor of sociology at IU Bloomington. “There are all these reports and indicators that families are changing, that men are contributing more, that we’re moving toward a more equal family, yet there’s no indication that we’re seeing a similar move to equality when it comes to names.”

Laura Hamilton, the Indiana University associate professor who lead study, was interviewed at NYDailyNews:

When the respondents were asked why they felt women should change their name after the wedding, Hamilton says, “They told us that women should lose their own identity when they marry and become a part of the man and his family. This was a reason given by many.”

Other respondents said they felt the marital name change was essential for religious reasons or as a practical matter.

“They said the mailman would get confused and that society wouldn’t function as well if women did not change their name,” Hamilton says.

Americans who feel that women should take their husband’s last name also tend to be conservative in other areas, according to Hamilton.

“Asked if they thought of a lesbian couple as a family, those who believe that women should take their husband’s name are less likely to say yes,” she says. “If you’re more liberal about the name change issue, you tend to include a larger population in the definition of family.”

Dating Advice From The Past (Or Female Dating Snark, 1940 Style)

This article, written by an anonymous female, was published in The Bedside Esquire, 1940 — just see how well it holds up today *wink*

The Wench Is Not Amused, by Anonymous

Any girl, if the body she possesses isn’t actually deformed and the face badly moth-bitten, is going to become acquainted with the gentle art of seduction fairly early in life. As for myself, I’ve had what I now recognize as more than my share of experience.

Not at the risk of sounding vain, because I know I am vain, I’ll say that when men look at me in the street I know why. They’ve good reason to. In 1930, when the agency I was working for folded, I posed for several commercial photographers. I’ve seen strange men studying my picture in a magazine and, though their eyes generally started at the ankles & worked up by degrees, I’m pleased to admit that they looked twice at the face, too. And I’ve read a book, I dance well because I love it, I know how to listen as well as talk, I can tell a touchback from a safety, I can hold my likker as well as my men – when I want to – and I know most of the right words. I seldom buy my own dinner.

I know it sounds conceited as the devil but, darn it, it’s true. I’ll lay twenty to one I can make any nine out of ten males, provided they are neither puling infants nor doddering antiquarians, ask for my phone number within any given half-hour.

So, when I say I’ve had more than the average experience with the technique of seduction (horrible phrase) I think I’m stating a simple truth.

When a gal is first turned loose on the world of man the game of seduction – win, lose or draw – is pretty exciting. And it continues to be for some years. At first, either your parents or your school keep you under observation & your only exposed to younger men. Their approach, naturally, isn’t as polished as that which you’ll encounter later. Also, the fact that you are under some sort of surveillance means that you’ll be exposed only occasionally & for brief periods of time & not to the extensive & intensive campaigns you’ll have to face when you become what is so quaintly known as a bachelor girl. During my lat four years of school, a year abroad, & my first three or four years in New York I must admit that I thoroughly enjoyed the whole tiresome process; particularly so when I learned that, so long as I kept my head, the game could be played according to my own rules without ever hurting the boy friend’s sense of masculine superiority in the least.

It was always a thrilling battle & the campaign itself was often more exciting than the storming, or attempted storming of one’s last citadel. How many times I’ve lost in this warfare is entirely a matter of my own business. But I will say this: no campaigner, no matter how hardened, ever overcame my last line of defense unless I deliberately chose that he should – and that can hardly be counted a total defeat.

In the past year, sadly enough, I’ve come to realize that what was once an enthralling game is now a deadly bore. And I contend it’s all the men’s fault. A seduction should be above all things glamorous & exciting. But can there be glamour in a story repeated a dozen, yea a hundred times? Can glamour be expected to survive the hundredth ardent whisper of non-poetic time-worn words? Can there be excitement in a card game played eternally, with both players forever holding the same cards? There cannot!

Why don’t men vary their approaches? Damn it, haven’t they any originality? Must they be so monotonous?

Why is it that each man has at his command three or four of the seven standard approaches to seduction & selects his approach according to what he fondly believes to be his shrewd analysis of the character of the wench he is lusting for?

This is all wrong. And something should be done about it. Why don’t men realize that an injection of originality or novelty into their love-making will get them further with the gal of their temporary choice than any pet phrases or standard passes the gibbering idiots can produce?

Repetition is so damn boring. The fun is all gone if, after the first kiss & the first declaration, you can, from past experience, anticipate practically every word & gesture that is to follow, be it a one night stand or a three week siege. And that isn’t right – sex should be fun.

If you’re a girl who hasn’t given this matter any objective thought, stop now & take stock. You’ll be saddened & disillusioned to see what well-worn ruts your young men pursue.

And you, lad, believing yourself to be a Casanova as you do, cast your eyes over the following catalog – and blush for your sex’s limitations. Blush, too, for yourself, for you have nothing more on the ball than any other man. You’re unoriginal & trite. That swell build-up you were planning to use tonight & which you rather expected to send darling little Jean into a swoon will be the same build-up John used on her two months ago, Paul the week before, Ronald last year, and so on back to the days when she bought her first lipstick & lace panties. And you actually expected her to fall for it tonight? Fooey! Those girlish peals of laughter will probably be at you, rather than with you. But you have only to get yourself a new approach, my lad, really new, and your path will be paved with recumbent maidens.

The following list contains what I’ve found to be the seven fundamental approaches. There are, of course, variants but they are all variants of these basic seven. At least, my own experience & the experience of attractive girls I know leads me to believe that this is a complete list. If it isn’t, I’ve been neglected & I resent that. And if the young man will step forward to present credentials proving that he is in possession of an Approach Number Eight I’ll be glad to meet him on his home grounds, winner take all.

Approach One
The Crudest Simple, and very raw. The idea is for the male to ply you with likker until you lose control. The man who uses this approach is obviously a louse, obviously without resources, and so unsubtle that he is easily seen through & a cinch to out-smart. This technique is so bad it doesn’t merit serious discussion. The only ones who will succumb to this attack are the completely foolish, those who are particularly light-headed drinkers & potential nymphomaniacs.

Approach Two
The Cheapest As crude in its way as One. This man tries to get at you through passionate declarations of love. He may even plead with you to marry him, sometimes soon. Meanwhile, sine you are already man & wife in the eyes of God or, at the very least, two hearts that beat as one – how about it? The man who uses these tactics is probably an even greater louse than the likker-plying-male. The ‘I-love-you’-chanted-soulfully method will succeed only with susceptible virgins (any age) and those stridently emotional wenches of meager intelligence whose metier in life is rocking the cradle. The gal who has been around will merely enjoy her laugh, when approached in this manner, and promptly send the man back to the minor leagues, where he belongs.

Approach Three
The Ham-iest The long-bearded ‘misunderstood husband’ gag. No elucidation is needed. Only fools fall for this chestnut & it is doubtful if, after falling, they deserve any sympathy. It has been my experience that married men are seldom worth the trouble. It is generally wisest to send them home to the little woman, in short order.

Approach Four
The Outright Purchase Like the Greeks, they come bearing gifts; generally expensive & so tendered that it is possible for the semi-prostitute to accept her wages without feeling too professional. The man who pulls this one isn’t fooling. He means business & wants it tacitly understood that there are to be no strings attached to this business deal. And he is intelligent enough to know that the average female is capable of very long distance rationalizing & thus can graciously & righteously accept a fur coat or a diamond ring whereas would regard the offer of actual cash as a terrific insult. This system, probably because it has sound economic & not emotional basis, is liable to work with any of us who haven’t been an heiress. If the man is anywhere near as attractive as his gift it is sometimes necessary for a gal to summon up her last bit of will power to say ‘No.’ But it usually is worth it, if only to preserve those few remaining shreds of self respect.

Approach Five
The Big Brother Act This predatory gent is an insidious operator where the unwary female is concerned. In the first place, he is patient. This, in itself, is usually enough to throw you off. He starts off on a ‘just friends’ basis & worms his way into your heart as a confidant & pal. Before you know it you are, on those odd nights, telling him all about your joys or sorrows with whichever Tom, Dick or Harry you are at the moment involved. He is very sweet, sympathetic & understanding. But he is playing a waiting game. He knows that eventually, human nature being what it is, there’ll be a bust-up between you & the boy of the moment… and when it comes you’ll find his broad shoulder there for you to weep on. You weep & you weep. You’re on the rebound & desperately in need of masculine comforting. And suddenly you find that you’re getting it in a very big, and totally unexpected way. And because you are weak & blue& emotionally drained & in need of some male tenderness you all at once become aware of the fact that your Big Brother is is much sweeter & more desirable than you had ever found him to be before. And if he realizes this at the same time that you awaken… you’re lost. When he puts on the pressure you’re defenceless. I know that this approach depends upon extenuating circumstances but they occur far more frequently than one ever suspects. And a girl on the rebound is in no fit condition to put up an adequate defence. My only solution is this: never trust a man who tries to build up a platonic friendship with you. At the time it may seem to you that it would be such a relief to know a man like that, but you can with impunity bet your last garter-belt that you’re wrong because, some place in the back of his mind, he’ll have an idea or two…

Approach Six
The Pseudo-Sophisticate This approach has three subdivisions but they are all based on the same fundamental sophistry: 6-A. The Philosophical. The life-is-real, life-is-earnest, opportunity-knocks-but-once, so grab-each-fleeting-moment-while-you-may school. This is, of course, the veriest hokum, fit only for children in their teens. Every woman beyond the age of adolescence knows that this unique opportunity the gentleman is so magnanimously offering her is an opportunity that knocks all too damn frequently. Why any man who isn’t completely witless ever thinks a girl will believe him to be the only one who will ever offer her a chance to indulge in a life of sin is beyond me. So, girls, the nest time a man pulls this, ‘Tonight is ours!’ line on you, control your laughter, let him down gently, and send him on his way. The stronger sex? Physically, yes.

6-B. The Pagan. This lad is likely to have long hair. He has read Ulysses and has a glib knowledge of neo-realistic painting or something of that sort. He thinks very highly of individualism & quote Nietzsche’s remarks about the Superman (himself). he tells you that the old, conventional moral standards of our fathers are outmoded (news to you?) and insists that today we see such things as sexual relations with a new vision, a proper perspective. ‘After all, we want each other, and what is going to stop us?’ he asks. ‘Aren’t we free people, free to live our own lives?’ You are also free to point out to him that ‘we want each other’ is taking altogether too much for granted. You explain, in as tactful & gentle terms as the situation requires, that a fairly ardent kiss or two, permitted in a moment of weakness, doesn’t exactly establish the fact that you are willing to turn over the body beautiful. He’ll never believe, of course, that it wasn’t your inhibitions which prevented you from succumbing & he’ll go on his way, still proud of his free & soaring spirit, in search of a girl with low heels & spectacles, who thinks Communism would be nice. And he’ll say to her ‘Look at Russia,’ and get away with it. I don’t want to look at Russia. Blouses & smocks? Not with my torso.

6-C. The Physical. Whereas the first chap in this category went at you on a philosophical plane, so-called & the second tried to weaken you on a moral & individualistic grounds the ‘Physical’ lad goes to the root of the matter & attacks you with body blows. His weapons are psychiatry, Freudian psychology & your glands. These physical realists always have your well being at heart. They explain at great length that sex is an appetite which must be satisfied if one isn’t to become a victim of all sorts of fetishes & suppressed desires. Now, no girl would want to become amorous in public with Shetland pony or become addicted to horsewhipping her grandmother. It isn’t being done. The obvious solution is to permit whichever physical realist is at the moment spouting his propaganda to come between you & the tragedies of perversion. The whole affair is, of course, to be considered in your own best interests.

We may very well be animals & victims of appetites which must be satisfied in order to prevent complexes & frustrations. I’m willing to admit that the boys may have something there. But, so far, I’ve been able to order my own meals & I think I’ll continue to do so. When I’m hungry I’ll eat, if the proper food is available, and no one is going to force improperly prepared food on me when I’m not hungry… and my grandmother will have to take her chances.

Approach Seven
The ‘Forcing’ Method Or perhaps I should call it the cat-and-mouse attack. In any event, the glib gentleman who works this approach on you is primarily concerned with forcing you to make the final move and ‘Safety First’ is obviously his motto. The opening lines generally read something like this, ‘I don’t love you & I know you don’t love me – but I can’t help wanting you. Why pretend? I think you’re swell – sex excluded – but you’re so damned attractive that, no matter how hard I try, when I’m with you I want you.’ Then he adds, oh very frankly & fairly, ‘I like you so much that I have to be honest with you. If I continue to see you I’ll make love to you, I can’t help myself. If you want me to stop coming around, now that you know, you’ve only to say so.’ The catch in this last speech is that he only produces it when he is pretty damn sure that you like him a lot & enjoy being with him. Of course you, liking him as you do & feeling on safe terrain because he hasn’t so much as touched you, laugh it off & take your chances.

But after a night or two of conversation in the same vein but growing progressively more intense, the chances are that he will kiss you: ardently, of course, and probably with considerable finesse – and you’ve given the inch that may coast you your virtue.

Gently & insidiously the campaign progresses. Each night it will become a little more intense & each nigh your defences will fall back and inch or two. But he will never use force, never put on an any obvious pressure. Each time you feel called upon to say ‘Stop,’ he’ll stop – to your growing annoyance. And, though you probably won’t realize it, that is one word you’ll come to use less & less frequently.

Slowly & inevitably the tide, to use a figure of speech, creeps up & up until that night when you’ve forgotten even the meaning of the word – and then the louse stops of his own accord!

The speeches at this point are liable to be on the impassioned side & to deal at some length with his desire for you & your many darling qualities & so on far into the night. Eventually he gets around to asking you if you, too, desire him. After what has just transpired you wonder of he is a complete idiot, then reassure him in your own subtle way.

This generally calls for a clinch & the addition of fuel to the flame. After a proper interval he pulls the Remorse-stop. It goes something like this & is generally delivered in a somewhat throaty voice, ìI want you sooo much (pause) but I can’t let you do this unless you are sure in your own mind. We’re excited now, my dear, (He’s telling you!) and I wouldn’t want you to do anything you’d later regret. I want you more than anyone I’ve ever known, (this is standard: note careful evasion of the word love) but this is too beautiful an adventure to rush into headlong.î While you’re wondering just how he would have you rush into said adventure he makes a suggestion, ‘Sleep on it tonight & think it over in the clear light of day, tomorrow. We’ll meet for dinner, and then you can give me your decision.’

You agree, and this leads to another scene that wouldn’t get by the Will Hays’ office & considerable incoherent & what he thinks is poetic talk about how much he hopes you’ll feel tomorrow night as you do tonight.

Then there is much discussed sleep & ‘thinking (if any) in the light of day.’ It would serve the gent right if the daylight led to a decision he wouldn’t like but for some darned reason it seldom does.

When you meet him the next night he is pretty solemn about the whole thing (but you can be sure he’ll give you the best dinner he can afford, with a rather obvious emphasis on the wine list). Once you get back to whichever apartment is the scene of combat you’ll find that tenderness is the preliminary mood of the evening. He may not use his arms & hands as they were intended to be used as all, but if he does he’ll be very, very gentle. In desperation you finally take him by the hand, figuratively speaking, and lead him to the bedroom.

It may be several days before you begin to realize that you’ve been had in more ways than one. And if this realization doesn’t come to you shortly you are in an even worse position because you’ve been had so thoroughly that your heart may well be in your young man’s hands – and that is one section of your anatomy which should remain permanently yours.

There is a mild variant to this approach. In this method the man, at the critical point, doesn’t suggest a little daylight thought on the subject but, instead, goes dramatic & says, ‘No, this can’t be. The price you pay is too large,’ or words to that effect. It works out in exactly the same way. One says, ‘Perhaps.’ and the other says, ‘no,’ and in the end you are unconsciously forced into taking them both by the hand…

This is probably the most difficult form of seduction to work clear of – because you’ve been allowed to work yourself into it.

These are the standardized versions of sexual Blind Man’s Bluff, Tag, You’re It, or whatever you want to call it, as I know them. There are probably other, depending on race, color or previous condition of servitude but I wager that they are in their way just as standardized. What to do about it?

Sometimes I think I’d rather be attacked. Or at least meet a man direct enough to say bluntly & without preamble, ‘I think you’re swell & I’d like to make love to you. I warn you, if you say no I’ll ask you the same thing tomorrow night. What will it be, milady’s boudoir or the movies?’

The hell of it is, experience has so conditioned me that I’d probably choose the movies & be forced to sit through a Hollywood version of the preliminaries of one of the stereotyped brands of seduction I’ve listed. There’s no escape.

Sign Of The Times: 1943

safety-garb-for-women-workers-1943

You’ve heard of safety shoes, right? Well, here’s a safety bra straight out of the history books of home front WWII.

Via The U.S. National Archives at Flickr, the original caption reads: Safety garb for women workers. The uniform at the left, complete with the plastic “bra” on the right, will prevent future occupational accidents among feminine war workers. Los Angeles, California. Acme, ca. 1943.

Our Hidden Culture Is A Rape Culture

A new video called Our Hidden Culture was put out by Community TV Network (CTVN), a non-profit organization that empowers Chicago youth with training in video and multi-media production. (CTVN’s award-winning TV show, Hard Cover: Voices and Visions of Chicago’s Youth, airs every Monday at 5:30pm and Tuesday at 12:30pm on cable channel CAN TV 19 in Chicago; you can keep up with CTVN at YouTube too.)

In this recent video project, the youth researched the issue of rape & sexual violence and came up with the conclusion that harassment is the root of such evils and that we live in a rape culture.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nv3Kz_CluTE[/youtube]

For some of us, this isn’t so much “our hidden culture” as it is a known fact we suffer & slog through daily; but I applaud these young people for looking at the issue and seeing the problem for what it is.

Many of us readily blame the issues of sexual aggression in music, movies, and “the media in general” on younger people — it’s their dollar most companies seem to seek, and so, in this toxic relationship, these companies say they are just courting our youth with “the language,” “substance,” and “style” that speaks to them at the expense of us all. But it’s clear that our youth is aware of the problem — and that those who aren’t yet aware are fully capable of getting to the root of it all when asked to look at it.

Can complete denunciation & contempt for those individuals & companies who participate in our rape culture be sure to follow? I hope so.

Don’t Make Me Go All Carmen Miranda On Yer Arse

carmen-miranda-costumeThis misleading use of Carmen Miranda’s name and garb is simply a means to lure you in and have you read & participate in the following news:

Today, thanks to the generous sponsorship of Twolia, Alessia of Relationship Underarm Stick is participating in the Hope For Healing blogathon, raising awareness of domestic violence & money for supporting victims of domestic violence. You can help too: Comment at, link to, & Tweet her blogathon posts!

Use of Carmen Miranda costume is also a promise-slash-threat: Failure to read & participate in the following news, shall invoke the powers of moi — I shall show up at your home at 4 A.M. loudly impersonating Ms Miranda. I warn you, I neither dance nor sing so keen; your neighbors will not be happy.

So exercise your (albeit, twisted) Carmen Miranda rights — to be free of my impression of the lovely lady — and participate in the conversation about domestic violence. All jokes aside, it matters.

Fashion Friends With Fringe Benefits, 80’s Style

Via Shop It To Me, I found this Jersey Tassel Necklace on sale at Urban Outfitters. Totally 80’s, right?

urgan-outfitters-finrge-jersey-tassle-necklace

Holy 80’s! I remember these suede mini skirt sets with short jackets long on fringe from Wilson’s from my days working in the mall. I somehow managed not to spend my paychecks on them; but I do remember wanting to… Must have spent all my surplus at the stores I was working in *wink*

1980s-wilsons-fringed-suede-jacket-and-mini-skirt-set

Ah, the fashion Molotove cocktail that is fringe meets acid wash denim — explosive!

80s-acid-wash-jean-jacket-with-leather-fringe

I think all my friends had jean jackets like this. Not me; I had — and still do — a very large bustline and short jackets with fringe not only fit funny (once large enough to cover The Girls, they were too long to be a short jackets), but the fringe actually hid my rack. I just looked sort of lumpy & top-heavy in a bad way.

white-fringes-on-denim-jacket-1980s

And this last one may indeed be least… We called shirts like these “stripper shirts” — not because of the little strips of fabric with beads on them, but because of the little bit of fabric that was nearly enough to cover you breasts. That and, obviously, you looked more than a bit like a stripper teasing “the goods” — if you bought her a drink would it have the same results as if you stuck a buck in the waistband of her jeans? Oh wait; most men think that anyway. I guess this fringed beaded tee was just the sort of fashion statement that had we ladies thinking like men.

retro-80s-jamaica-beaded-fringe-tee

Perhaps She’s Tired Of Keeping Quiet

original-encaustic-painting-seen-and-not-heard

Original encaustic painting, Seen and Not Heard by QueenofQueens:

Original painting of a small scared looking doll. Perhaps she’s tired of keeping quiet. Colors are layered, dark and rich.

Painting is 10″x20″ encaustic medium on wood.

Encaustic is a wax based medium that must be applied while hot and in a liquid state. The paint is applied painstakingly in layers and fused with heat between each successive application to prevent cracking. The medium is thousands of years old and more durable than oil paint. The painting may be buffed with a clean cloth to give it a nice luster and keep it clean.

Feminist Aims All Nonsense, Says Eugenist (1932)

Via Eugenics Archive, a clipping from the New York Herald dated August 23, 1932 — a review of Third Eugenics Congress:

feminist-aims-all-nonsense-says-eugenicist-new-york-herald-tribune-8-23-1932-review-of-third-eugenics-congress-including-immigration-policy

If you don’t have time to read the whole thing, here’s a snippet that might change your mind:

Feminist Aims All Nonsense, Says Eugenist

Dr. Sanders Holds Sex Equality Nonexistent Physically and Socially

Favors Large Families

Deplores Motif of Slenderness in Fashion World

The size of families was one of the dominating topics in the papers read yesterday at the Third International Congress of Eugenics held in the American Museum of Natural History, and Dr. J. Sanders, of Rotterdam, proved himself to be the leading advocate of the large family.

He deplored feminism, saying that the so-called equality of the sexes was nonsense physiologically, biologically, socially and politically. He urged women hasten back to the fireside, give up their outside aspirations and produce healthy babies in quantity.

Dr. Sanders, a genial Hollander with the clear, penetrating blue eyes of his race, and curly fair hair, gave the successful business and professional women short shrift in his spirited address, delivered in perfect English.

“Nowadays women prefer fashion to children,” said Dr. Sanders scathingly, but with a twinkle in his eye, “for large families are inimical to the slim figure. Fashion designers should cooperate by introducing models which do not emphasize slenderness.

“Woman is indeed man’s equivalent, but they each have their own particular task to perform in the world. The woman’s main duty always has been and always will be the family. The university woman must know, understand, feel that marriage and children represent, after all is said and done, the highest ideal. This can be so only if women accept the task which nature has imposed upon them — the care of their offspring.”

Preventing Intimate Partner Violence, Is Screening Enough?

According to a recent study, the answer is “No.”

Screening for domestic violence followed by referral to a clinician does not reduce the recurrence of violence among women, according to a study for the the McMaster Violence Against Women Research Group, published in the August 5, 2009, issue of the Journal of the American Medical Association. (Full text here.) In the published editorial on the study, the authors have this to say:

[This study] should dispel any illusions that universal screening with passive referrals to community services is an adequate response to violence in intimate relationships.

The findings are not overly surprising to me…. And it reminds me of how that “Are you safe at home?” questions is addressed whenever I visit doctors offices, the emergency room, walk-in clinics etc. The question in terms of words varies only slightly (from “Are you safe” to “Do you feel safe” to “How would you rate your sense of safety at home?” etc.), but the manner and tone in which it’s asked varies quite a bit.

For some, it’s such a routine question, it seems as if your answer isn’t even going to register. Others try to toss it in with the litany of other questions, like a sneaky curve ball, hoping you’ll be caught off guard and give away the truth you might otherwise resist. Still others seem embarrassed to ask it — but they are fine with my “dignity” hanging out the back of a paper gown.

I wonder if there have been any studies on how effective the actual questioning aka screening itself is.

Did Margaret Sanger Sell Dainty Maid Outfits?

First my disclaimer: I sadly do not own this old advertisement & instructions for the “Dainty Maid Outfit” (douche bag, antiseptic powder, and syringe); I found it while searching at the Library of Congress for photos of Margaret Sanger for the eugenics post.

complete-dainty-maid-outfit-ad

The reason I didn’t include it then & want to discuss it now is two-fold.

One, there’s some confusion over Sanger’s connection to the item.

While the LoC notes that this paper, published between 1900 and 1930, was part of Sanger’s collection, saying, “Like many of her contemporaries, she retained all kinds of printed matter accumulated during her career, including pamphlets like this one relating to women’s gynecological health and hygiene,” it’s not entirely clear that this is the end of the antique ephemera’s story.

In 2006, the Margaret Sanger Papers Project (MSPP) reported this (links added by moi):

In his recent book, Men of Tomorrow: Geeks, Gangsters, and the Birth of the Comic Book (New York, 2004), author Gerard Jones highlights the role played by the poet and editor Harold Hersey in the pulp publishing industry. Hersey, one of Sanger’s lovers in the late 1910s, later wrote an unpublished biography of Sanger. He worked closely with Sanger in the early days of the Birth Control Review. “We didn’t only sell magazines,” Jones quotes Hersey as saying, “but also razor blades and other items.” “The ‘other items’,” Jones explains, “were contraceptives. Sanger was not only a proponent of birth control but a mail-order dealer, with her own line of condoms, diaphragms, and ‘Dainty Maid’ douche kits.” That is new information to us. Sanger was always extremely careful never to associate with the commercial trade of contraceptives. Her opponents often accused her of profiting from her cause, but there has never been a shred of evidence she received money for selling birth control or taking part in a mail order business – under or above ground. It is possible that one distributor of the Review, Eastern News, used its sales network to send illegal publications, condoms and liquor around the country, but most likely Sanger had no knowledge of it. For his sources, Jones cites Hersey’s autobiography, Pulpwood Editor, which does not mention the mail order venture, and unspecified collected material by Michael Feldman, a researcher on the comic book business. Thanks to Professor Ed Shannon for bringing this one to our attention.

However, there was a 2007 release The New Pulpwood Editor also. And, despite claims to Hersey’s “unpublished biography” of Sanger, others claim to have a copy. All of which not only further confuses things in terms of what source was used, but leaves the accuracy of Hersey too far down the pecking list at this point to even verify it.

But regardless of the characters involved & their individual characters regarding telling tales (& proper documentation of sources), how can the MSPP claim Sanger’s ignorance to The Dainty Maid Outfit when the LoC has it — and in their Margaret Sanger collection (Papers of Margaret Sanger, container 252) yet?

The second reason I brought this vintage female hygiene ad up separately should be apparent: researching is not for the timid, not the easily exhausted.

If this was a product Sanger offered via mail order, then perhaps The Dainty Maid was more than a cleansing douche… Contraceptive products, illegal at the time, were sometimes sold with the word “French” used as a secret code to communicate the “illicit” purposes of the product; either to wash away sperm post-coitus or perhaps even the “antiseptic powder” was even a spermicide.

Because Of This Book, I Want Carrie Fisher As A Friend

carriefisher_surrenderthepink Surrender The Pink (1991), by Carrie Fisher, was blasted by most reviewers; but I found it to be a delightful & charming quick read. Like Fisher’s Postcards from the Edge (the film anyway; I’ve not yet read the book) you wonder just how much is fiction and how much is Carrie Fisher — or how much the story’s relationship between Dinah and Rudy is really about Fisher and her ex-husband Paul Simon — but what keeps you reading is the wonderful fragmented thoughts and personality of the main character. Whoever she is.

Dinah may have a wild and witty interior dialogue, but it doesn’t stop there. Even if Dinah wishes she were more stoic, she doesn’t exactly keep her cards close to her chest and may even be considered to be a few cards shy of a full deck. (If Carrie is Dinah, or vice-versa, I encourage Carrie to contact me and be my friend!)

This all reminds me of the sorts of stories friends tell; good or bad, they are always entertaining. For example, Dinah shares the three times she lost her virginity. Each time is rather sad and lamentable, familiar in their probability, yet Dinah’s storytelling is the sort of context setting that engages a reader. It made me devour the book in one afternoon.

True, the ending of the book is a little rushed, and somethings are even more ambiguous than when they started, but hey babe, that’s life. Or at least my life.

PS. If you want to really know more about me, pay close attention to pages 143-150.

Ephemera Really Blows My Skirt Up

When I snatched-up this antique postcard, I was so seduced by its charms that I thought I had something few had ever seen since the 1900’s; but, as it turns out, you can find scans & images of this old postcard a few places online.

hosiery-thats-pretty-lingerie-thats-swell-vintage-postcard

But what makes my posting of it unique and interesting is that, unlike my compatriots who’ve shared the image, I am so smitten with ephemera that I must unlock its secrets & share those too…

The text reads:

When you’ve hosiery that’s pretty
And lingerie that’s swell
Come on to New York City Christine
And be a Flat Iron Belle

Now the crossing-out of New York City & replacing it with Christine (a small city in North Dakota) has been done by hand — but it is not inviting someone to a woman named Christine. *wink* It was done by the hand of what looks like an A.N. Gunderson who was cheeky enough to tailor the postcard into an August 22, 1909, invitation for (presumably) his friend, Alfrid Olson, to come visit him in Christine.

That historical personalization is cute; but I just kept wondering what the heck a “Flat Iron Belle” was.

Based on the rhyming text description and the “semi-photo” visual of ladies’ underthings, I just knew this card was special… But other than the afore mentioned images, searches for “Flat Iron Belle” didn’t turn anything up. So I turned to the real world and did some research.

I turned to my husband and asked, “Do you know what a ‘flat iron belle’ is or was?”

He, the all-knowing, all-seeing Wizard of Odd, informed me that there was a Flatiron building. (It is so useful, when stuck, to utter a question and have your intelligent walking encyclopedia of a mate tell you not just ‘stuff,’ but the right stuff so you can continue your obsessive researching.)

From there, a hop skip & jump (over Wikipedia, which I mistrust intensely) to Columbia University’s The Architecture and Development of New York City with Andrew S. Dolkart & his entry on The Flatiron Building, “The first building to become a romantic symbol of New York.” Dolkart says:

[I]t was a symbol because of its triangular shape. Thus the name Flatiron, because it looked like the old irons that people used to iron clothing. It was originally called the Fuller Building because it was built by the Fuller Construction Company for its headquarters, but people almost immediately called it the Flatiron Building. The Fuller company understood the value of this name and popularity of the building, so they began calling it the Flatiron Building as well, and that became the name by which everybody knew this building.

OK, so now you understand the name — even if on the postcard it says “Flat Iron” rather than “Flatiron.” But what of the windswept skirts?

It was not only a building that appealed to high-art interests, such as people who were interested in Steichen’s photography or Hassam’s paintings, but this building also entered popular culture. It is at a triangular site where Broadway and Fifth Avenue—the two most important streets of New York—meet at Madison Square, and because of the juxtaposition of the streets and the park across the street, there was a wind-tunnel effect here. In the early twentieth century, men would hang out on the corner here on Twenty-third Street and watch the wind blowing women’s dresses up so that they could catch a little bit of ankle. This entered into popular culture and there are hundreds of postcards and illustrations of women with their dresses blowing up in front of the Flatiron Building. And it supposedly is where the slang expression “23 skidoo” comes from because the police would come and give the voyeurs the 23 skidoo to tell them to get out of the area.

So there you have it; “Flat Iron Belles” were the beauties looked at (or those who became beautiful by virtue of winds making a disarray of their virtuous skirts). And there, supposedly, is the reason for the phrase “twenty-three skidoo” too.

The questionable innocence of peeping Toms aside, I am at least comforted by the fact that the sole male in the scene is not one of those (hopefully) assisting the fallen wind-swept women. Those hands look more like they are stroking the fine underthings than reaching to help the fallen; so even if the problem is an unrefined artistic skill, at least I don’t have the nightmare of male (physical) assault.

Collectors, the information you seek to find this coveted card & add it to your collection is scant; you’re best bet is to search online for the lingerie verse, because the card has no markings save for number 78 on the front lower left hand corner and [K] Semi-photo on the back (like this one).

Insensitivity To Violence & Misogyny: Exhibit A

With headlines and articles screaming clever puns, such as “fashion kills,” “I would not be caught dead in that,” “dressed to kill,” and “Bloody mess as Barneys kills display,” first Racked (from which the photographic evidence comes) and then Daily News (which didn’t even bother to link to Racked — though they did credit them), reported on the grotesque window displays at Barneys.

2009_07_barneys-helmut-lang-window

Two mannequins, each wearing a dress (from Helmut Lang and A.L.C., respectively), are caught in the acts of failing to protect themselves from some sort of attach — with their “blood” splattered & sprayed along the glass like, oh, I don’t know, festive holiday garland.

The reaction by Cynthia Drescher at Racked:

The flailing poses allow for drapey dresses to really strut their stuff, the shocking “blood” splatter immediately attracts your eye, and if you’re bored and morbid enough, the windows can launch you into thoughts of outfits in which you would like to be caught dead. It’s a shame it can’t be expanded upon; it would be a bit too much for the Madison Avenue pedestrians.

I suppose that’s supposed to be clever, witty & urbane; but it’s disgusting.

It’s a shame that Drescher can’t expand upon the issue past mocking Madison Avenue and realize why being “curiously in love with the idea” might prove that she is in fact a danger of herself & other women.  If not actually bereft of a soul.

This was not an art exhibit, designed to make one think; this was advertising, merchandising made to move product & at the grossly figurative expense of their target consumer yet. (And no, Barneys, the word “target” does not mean you can take aim at us with weapons.)

2009_07_barneys-alc-window

According to Daily News, the displays have been removed:

Simon Doonan, creative director of Barneys, said the displays were installed while he was away overseeing advertising shoots and that he had ordered them dismantled.

They were taken down shortly after the Daily News called to inquire about them yesterday afternoon.

“We encourage our display people to be creative. We give them a lot of latitude, but this clearly crossed the line,” he said. “It’s as if someone saw a bad Hitchcock movie.”

Glad you brought up Hitchcock, Doonan. First of all, I don’t think the man ever made a bad movie; second, I believe you were thinking of Psycho — and isn’t it ironic that you’d think of an insane man with which a propensity for violence towards women… Too bad the “display people” whose “creativity” you encourage never saw those parallels. Nor any other Barneys employee who saw or knew of the window & did nothing until media called.

Talk about bad taste, Barneys; you need a personality shopper — someone to tell you Right from Wrong. Using bloody attacks on faceless female mannequins to sell women designer clothes is abhorrent.

The Daily News article continues:

“I think it’s not offensive. It’s artistic,” said Mac Baicu, 16, a student from Queens.

No need to ask Mr. Baicu how many hours of first-person shooter video games he plays. And I don’t want to even think about how he treats his girlfriend.

“I don’t see it as that. I don’t see any weapon or anything,” said Joyce Sanders, 55, of Harlem. “And I would know; I watch a lot of ‘CSI.'”

Asked if the display would entice her to buy the dress, she answered, “If I had the money, I would.”

Um, if you really watched a lot of CSI, wouldn’t you know that sometimes the weapon isn’t left behind?

Hey, Sanders, wonder why Barneys doesn’t pay for product placement on CSI?  ‘Cuz violence towards women is not supposed to be either in fashion nor the fashion.

But honestly, if you dig your fashions with blood spray & violence, have I got a tip for you: shop police auctions & battered women’s shelters. It’s really cheap. Unless you count the price of your soul — and the price of safety in general for women.

If You’re Forced To Have A Baby, Don’t Throw It Out With The Bathwater (Or, Of Margaret Sanger & Eugenics)

margaret-sanger-1927In Margaret Sanger in Context, Tracey McCormick defends the vilified Margaret Sanger. Sanger, who founded Planned Parenthood and advocated for planned parenting & birth control before women even had the right to vote, is often misquoted or quoted out of context.

McCormick takes up defense of Sanger against New Jersey Congressman Christopher Smith’s quoting of Sanger from Sanger’s book, Woman and the New Race (1920): “The most merciful things a family does for one of its infant members is to kill it.”

This is McCormick’s response:

The line in question comes from Chapter 5, “The Wickedness of Creating Large Families.” Upon closer inspection, we see that Congressman Smith has left out the word “large” before family.

…But what if we read the entire paragraph or even the whole chapter?

…Apparently she hated miner families. Excessive childbirth in these families caused ill health in mothers, financial hardship to fathers, and I’ll quote directly for its effect on the children: “In the United States, some 300,000 children under one year of age die each twelve months. Approximately ninety per cent of these deaths are directly or indirectly due to malnutrition, to other diseased conditions resulting from poverty, or to excessive childbearing by the mother.

To demonstrate her hate, Sanger provides us mortality statistics of miner children, quotes a study by Arthur Geissler, which was later cited by Dr. Alfred Ploetz before the First International Eugenic Congress. (Eugenics is a scary word; if we took it out of context we’d realize that that’s what Hitler was up to. And if we practiced some really sloppy thinking, we’d say Sanger = Hitler. But we’re much smarter than that.)

To return to the statistics of children surviving through their first year. The first five children of these large miner families had about a 75% survival rate. The sixth-, seventh- and eighth-born approach a 70% survival rate. The eighth and ninth, about a 65% chance. The tenth, 60%; the eleventh, 50%; and the twelfth, 40%.

Five sentences later, Sanger drops her bomb: “The most merciful thing that the large family does to one of its infant members is to kill it.”

I didn’t know the woman personally, but I don’t think Sanger was a proponent of infanticide: I think she was trying to say and do something about the infant mortality rate. But you shouldn’t believe me. This is, after all, nothing more than a 750-word soundbite.

For context, you can read the entire chapter here.

For more-more context, the entire book, Woman and the New Race, is available here.

If you have four hours to spare, you can watch the entire hearing, “New Beginnings: Foreign Policy Priorities in the Obama Administration,” here. (Thanks, C-Span!)

Then, you’ll have context of Sanger and her relationship to “New Beginnings.

I applaud McCormick for taking up the fight here — both in terms of Sanger specifically and the issue of context in general. But one thing is missing from this conversation: The subject of eugenics itself.

The word “eugenics” has become an ugly thing, and rightfully so; but it too has its own context which must be understood. Understanding the context & origins of eugenics is key not only to understanding Sanger (and others), but its lessons are the epitome of the cornerstone of studying history: So that we do not repeat it.

Eugenics should not be simply or only equated with racism or even a scientific excuse for racism; that fine institution, racism, had already been in long practice. Eugenics has been around since the dawn of man; ancient societies, of all races, practiced infanticide for such purposes and Plato advocated that human reproduction should be monitored and controlled by the state. At the root of eugenics is a drive to improve human genetic qualities, better sustain the species, which includes everything from prenatal care for mothers to euthanasia.

But, yeah; racism sure was a part of eugenics for many.

American eugenics, as we speak of it here (referring to movements and social policies), was born in a post Civil War world where rapid growth of industrialization (including the increased mechanization of agriculture) created the first major migration away from farms, including former slaves. At the dawn of the Industrial Revolution there were a plethora of problems from such rapid urban growth. Cities were unable to keep up with the increasing populations; the exploitation of labor created militant labor organizations; swings in prices bankrupted many businesses — all of this led, in 1873, to a series of depressions which occurred roughly every decade through the early 1900s.

The depressions further fueled labor & over population issues, which were then additionally burdened by huge waves of immigrants (especially from southern and eastern Europe), which peaked just before World War I (and again after the war too). Then, as today, many Americans began to resent immigrants “stealing” their jobs, their housing, and even their spots in charity programs.

At first, “the poor” and the social & economic problems were, philosophically and physically (via social work, charity organizations, churches, etc.), addressed by Social Darwinism, the application (if not perversion) of Charles Darwin’s biological theory. While Darwin himself did not extend his theories to either social or economic levels, many educated people believed that “survival of the fittest” applied to (and therefore could be used to explain as well as manipulate) social and economic inequalities. But the irony was that the wealthy & powerful, “the fittest,” were endangered. Not only were the working class and the poverty stricken organizing themselves against the wealthy, but a declining birthrate among the captains of industry meant that the lower classes were out-reproducing them too.

Enter progressivism.

Progressive reformers believe(d) in the increased role of government to manage & plan for economic and social issues. Beneath working for the passage of legislation advancing the rights of the newly freed slaves; the establishment of labor unions, child-labor protections, & minimum wage laws; conservation of natural resources; direct elections in primaries, fairer taxation, & control of lobbyists; legislation to control monopolies, banking reform, & trust-busting; and working for women’s suffrage, lay science. (And a managerial class of educated experts capable of long-range planning.)

It didn’t take much for progressive reformers to convert inventive Americans to a strong faith in science as the way to address the problems plaguing the country. This opened the door, using the new science of genetics to spawn an even newer science of social engineering — eugenics. If genetics held the key to such things as alcoholism, criminality, “feeble-mindedness,” and poverty, eugenicists argued, society, who paid a high price caring for such individuals and their issues, should invest in the knowledge & planning to ensure a better genetic America.

poor-men-hold-signs-given-to-them-by-eugenics-supporters-on-wall-street-1915

Some went as far as to say that sterilization of one “defective” adult could save society thousands of dollars over future generations. So when researchers became interested in the heritability of such illnesses as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and depression, the findings of their studies were used by the eugenics movement as proof of its legitimacy, prompting state laws prohibiting marriages for and forced sterilization of the mentally ill in order to prevent the “passing on” of mental illness to the next generation. (These laws were upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court as recently as 1927 and were not abolished until the mid-20th century.)

1567-marriages-fit-and-unfit

Now remember the afore mentioned context; not only were social & economic issues a matter of The Haves & The Have Nots, but great tension arose from the fears of going from the former to the latter. The power of labor unions & the rise of the American socialist party combined with world events such as the successful Bolshevik Revolution, increased these fears, inspiring the wealthy to support eugenics. As today, funding for research & media meant that the wealthy could steer, if not actually dictate, the work of eugenicists. The repugnance for class struggles and political radicalism certainly figured into eugenics, resulting in selective immigration restriction.

1247-forgery-and-fraud-rankings-of-native-whites-of-foreign-parentage

In short, eugenics put such a focus on defective genes, individuals, and ethnic groups that it removed the focus from all the problems of the structure of American society itself. And the copious amounts of “scientific evidence” for eugenics being the rational and efficient plan for a harmonious future allowed the wealthiest in society to feel justified in blaming & controlling the victims.

I won’t go so far as to say that Margret Sanger was only philosophically identified with eugenics from the point of view of individual families using birth control to combat their economic & societal problems; there’s too much evidence that Sanger was into eugenics far deeper (& dirtier) than that. (While her work with The Negro Project & her acceptance of invitations to speak to women in the KKK remain controversial, there’s no arguing that Sanger was an eugenicist, including a proponent of using immigration laws to keep out those with “objectionable traits”.) I’m not even saying we should forgive & forget Sanger’s association eugenics because it gave us birth control. I’m saying we have to look at the context of the times — societal issues & individual concerns, education & prevailing science, fears & beliefs. And it’s clear that for a century, from the mid-1800’s through the mid-1900’s, eugenics was a huge part of the culture. So I think we should if not forgive, then at least not entirely condemn; but we certainly should not forget — not to be kind, but to see… To not dismiss. As Garland E. Allen wrote:

The problem with demonizing the older American eugenicists (many of whom thought they were taking the most modern, scientific and progressive approach to social problems) is that we distance ourselves from them and so can easily fall prey to our own biases today.

Margaret Sanger was not perfect. But looking at her life & work in context we are able to admire what is valid and also learn to accept the warnings we must heed about what is not valid.

Fishy French Tampax

I found this French ad for Tampax via Tom Murphy at The Ephemera Network. Tom doubts this ad campaign could be run here in America — for quite obvious reasons.

french-fish-tampax-ad

The French translates to “I am like a fish in water.” Not that that clears anything up.

Because no matter what language or the word for “fish,” any society with a female population is aware of that fishy smell — though less realize it’s likely due to Bacterial Vaginosis; they just mock it and women in general with tacky references to hyper-sexuality. So I’m really surprised that this ad could run anywhere.

Not just because of it’s potentially suggestive humor, but because why would a company, especially a feminine hygiene product, want to link itself to such an offensive thing? Especially as some experts believe that tampons can change the normal balance of vaginal bacteria; don’t think that’s how you want your target audience to think of you, Tampax.

Why We Vilify Single Moms

When I was in college I was a single parent. Finding myself struggling personally with the demands of continuing education and single parenting (a special needs child too yet) was challenging enough; but this was at the time that Tommy Thompson was governor & he made bashing single moms & welfare a public sport. (Yeah, some of us fought back; like the Welfare Warriors.)

It was incomprehensible how those of us left with children were not only held accountable while biological dads walked away Scott-free, but were to blame for all of society’s ills. Even those who raised children alone by design & without public assistance were vilified, a la Murphy Brown. It wasn’t just moral outrage (though that did & does exist); it wasn’t an ignorance — these were educated people saddling us with unrealistic responsibilities and ludicrous outcomes. We were being scapegoated with such an intensity that it must be hiding a deep fear of some sort… Was it simply another way to display the classic fear & hatred of “female,” or was there more?

It got me thinking: Certainly being a single parent had never been easy, but had it ever been easier? At least from a societal point of view?

A classmate & friend, another single mother herself (shout-out to Vicki Davidson, if she can hear me!), decided to investigate. What we found would later be presented at one of those extra-curricular brown-nosing events (in the history department, which didn’t help with any of our majors; but we did, I will say, impress the department staff with work that, I quote, “was at or above masters work”).

What we discovered, was that the vilification of women having (&/or raising) babies out of wedlock dated back to Victorian times. This may not surprise many who would attach such times to the origins of our currently held morality — but it wasn’t (at least entirely) Queen Victoria’s morality that had done the deed & made single mothers dirty; it was mainly a byproduct of the Industrial Revolution.

Before the Industrial Revolution, children had great value in farming; any additional mouths you have to feed come with additional, literal, farm hands. Mom, dad, older siblings still did their work as they watched the littler ones; little ones automatically observed the work and therefore received on-the-job training under the auspices of childcare. Large families meant there was no need to hire help — and mom & dad were assured someone would be there to care for them as they aged.

This, more than church-hurled slurs about paganism, is the more practical reason why when Mr. or Mrs. Farmer wandered down to the next farm for a roll in the hay, no one worried about an illegitimate child. Why fuss about Mrs. Farmer being knocked up by a neighboring farmer when it’s just more farm hands? Especially when you spotted proof of your own afternoon delight working at a neighbor’s farm. (It was not uncommon for casual acknowledgment of such situations; no rows ensued, unless someone wanted those little hands for their own farms. And it begs for some research regarding jokes about the farmer’s daughters.)

But the rapid growth of industry, including the increased mechanization of agriculture, created the first major migration away from farms to cities and changed everything.

dores-poor-of-london

Among the many problems with such rapid urbanization comes the devaluation of children. Children are not only less desirable industrial workers (especially after childhood labor reform acts), but they also become an economic drain; more mouths to feed, but no automatic work hands.

As Nicole Lemieux wrote:

From 1861 through 1885, several Acts were instituted which significantly affected the working-class mother. The first of these Acts was the 1861 Offences Against the Person Act. According to Carol Smart, in her essay “Disruptive Bodies and Unruly Sex: The Regulation of Reproduction and Sexuality in the Nineteenth Century,” this was established to deal with “rape, procuring, carnal knowledge, abortion, concealment of birth and exposing children to danger” (13). Throughout the nineteenth century, incidents of infanticide were continually on the rise, in large part because little was done to convict the guilty party. Violent acts by desperate working-class women resulted in a movement to put more emphasis on holding someone, namely the mother, responsible for these deaths came to a head with the passing of the 1861 Offences Against the Person Act. As working-class women oftentimes found themselves financially challenged, they would accordingly find themselves financially unable to support their children (Smart 17). Women who gave birth to illegitimate children found themselves in a particularly questionable situation. On the one hand, if a woman kept the baby, she would likely be unable to properly provide for it; however, if she concealed her pregnancy and abandoned the child, she would be held liable, with the potential of being sentenced to hang, regardless of whether the baby was born alive or dead (Smart 16). Women who had children out of wedlock, who were unable to financially support their children had to face the difficult decision whether to keep the child or turn the infant over to another’s care, thus avoiding the repercussions of being found guilty of infanticide.

But what of the children?

Those visions you may have of beautiful Victorian cherub-children, the history which boasts of Victorian times “finally” bringing about children’s toys & a time “when children could finally be children,” these are not representative of most children. The average child in Victorian times was trapped the poverty, grime & disease of the Industrial Revolution — just as their parents were. The juxtaposition of the images isn’t graphic fantasy; there were two worlds. (Just as there were two worlds in terms of Victorian morals & sexuality; but that is for another time.)

birthday-holiday-greeting-victorian victorian-child

The wealthy children may have found themselves clean, well dressed & with plenty of playtime on their hands, but most rural children spend their time hungry & packed in one room with 3-9 siblings & their parents or working as hard as their parents to ensure the family’s survival. And those were the lucky ones. Some went to prison — yes, children went to prison for their crimes, and some were even hung for them.

12-year-old-boy-victorian-prison-record

Disease & injury at work, along with other conditions of urban poverty, did leave some children orphaned; and with no family nearby, or none willing & able to take them in, there became the street urchins of Oliver Twist tales. However, orphans were not the only urchins running the streets.

vistorian-street-children-called-street-arabsAlong with orphans, there were abandoned children & children of the homeless living on the streets. The streets were littered with trash & children (including some children who were there just trying to help their families eek out a living). These children were often called “street Arabs,” an ethnic slur for nomadic activities that weren’t understood.

To care for the orphaned & stray children, the Victorians built many large orphanages (along with lunatic asylums and infirmaries to house, if not care for, those unable to work, and workhouses).

Once built, orphanages housed more then orphaned & abandoned children. Poor mothers and fathers negotiated with institutions to place their children there temporarily, for assistance to overcome short-term family and economic crises. These children were called the “ins and outs” or “casual children” because of there frequent short stays at institutions.

As you can imagine, what with all the popular “fallen woman” & prostitution stories from this time, a large number of casual children came from single parent households. Not all single parents were unwed or even single mothers. Some single parent situations were created by deaths, of course, but it was also not that uncommon for one parent to be institutionalized, put in a dreaded workhouse, or in prison; leaving the other parent to fend for themselves and the children alone. But single mothers were among the majority of those who used the orphanages as temporary shelter for their children or abandoned them there entirely. Some even used the institutions as a sort of childcare; placing their children there while they went to work as live-in maids etc., visiting the children on days off.

Whether these buildings were public works or run by private charities, at some point people began to stand up and ask themselves, “Why am I paying to support someone else’s child?”

Great pains were taken to interrogate mothers & the children themselves to ascertain the name of the father, so that he could be held accountable. This meant financially responsible — but not in payments or support of any kind to the child or the mother herself; no, responsibility was only a matter of repaying the state or institution, or claiming the child so that the father’s household supported the child. In cases of wealthy fathers, women were sometimes paid not to name them, lest wives or potential wives would use the current morality to dismiss the marriage or diminish (shame) them socially. (This is the start of many of those fantasies of a wealthy parent who will come for a child & rescue them.)

More then simple resentment at having to part with money though, the was another moral issue: Poverty.

workhouse-womenPoverty was seen as a character defect; not a circumstance. The poor were poor because they were vagrants, drunkards, morally bankrupt prostitutes, etc., and when it came to their children it wasn’t only that no one wanted to fork over their money to feed a little hungry mouth they did not create, it was a mistrust of the irresponsibility involved.

Because it’s always been easier to vilify victims than to address the problematic social structure.

The most offensive & objectionable children the charitable organizations & social institutions served were the casual children who went back & forth between decent orphanages and “no good” poor parents. These children were commonly referred to as sources of “evil,” suggestive of their status as disease carriers & corruptors of morality (including alleged sexual knowledge), infecting the innocent & redeemable orphaned & abandoned children. It was the attitudes about these casual children which actually infected the general society with a sense of distrust about orphanages.

orphaned-street-childrenTo combat societal distrust, reformers & social workers began PR campaigns to paint all the children in orphanages as orphans and strays. This may have begun simply to improve the images of orphanages & garner funds, to distance the children themselves from the sins of their pauper parents, but in many cases the positive spin shifted to advocating legislation.

Attempts were made by so-called social reformers to do away with casual children by removing their parents from the picture, making them into situational orphans, often using legal maneuvers & legislation to prevent pauper parents from having rights to their children. Such removal of parental rights was, understandably, feared even more than being sent to the workhouses and argued against. But the legislation was pushed hard by many. One of the reformers, Florence Hill, put it this way, “Parents who have cast the burden of their children on the State should not be free to interrupt their being made good citizens, for evil purposes of their own.”

But in their quest to increase charity and government aid to children, such reformers cast the poor not only in a poor light but cast them even further away from the Victorian social body. The poor became even more disenfranchised, more vilified.

victorian_mother_and_childAnd this, my friends, is why single mothers continue to be scapegoated today. The poor continue to be judged as possessing character defects, children remain an economic drain — or “investment” if you prefer (so much money in before you might expect any return), and society doesn’t want to help with either the investment in those children or take a serious look at the very structure of society which in all actuality creates the poverty in the first place.

This is made worse for single mothers who continue (despite scientific knowledge to the contrary) to be blamed for bringing their children into this world. Ironically, the very women we blame for (further) impoverishing themselves by having children have the least access to family planning, are the most restricted regarding exercising their rights to their own bodies, and continue to be courted by religious & “moral majority” groups who judge, condemn, & ostracize them.

History repeats, continues, if we do not learn from it.

Secret Recipes for the Modern Wife – Exposed!

secret-recipes-for-the-modern-wifeIn contrast to the many products inspired by or incorporating vintage & retro images of female domesticity that only really offer humor, Secret Recipes for the Modern Wife: All the Dishes You’ll Need to Make from the Day You Say “I Do” Until Death (or Divorce) Do You Part, by Nava Atlas, offers some wisdom with the chuckles.

It’s easy to take one look at this cookbook, flip through the pages and realize that most of the ingredients, like “1 economy-size can of everything you and your husband ever had in common, drained,” are not of the edible variety and so dismiss it as just another product cashing in on the retro style craze — but don’t! While it’s true, as the publisher claims, that Atlas “grills societal norms with gleeful relish,” it’s also true that this book offers recipes. But not just any recipes, but the secret kind…

Success recipes for love, marriage, parenting, divorce, reconciliation — survival.

Instead of offering only the too-true advice that heaping servings of humor are needed to survive marriage and children, there are excellent (sarcastic & snarky) reminders that good health includes a sound mind, free of self-delusion, self-denial, self-betrayal & self-sacrifice.

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Atlas states in the book’s acknowledgments & credits that Secret Recipes For The Modern Wife began as a personal project, “a small, limited edition artist’s book” using dark humor as a cathartic release for friends who were divorcing or otherwise suffering from marital malaise; but Trish Todd, Atlas’ editor, saw beyond the divorce theme and helped the author & artist shape the book into something more well-balanced. It even ends on a hopeful note with “Happily-Ever-After Ambrosia.”

Secret Recipes For The Modern Wife, with its recipes like “Beans ‘n’ Weenies of Sexual Tension” (below – click to read larger version), “Soufflé of Fallen Expectations,” and “Old Boyfriend Buffet” may not be suitable fare for the entire family — but keeping a copy of this book tucked away for a private & spontaneous flip-through will be good for the whole family. After all, what wife &/or mother doesn’t need a little stress relief? And hidden reading episodes are certainly preferable to a furtive nips of liquor in a closet.

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I Collect Bitch Like It’s A Good Thing

medicated-and-motivatedTaking a look at retro & vintage images of female domesticity (or the sales of such) is a fascinating part of my collecting.

For every bit of useful information (research help, household tips & recipes), there is the moment of shocking disgust that even though you already knew of its existence (or at least expected to find something like that there) results in the auditory combination of frontal forehead slap and an “arg!”

This sport has become quite popular, even among the non-collecting set, who have exploited the kitsch of yesteryear & reclaimed it in the names of feminism and/or capitalism, spawning a bajillion blogs and inspiring Anne Taintor, among others.

And we buy it by the barrel. From “Guess Where I’m Tattooed” emery boards to sticky notes; from blank journals & greeting cards to ID cases & compacts.

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Derogatory statements & words (like the B-word, bitch) were often reclaimed by women, much like the N-word; only we women could use those words, label one another & our products with them.

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Obviously, sometimes, it was pure capitalism. Perhaps even with a pinch of misogyny — or at least irony — as it was men like Ed Polish & Darren Wotz who really capitalized on women’s mockery of their own history by selling them bold & defiant sayings juxtaposed with domesticated retro images of women.

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At some point whatever genuine interest there may have been in giving females a hearty last laugh at female history was perverted into a glut of raunchy retro styled products which twisted & sometimes down-right confused sexism with sexy. At first, it felt only natural to mock & rebel against the ridiculous notion of woman as virgin & then (married) mother — with never a thought to her own pleasure or desires.

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So, much like the B-word, we took over the S-word, co-opting it for our own use, putting “slut” on a slew of merchandise.

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Bur then we went too far, I think, including putting “slut” on clothing for kids. *gasp* (No, I won’t link to or promote any of that.)

slut-body-detergent Most of the retro rebelling merchandise has it’s only value in the humor, being poor product inside slick packaging, and they often don’t stick around long.

Products such as Bitch & Slut Body Detergents are no longer are around (hello, collectible!) — but in the specific case of the body detergents, the problem was with the icky gritty soap, not the packaging. (And it should be noted, in the interests of accuracy and equality, that Mabel’s LaundrOmat also served silly, dirty & derogatory soaps about men too.) However, it seems the company continues to make stereotypical sundries which may chafe & chap those without the ability to laugh at things such as Extra High Maintenance & Extra Dizzy Blond Lip Balm.

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Today, it’s difficult to enter a hip gift shop, bookstore, or boutique and not be bombarded with such humorous merch. A lot of it is funny. But some of it seems to actually be reinforcing the old myths & stereotypes. And many of the profits in the process of using humor to free women from the humiliating shackles of the past are lining the pockets of men, not women… Is that really liberating? Or funny?

I wonder about that stuff when I buy it for my collection. Because even while I may be “documenting history” (and modern items are both “today” and “history”), I don’t want to be buying the old party line when I buy my trinkets, you know?

Anyway, when you look at it all on the shelves, at a store or in a collector’s home, all this reclamation of womanhood says something… I’m just not sure what yet.
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Of Farrah Fawcett & The Trouble With Feminism

I was kitsch-slapped myself, reading this line (in one my feeds) from Linda Lowen’s post regarding Farrah Fawcett’s death:

Considering the fact that Fawcett was one of those impossible-to-live-up-to female images that feminists rail against, there’s been surprisingly little commentary about her passing or about her role in pop culture history from feminist circles.

Ugh, where do I even begin?

farrah_fawcettI could try to rectify the “little commentary from feminists” comment by showing all the other posts I’d read (and skimmed in feeds) in which feminists eulogize Farrah; but I’m a bit too lazy — and hot under the collar — to gather them all.

Then there’s the matter of this, Lowen’s response to Lisa Westerfield’s “feminist Farrah Fawcett” piece (originally published prior to Fawcett’s death; republished the day the actress died):

Still Expected to Cook Dinner
Westerfield doesn’t make this point, but Fawcett’s marriage to actor Lee Majors (who played the Six Million Dollar Man) was more of the same old ‘Cinderella marries the Prince’ story than a fresh, modern tale of a strong woman controlling her own destiny. (Westerfield, however, does acknowledge that Fawcett had to leave the show in time to go home to make dinner for her husband each night.)

Sorry, but this is not the stuff that feminist icons are made off.

So marriage makes one less of a feminist? Or is it just specific kinds of marriages, left undefined, that Lowen doesn’t like? I can’t tell. And then she mentions the whole “making dinner for her husband thing.” So boring. But more upsetting actually that here I go again…

farrah-fawcett-lee-majorsThe truth is, we cannot know exactly why Farrah wanted out of Charlie’s Angel’s… Whether if was for “bigger bolder career reasons” or if she “had” to be there to make Lee’s daily dinners, or maybe, and this is too often left out of the conversation, Farrah herself wanted to be there make, serve & enjoy those meals with Majors more than be on TV. If she wanted to be there to make his man-meals after work or instead of her own career, that was her damn choice.

That’s what feminism is about; a woman’s right to choose the life she leads.

And yes, that includes the right to play 1950’s atomic “mommy” to her man. It may be, for some folks, harder to swallow than that retro lime Jell-O with its suspended carrot shavings; but suck it up & choke it down, because that’s still an option a woman has the right to choose. You have no more right to tell her she can’t than anyone else can tell her she must.

If she made that choice to be “Mrs.” rather than focus on a “career,” that is the stuff feminist icons are made of.

If she didn’t really, or freely, make that choice, as many claim, let’s look at why that would be… She went, as most women then did (and many still do — or are expected to), from Daddy’s Little Girl to The Little Woman. Breaking out of such family dynamics isn’t as easy as marching on Washington, you know. It is an individual act, done in isolation, railing against a patriarch you love; while the latter is undertaken en mass, railing against a The Patriarchy. Standing up to a man you love (whose face you adore), as opposed to standing up to The Man (who is anonymous & faceless), requires a maturity most women, especially without personally accessible role models, do not achieve until they are in their 30’s or beyond.

This Farrah did.

Isn’t that the stuff feminist icons are made of too? Or must we only be recognized if we are born with the power of rebellion, railing against things we don’t yet understand?

But what sticks in my craw most, are all the assumptions packed into one neat line in Lowen’s article: “the fact that Fawcett was one of those impossible-to-live-up-to female images that feminists rail against.”

Fact?! Who the hell says that all feminists rail against beauty? Most of us may rail against the need &/or pressure to conform to (white male) versions of “beauty,” but many of us are wise enough to realize that when a female is beautiful, impossible to live up to or not, she’s, well, she’s just beautiful.

Beauty, by itself, means nothing more, nothing less; no objectification necessary.

Nor is there a need for hatred or jealousy, or whatever pretense the stereotypical snark is supposedly serving. Such things are patriarchal constructions to divide & conquer women; crap I, and others, simply won’t perpetuate.

Some of us are also wise enough to see how beauty can & will be used against the one who possesses it. Not just in Hollywood, which rakes in money exploiting fair face & figure, while unfairly limiting actresses (such as Marilyn Monroe, Farrah Fawcett, Lucille Ball, and, recently, even Tina Fey) to (stereo)type; but everywhere.

Farrah fought against such things, not just with her stage & screen roles which eventually earned her some respect, but in her own life. Why diminish her to mean-spirited comments disguised as wit, like this comment left at Correctly Impolitic:

Here’s why the hoopla about MJ and not FF:
Michael Jackson was a spectacular talent who had mediocre hair.
Farrah Fawcett was a mediocre talent who had spectacular hair.

To mock a woman & diminish her value to only that of an icon of beauty, or “spectacular hair,” is abusive. Like an abusive spouse, such devaluation at the hands of an individual or a group culturally is an attempt to isolate and control.

To mock a woman & diminish her value to only that of an icon of beauty, or “spectacular hair,” is objectification. You are objectifying her.

farrah-fawcett-playboy-cover-1978And don’t give me this BS that she’s asking for it; no one, Playboy fantasy girl or not, wants to be viewed solely for their occupation or one facet of their life.

Fawcett fought to have others see her many facets. She fought to make some decidedly feminist productions. But even if she had opted to make a career out of jiggle TV & silly bimbo roles (stuff our culture digs with a big spoon, allowing “dumb bimbos” to laugh all the way to the bank), she’d still be a feminist in my book. As long as she had choices to make & was exercising her right to choice, she was a feminist.

A beautiful feminist.

Why is that so difficult to accept?

farrah-fawcett-july-1997-playboyYou know, it’s so damn weird that people actually spend time discussing whether or not so-and-so’s hair coloring is real — and if she colored/bleached it, if she’s doing it for the patriarchy. Why waste your time on that? Isn’t it enough that there’s an asshat ready to call you old, fat & ugly the minute you stand up for yourself or dare to assert your rights as a female? While their words are no sticks & stones that can break our bones, they are designed to hurt us, discredit us, and I resent the attempts. Are my words less important if I am ugly? No. Making oneself ugly to be taken more seriously or make one “more feminist” doesn’t work either. So beauty, even great amounts of it, do not remove one’s ability to be smart or dilute one’s ability to be a feminist.

It’s such a damn mess being a judged woman. You can be a bitched at beauty, or simply dismissed as a bimbo, one minute and then called a fat cow the next just for asserting yourself or educating another with some fact or other (maybe even for daring to mock Sanjaya). It happens at Wal*Mart, in academia, in the blogosphere, at family reunion picnics… Everywhere & anywhere. And I’m sick of it.

Stop this incessant bitching about who is and isn’t being a good feminist or feminist role model. Stop worry about who wears lip gloss, bleaches her hair, & why. Stop making snide gossipy comments about who is a stay at home mom, a working mom, or a true career woman; who does or doesn’t have kids; who does or doesn’t have a man — who doesn’t even want a man — and why. Just stop worrying about what people choose to do (99 times out of 100, it has nothing to do with anyone’s safety or your life) and start worrying about whether people have equal rights to control their own lives.

That’s what feminism & true equality are all about.

farrah_fawcett_poster_1976And if you’ve got spectacular hair, a killer smile, and only-too-happy-to-be-seen perky nipples, good for you. You’re beautiful! Why on earth should I make that your cross to bear or discuss if that makes you “feminist enough?” I’m only worried if you’ve got the right to make your own choices in life.

And to hell with the rest of ’em who want to put you in a box.

Especially when the only box you really are in is your coffin.

Farrah exercised her ability to choose how to live her life as best she could; and that’s as feminist as it gets.

Your Momma Wears Capri Pants

I was reminded the other day (details to follow) of Christopher Titus & his stand-up bit where he hates on Capri pants, saying that they are butt-widening, leg-stumpifying, pasty-white-cankle-showcasing monstrosities that are neither pants nor shorts. Who can argue? Few can face the bottom (or leg) line of Capri pants.

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But the point of Capri pants is not to make you hate yourself for not being able to mold yourself into the (physical) ideal of Hepburn (Audrey, not Kate; Kate eschewed skirts and wore tailored “men’s” pants and was far more shocking than fashion-trend-setting Audrey) — Capri pants were supposed to be liberating.

Frankly, the discernible characteristics between Capri pants and peddle pushers (and, sometimes, leggings & stirrup pants — hello, 1980’s!) are few and fuzzy. I’m not just talking about fabric pilling on the knit versions either. Strictly speaking, Carpi pants are supposed to be a tad shorter and looser than peddle pushers, but for the sake of this post I won’t split hairs, except to give credit where credit is due — and the credit for peddle pushers goes to designer Lynn Eccleston in the 1940’s. Eccleston experimented with shortening the legs of women’s slacks and the sporty look caught on with active women who, like those who abandoned their corsets in at the end of the 1800’s, wanted more ease in riding bicycles — thus the term “pedal pushers.”

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Some credit Mary Tyler Moore for making the pedal pusher and other pants fashionable; others prefer to cite Audrey Hepburn. Technically speaking, Audrey sported pants in the 50’s while Mary’s Laura Petrie didn’t hit small screens until the 60’s.

marytylermoorepetriepants

But for our purposes of discussion today, it’s tomato tomato — not tomato tomatoe — because both babes had figures to carry off the slim look.

And this, my friends, is the reason for the, “Yer momma wears Capri pants” slur.

Most women wearing pedal pushers have stopped pushing pedals. If they continued the liberating exercise of exercising, they wouldn’t end up being the (wide) butts of Titus’ jokes. Even the middle-age spread would limit itself to some thickening of the torso, rather than the pear and apple shaped figures most now have. (And even liberal use of sunscreen wouldn’t keep us pasty-cankle bound.)

But, by & large, we’ve stopped pushing pedals; now we’re just large. And so maybe we should stop wearing peddle pushers and Capri pants. No, not even with the “over-sized” tees, sweaters, and tunics we think hide all the problem areas. (Notice where Mary Tyler Moore’s sweater sits; she doesn’t need to hide hips, belly or behind.)

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I don’t wear Capri pants or pedal pushers, but I know why other women do. Like Titus said, they are neither shorts nor pants, so they seem to provide the middle of the road not-too-formal, not-too-casual fashion needs for summer. And if we had more choices, like we did in the 70’s and 80’s for light-weight colored denim and cotton pants, maybe we’d feel less pressed to push ourselves into unflattering butt-widening, cankle-baring pants. (Back then you could find warm-weather friendly pants in shades of watermelon, sunny yellow, every shade of Caribbean azuree inspired blue… Far more then today’s white & navy.)

OK, and some women wear these shorter length pants to show off their shoes. (And yes, Titus is right, this does include cork wedges.)

But mostly Capri pants are worn for physical comfort; not to be posing like the pedal pushers we aren’t.

What started me thinking about all this was spotting a young man at an outdoor event last week. In a display of teenage fashion defiance, he was wearing all black — from head-to-toe in the sweltering high temperatures. Following the solid, if somewhat wash-faded, black line of t-shirt to canvas belt to jeans, I was jerked to a stop at the wide folded denim cuffs at his calf where a 4-6 inch wide white swatch of pasty mid-west skin glowed glared behind its decorative tufts of hair. From there, more black: black socks over the edge of comically huge black combat boots. Seriously, clown shoes are smaller.

Between the heat, the black clothing, & the weight of those shoes, he half-crawled to his seat where he tried to make it look like he was nonchalantly sprawling himself instead of, as he was, stumbling towards & falling to a seated rescue.

The only thing that kept me from bringing him some water to revive him was the knowing look his white Capri pants wearing, non-heatstroke affected mother and I shared. (And then I had to turn away and make a non-related animated conversation with hubby so that I could release my held laughter.)

My point is, if you missed it and insist that I have one, is this: He was a poser, hiding behind his costume.

If over-weight women are to be mocked for exposing their least flattering sides (physical attributes and the attitudes which created them), then I feel the need to point out the ridiculousness of faux poser cool melting in the sun.

So the next time you want to mock someone’s momma for wearing Capri pants, be sure you & yours are not equally guilty of some fashion posing; I assure you, your sacrifice of comfort (and health) is no more flattering and it is equally noticeable.

And while we’re talking about such things, let me say, “Get on your bike and ride it!” Whatever you’re wearing, you’ll look & feel better for it.

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Does Mattel Sock It To Us With Goldie Hawn Barbie?

Speaking of flags painted on Goldie Hawn’s body on Laugh-In

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To celebrate Barbie’s 50th anniversary, Mattel’s 2009 Barbie Doll releases feature a number of iconic retro doll re-do’s & celebrity dolls — including a very accurate version of Goldie Hawn as seen on Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In. Look at the incredibly detailed reproduction of Goldie’s bikini & body painted tattoos, as seen in 1968:

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Part of the Blonde Ambition Collection (officially said to be available July 1st, the Goldie Hawn Barbie is available now at eBay, Amazon, and a few select doll retailers), Goldie joins Marilyn Monroe as a vinyl delight for collectors.

And this doesn’t offend me in the slightest.

In fact, I want one.

While Babs has often been cursed as the vinyl bringer of doom, providing body image issues to little girls everywhere, I don’t have a problem with a pop culture history reproduction. And it’s not because I’m a collector &/or that Barbie’s boobs have been reduced for the Goldie version.

First of all, the Goldie Hawn Blonde Ambition Barbie is for adults; not kids.

Kids should not be given a doll they do not understand (and that includes the societal context of the times she comes from). Kids also shouldn’t reduce a $40-50 doll to garbage; and let’s face it, Goldie’s tats, understood or not, would be abraded away with childhood play.

We adults already know of Goldie & the cultural context of the time. Our body image issues, however affected & formed, are also our own responsibilities; we are old enough to say to ourselves and the world, “I’m a woman, I look like this, and I’m happy with it.” Or not, as the individual case may be. (And then we should seek help for our own issues, no matter how they were formed; finger pointing alone won’t help us love our bodies or keep them healthy.)

Second of all, as a feminist, I have a long and deep relationship with Barbie.

I played with Barbie as a young girl. And, while my sister thinks it’s so hysterical that she tries to embarrass me with this fact, I have no problems admitting it: I played with Barbies until I was 16. I loved to take pretty vintage handkerchiefs & other bits of fabric and pin them on my dolls, then pose them in little vignettes with the Barbie accessories, in the garden, etc. I was exploring visually, creatively with the tools I had at the time. I couldn’t sew; so I pinned on the fabric. I didn’t have a real camera (and the means to pay for all that film & developing); so I created scenes & literally used my hands to frame the images I’d capture in my mind’s eye — reconstructing, reposing, redressing, until I saw what I wanted.

I could be odd — and this may not be the “most normal” Barbie play; but then, when I see other kids playing with fashion dolls, I see quite a bit of that too… I don’t think my “oddness” stems from how I played — or how long I played — with fashion dolls.

Of course, as I got older I became suspicious of Bab’s and her figure. This was further complicated by media images, feminist discussion, and the fact that I looked far more like Barbie than most of my friends & family did…

I noticed that in books, films, television shows, etc., that the voluptuous women were most often the “evil” ones. We big-busted women were depicted as “man traps” and were not to be liked or trusted by other women either. Our assets were too compelling. We were competition. Our looks garnered looks — and the whole thing was diabolically unnatural (even when it was all so completely natural). It was bad, we were sinful; therefore we were The Enemy.

It was saddening, maddening.

But it wasn’t Barbie’s fault. It wasn’t even Mattel’s fault.

As a society we were sold on beauty & sex appeal, no matter how realistic or not the standards are; but if you dare to have it (and this was something deemed & defined by others, it was not even necessary for it to be exhibited or used by yourself), you were viewed suspiciously… Punished, ostracized.

But it wasn’t something a plastic doll did. And the only reason Mattel and others could sell it was because our culture greedily consumed it. And then made weird judgments about it. WTF.

While some blame Barbie for unrealistic body image, others condemn the doll, her world and her friends for an insipid, unrealistic, & exaggerated sense of romance; I find she exposes even more about our twisted cultural values & expectations. Barbie is a useful tool.

This relationship with Barbie is one I’m still trying to figure out… And the commercial processing of more dolls, how the marketplace reacts to them, and the resulting opines of others could all just get me closer to some better understanding.

Besides, if I don’t like Barbie, I don’t have to buy her — for myself or anyone else. What’s more, I can let her coexist in this world without buying her ideals either.

Can’t Be A Sleeping Beauty On Real Issues

Via Teacups & Couture I found the works of photographer Dina Goldstein which follows up with fairy tale princess and their “happily ever afters.”

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Goldstein shares her exploration of Disney Princesses in Fallen Princesses at JPG Magazine:

These works place Fairy Tale characters in modern day scenarios. In all of the images the Princess is placed in an environment that articulates her conflict. The ‘…happily ever after’ is replaced with a realistic outcome and addresses current issues.

The project was inspired by my observation of three-year-old girls, who were developing an interest in Disney’s Fairy tales. As a new mother I have been able to get a close up look at the phenomenon of young girls fascinated with Princesses and their desire to dress up like them. The Disney versions almost always have sad beginning, with an overbearing female villain, and the end is predictably a happy one. The Prince usually saves the day and makes the victimized young beauty into a Princess.

As a young girl, growing up abroad, I was not exposed to Fairy tales. These new discoveries lead to my fascination with the origins of Fairy tales. I explored the original brothers Grimm’s stories and found that they have very dark and sometimes gruesome aspects, many of which were changed by Disney. I began to imagine Disney’s perfect Princesses juxtaposed with real issues that were affecting women around me, such as illness, addiction and self-image issues.

There are 2 more to be shot for this series which is going on exhibit on Oct. 15/09

The images are striking; the subject matter near to my heart.

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I did some work in college on the messages in Disney images & stories. My project, Damaged By Disney, was similarly inspired by watching my then very young daughter digest Disney images — and now that I’ve had nearly two more decades of additional experiences I find I am only more interested.

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I had to talk with Dina to see just what the two planned photographs would be about.

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I was hoping she’d use one of the last two works to explore violence against women — it’s such a huge problem, one that’s not very well understood, in large part because few want to discuss it. Domestic violence and sexual assault of women are not covered as often as they should be; they are dismissed from discussion, deemed one part “taboo” and one part “drag.” But as both a survivor of domestic violence and a victim of date rape, I was hoping Goldstein would use her considerable talents to bring up the subjects.

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When I asked Goldstein, she confessed that the two planned photos, featuring Ariel and The Princess & The Pea, would not address domestic violence or violence against women.

:sigh:

But I do think that I’ve planted a seed — Nay! I’ve placed the Domestic Violence & Violence Against Women peas beneath her mattress, and now I must just wait to see how many sleepless nights it takes to convince the photographer to lend her visual voice to the issues.

dina-goldstein-fallen-princess-sleeping-beauty

Police Woman: The Long Octopus Arms Twarting Female Police Detectives

police-woman-angie-dickinsonMost of us tend to think of Angie Dickinson when we think of police women — and it’s not just because she was Sgt. Suzanne “Pepper” Anderson on Police Woman in 1974.

Most of us tend to think of the 60’s & 70’s when those women’s libbers pushed and sued for the opportunity to be equals (including police officers) and Angie baby was in full mod swing then, so naturally we “see” her as the face (and bod) of the mod we’ve-come-a-long-way-baby policewoman. And the plethora of Police Woman dolls & toys — like this ridiculous “Sabotage Under The Sea” set with octopus — helped solidify this image for a lot of us.

retro-police-woman-sabotage-under-the-sea-set

But in truth, there not only were female cops before then, but they were the result of what we’d now call “unlikely feminists” — and some bad male behavior. These battles would be more dangerous than tangling with an octopus.

You may have heard of Isabella Goodwin, the first US woman detective appointed in New York City on March 1, 1912 (it’s the sort of “fun historical fact” people like to blog about, say, on March 1st). But few take the time to give you some real information about her — or at least some cultural context. But you know I’m all about the context, right?

There’s little information available on the web about Isabella Goodwin (save for the fact one-liner), but there is a story & a setting alright.

The story begins in the mid 1800’s when female prisoners were housed with male prisoners and so male officers, their wives, widows of policemen (called “bedmakers,” these women were paid out of the policemen’s own pockets), or “the maid at the police station” performed searches on female prisoners. Such mingling of the sexes shocked the general public — mainly because of the high number of poor men and women who came to New York City often found themselves forced to find shelter at station houses (these people were called “casuals”). According to the NYPD, “in 1887, at various times, up to 42,000 of these homeless women spent at least one night in a station house.” However, things were about to change.

The Women’s Prison Association of New York and the American Female Christian Temperance Union petitioned the Board of Estimate and Apportionment for the appointment of police matrons, and for the creation of separate prison cells for men and women. If it sounds odd to you that Christian women of the 1800’s would be involved in a feminist push for equal career opportunities, you misunderstand. The push was not for careers for women, but for the protection of women who could be victimized by men. And you must remember that once upon a time, Christians saw their role in society as to help the less fortunate, including through social reform, as opposed to the current day philosophy of “”convert them or judge them & leave them to rot.”

Pressured by groups seeking social reforms, the New York State Legislature passed a law requiring that female doctors treat female patients in mental institutions & that every precinct station house has Police Matrons to tend to female arrestees. This legislation was passed in 1888. But the New York City Board of Police Commissioners does not make any Matron appointments until 1891 — after Governor David B. Hill signed a bill that mandated the hiring of Police Matrons and the establishment of separate cells for men and women under arrest. This was a direct result of a police officer being found guilty the attempted assault of a fifteen-year-old girl at a station house and sentenced to prison in 1890.

Months later, the first civil service test was held for the title of Police Matron — with applicants being required to have letters of recommendation from at least twenty women “of good standing.”

In an attempt at humor, I suppose, Jay Maeder sums up the “new” police matrons with “thus creating the jail-matron system that remained a sinecure for many a stern, stout Irishwoman well into the 20th century.”

:sigh:

Maeder’s stereotype isn’t the worst, or even the first. Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History notes:

Of course the matrons were not installed without criticism, which by the way ranged from the prediction that women would become totally incapacitated at the sighting of a mere rodent to criticism that men wouldn’t stand a chance because women would completely take over, dominating the station house and their fellow male employees.

Police Matrons worked long hours, receiving only one day off per month, and just one week’s vacation per year. In 1896, there is one Matron per shift (one day, one night) per station house. Their duties increase too. Matrons are now assigned to search subjects; process, escort and supervise inmates; and to care for lost children. As of 1899, they were paid $1,000 per year as of 1899, and they would not receive a pay increase until 1918.

It is in 1896 that police widow Isabella Goodwin (noted as having four children) is hired as a Police Matron and begins her police career, which will culminate in making First Grade Detective in March of 1912, and being appointed second in command of the first Women’s Police Precinct in April that same year.

Goodwin’s appointment to detective came about through the Police Chief bypassing Civil Service requirements that discriminated against women — presumably in large part due to pressure from the public and lots of press regarding her role in “bringing to justice of the taxicab bandits,” as evidenced in Goodwin’s interview in The New York Times, March 3, 1912 (below).

You really should read it; where else can you read a real news story which includes characters called Swede Annie and Eddie The Boob?

The old newspaper article also includes Goodwin’s story of a bust of a (male) fortune teller. The problem of $2 readings were apparently quite prevalent, for The New York Supplement details of Goodwin’s testimony & the judge’s affirmation of the conviction of fake fortune teller Maude Malcolm on Janurary 18, 1915 (beginning on page 919).

Goodwin, naturally, ends the interview with a, “Despite my peculiar work I try not to neglect my home. A woman’s first duty is to her family, and I have tried always to remember that.” To which the author is only too happy to pander, prove (with assertions from Isabella’s children & the author’s own eyes) & compliment.

But if this seems, well, less satisfactory than the loud “long way baby” route of the mod 60’s women’s lib ladies, consider the following…

Such public adoration may have been new to Goodwin and to female policewomen at the time, but Jay Maeder notes it wouldn’t stay that way:

Matrons did women pretty much exclusively until 1912, when one Isabella Goodwin, theretofore detailed to the wayward-lass wing of the Mercer St. station, was assigned to take a position as a domestic in a household full of suspected bank robbers. Goodwin, swiftly getting the goods on this bunch, then became New York’s first female detective first grade. Subsequently, more and more women began to get pulled into crime-busting duties, and a full-fledged Bureau of Policewomen was established in 1926.

The city’s lady cops, many of them nurses and lawyers and social workers and other such college-educated professionals, were celebrated public figures all through the 1930s and ’40s and ’50s, always good press copy as they went often quite dangerously undercover to lure sexual predators and smash abortion rings and whatnot.

Isabella Goodwin may never have had a doll or octopus made in her honor; but then again, she was probably never called “a bitch of a detective” in some sort of twisted praise. Angie Dickinson, on the other hand, only played a detective on TV and got the doll, the octopus, the pinup poses in men’s magazines, and had her then-husband, Burt Bacharach, “compliment” her by saying, “”If she’s down a notch from me in the public eye these days, well, she should be up a notch—she’s a bitch of an actress.”

So I ask you, who was the more respected woman? Who should we think of when we think of “police woman?”

And why hasn’t someone made a collectible Isabella Goodwin doll?

Maybe instead of an octopus accessory, it can have a fake fortune teller accessory kit.

Now It’s Really The Last Laugh

As usual, a tiny snippet in a vintage magazine drives me to obsessive research…

This time it’s a few lines on page 47 of Quick (November 21, 1949 — which had that feature on Esther Williams). The few lines, titled Last Laugh, are about the widowed singer, Mrs. Reseda Corrigan, who after having fallen prey to infamous bigamist Sigmund Engel, announced her plans for both a vaudeville act “showing how Engel made love to her” and her engagement to “booking agent and bandsman,” Al Turk.

last-laugh

Apparently it is worth noting that Mrs. Corrigan was not only a window, mother of three, and a singer, but a redhead — and her fashions were greatly detailed in the press reports of the court trials. I love how women’s fashions pertain to courtroom drama. Not.

Sigmund Z. Engel, was a real charmer. He’s credited with saying, “The age of a woman doesn’t mean a thing. The best tunes are played on the oldest fiddles.” And he apparently offered the press advice upon entering prison:

1. Always look for the widows. Less complications.
2. Establish your own background as one of wealth and culture.
3. Make friends with the entire family.
4. Send a woman frequent bouquets. Roses, never orchids.
5. Don’t ask for money. Make her suggest lending it to you.
6. Be attentive at all times.
7. Be gentle and ardent.
8. Always be a perfect gentleman. Subordinate sex.

Engel also wrote a book, titled Lover of 1001 Women — a copy of which currently eludes me. But I have heart. I always have heart when it comes to collecting; but love can be far trickier… As Mrs. Corrigan herself warned in the St. Petersburg Times, June 23, 1949, “When a man uses excellent English, whispers ‘I love you’ while at the same time kissing your ear, beware.”

bigamist-sigmund-engel-awaiting-trial-in-cook-county-jail-life-mag-photo-by-francis-miller

It’s important to note that Mrs. Corrigan was not just bigamist-bitter, nor even money-taking-bigamis-bitter, but royally-pissed-bitter. This because during Engel & Corrigan’s engagement Engel went missing for a week. Then he suddenly called and asked Corrigan to take the first train out of Chicago and meet him in New York’s Grand Central Station. Corrigan complied. Not only was Engel a no-show, but, because Engel was supposedly wealthy, she arrived without any money of her own and was forced to live in Grand Central Station for eight days — sleeping in the washrooms and on public benches.

That would leave a bitter aftertaste all its own, yes? This is when she filed charges in Chicago, resulting in Engle’s photograph being published & the ensuing suits.

So we can understand Corrigan’s boasting in the press about her show and upcoming nuptials.

But Corrigan wasn’t to have the last laugh as far as I can see.

In the St. Petersburg Times, November 20, 1949, the following bad news:

Mrs. Reseda Corrigan’s “kissless romance” with band leader Al Turn is one the rocks — right where the vocalist was left by Sigmund (Sad Sam) Engel when he dashed off with her $8,700.

Soon after Engel’s conviction in Chicago, Mrs. Corrigan, 39, disclosed plans to marry Turk. But Turk said yesterday the whole thing was washed up. He explained: “She does a fair job of singing but she needs a log of training.”

Mrs. Corrigan was caught off base by Turk’s announcement but fired back: “I have more finesse than he has. He has no gallantry about him. Why, he didn’t even kiss me.”

Neither did Engel, she insisted, because “I’m a singer and I don’t want to be going around with germs in my throat.”

I’ve got a little something in my throat… I think it’s bile.

If anyone knows anything more about Reseda Corrigan, I’d love to hear about it — especially if you have a photo!

“Milwaukee Blue”

In the 80’s, I worked in the cosmetics area of a department store — but not just for any cosmetics brand, it was Estée Lauder; and not just any department store either, it was Marshall Fields. Hence I had a lot of training, including district training sessions, which meant traveling to or training with people outside of Milwaukee.

One of my first large training sessions I learned that Milwaukee was famous for more than being America’s Dairy Land, known for more than the land of beer & brats and its associates sports teams; Milwaukee had a bad rap beauty wise.

The other Lauder beauty advisers teased us all for having named a particular type of customer after our area. These customers were those who were stuck in a decade or two prior to the one we were all living in now — most commonly seen as the swipe of blue eyeshadow across the lid. This 1974 Aziza Eyes ad illustrates the look.
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This look began in the 60’s & had a resurgence in the 70’s, so it was completely dated in the 80’s, prompting the other Lauder girls (mainly those from Chicago who kept looking down their powdered noses at “small time” Milwaukee — grrr) to dub the beauty faux pas “Milwaukee Blue.”

If this post serves any purpose it is to remind you that many of those cosmetic girls are indeed talking about you & your dated makeup look.

I suppose “Milwaukee Blue” has left the vocabulary of most women in the beauty business by now… Which makes me wonder what the latest local beauty slur is.

Does Sparkle Shine?

I’d never heard of the movie Sparkle. Maybe because in 1976 I was a white tween, getting my fill of film angst from The Bad News Bears (gawd I knew just what Jackie Earle Haley’s Kelly Leak wanted — and what Tatum O’Neal’s Amanda Whurlizer couldn’t give him!); I don’t know. But the list of names which accompanied the title on the cable’s info screen was intriguing…

sparkle-1976-movie-posterPhilip M. Thomas (later Philip Michael Thomas, the pretty one of Miami Vice fame), Irene Cara (Fame), Lonette McKee (a beauty whose career credits include The Cotton Club, The Women of Brewster Place & Jungle Fever), Mary Alice (an actress I don’t think has ever been given proper attention or credit — save for, perhaps, at Stinky Lulu’s), Dorian Harewood (a man who has been in so much it’s ridiculous!), & Beatrice Winde (a great character actress you’ll recognize on the spot).

So, even if Sparkle was a retro train wreck of a film — especially if it was a retro train wreck of a film — I had to watch!

Sparkle (1976) is approximately a twenty year old film which takes place approximately twenty years earlier, in 1958. Got it? Good.

The movie tracks the lives of three young sisters — biological sisters — from Harlem: Sister (Lonette McKee), Delores (Dwan Smith), and Sparkle (Irene Cara).

The eldest, is Sister, “the prettiest girl in Harlem.” And she knows it. She’s gonna be trouble for single mom, Effie (Mary Alice) — something Effie’s friend & Harlem busy body, Mrs. Waters (Beatrice Winde) is only too happy to warn the matriarch about. When we meet Sister, she’s being courted by the handsome but fast & criminal-element-attached Levi (Dorian Harewood).

Sparkle, the quintessential good girl, adores her older sister. Sparkle is 15 and never been kissed — until Stix (Philip Michael Thomas) steals a few while she’s getting the laundry off the roof.

The middle daughter is Delores, a good looking young woman whose beauty & strength are over-shadowed by the chips on her shoulder. Yes, that’s “chips” plural. Because Delores isn’t just the morality preaching (annoying) middle child who feels duty bound to correct both her older sister (commenting about Sister’s straightening her hair to look like Marilyn Monroe) and her younger sister (threatening to be a tattle tale about Sparkle’s kiss on the roof). No, Delores also has a sassy mouth she uses to lip off to mom with regarding mom’s work as a maid.

Delores: We’re old enough to iron for ourselves. You ain’t our maid.

Effie: I always iron clothes for the ones that I love.

Delores: I suppose you love them crackers that you work for?

Effie: You watch your mouth. Now, go get your homework before I give you a sign in a place you won’t forget.

So, you’ve got three very different siblings.

Yet they come together, at Stix’s urging, to form a singing group — first with Stix and Levi , as The Farts Hearts. (Hey, the MC made that corny slip; I’m just quoting it! The MC also had other stale jkes, such as, “You all heard about the Cookie sisters? Lorna Doone and Nuthin’ Doone!”)

The Hearts are a hit, especially with Sister’s sexual enticing of the audience, but then, because sex sells, Stix promotes the sisters as an all female group, Sister & The Sisters.

sister-and-the-sisters-perform-in-sparkleUnfortunately, as the singing trio begins to become popular, Sister catches the eye of Levi’s gangster boss, Satin (Tony King). No good can come of this…

Just as momma warns, Satin drags Sister into the gutter with him. Not just sexually (which wouldn’t exactly be a shock for Sister, or a film which has 15 year old Sparkle messing around with Stix), but she’s beaten by him — and hooked on drugs too. Classic lines (no drug pun intended) include Delores’ concerned & accusatory, “What else has he been pushing into you besides his fist?” and Sister’s pleading, “Can’t you see? Sister can’t fly on only one wing…”

The montages of Sister’s fall are told rather beautifully; even if the story seems clichéd, the telling of her downward spiral while the trio performs Something He can Feel is rather artsy.

In fact, at this point, I’m wondering why the film isn’t called Sister; where the hell is the Sparkle story?

Even poor old Delores has a better plot, a more fully developed character. For, upset with Sister’s weak victim status, Delores gives up her virginity to another of Satin’s cohorts in order to find out about Satin’s plans — which she promptly calls in to the police. But it all goes horribly wrong when the police shoot, then imprison, Levi — who Satin has sent in his place.

Distraught, Delores packs to leave home, where she is caught and engaged in a confrontational conversation with Effie:

Effie: Well, whatever troubles you got here are going right with you and that suitcase.

Delores: You don’t understand, Mama. Like, there’s education like there never was before. Mama, we don’t have to slaves to the white establishment anymore.

We don’t have to live off what the white man throws our way. Thanking him for his chicken-shit pay and chicken-shit jobs. We don’t have to run around shining his shoes and driving his cars and cleaning his floors and being his ma – …

Effie: Go on, now, say it. Being their maid. Hmm?

Delores: Yeah, Mama. Being their maid.

Mama, I seen you, ever since I was a little kid, getting up in the middle of the night to take the subway to ride for two hours to go to their house, to do their cooking and to do their ironing and do their cleaning and wash the shit out of their toilet. And for what, Mama? For WHAT?

Delores may leave with the final word, but you just know, wherever Delores lands, that her failure to save Sister plus get Levi in trouble, will be in that suitcase just as Effie said… And she’ll have the added baggage of knowing that her self-righteous and lame justification were tissue-thin too.

I’m not entirely sure the film should have ended right there… There is, after all, Sparkle’s story to consider. Delores’ leaving & Sister’s poor condition combine to leave Stix’s group unable to perform, so he too bails. He offers Sparkle the chance to leave with him, but she’s “the only one left who cares for Sister,” so she stays.

Montages of Sparkle enabling Sister, culminating in Sparkle’s singing at Sister’s funeral.

After the service, Stix, who of course is back in town, visits Sparkle — and this is probably the finest acting I’ve seen from Irene Cara. I’d quote from this scene, but it would read horribly — for it’s not the words or writing, it’s all Cara’s acting, her voice and body.

Perhaps this is where the film should have ended. Like some bleak film noir. But instead, Sparkle opts to plunge full-steam-ahead down the predictable path of fame & romance.

irene-cara-and-philip-michael-thomas-in-sparkle-1976

Now the film isn’t just a chick flick cliché, but 80’s kitsch too.

The guy wins the girl, with his help (via borrowing money over matzah ball soup with the man Effie works for) the girl cuts a record resulting in fame and a performance at Carnegie Hall (wearing 80’s fashions & singing an 80’s song), and the boy miraculously impresses a mob boss (the soup contains more than matzah balls!) by refusing to participate in a shakedown — managing to show up during the very 80’s Carnegie Hall performance, with none the wiser (including a mystified audience who wonders just how that all happened).

cara-as-sparkle-at-carnegie-hall

It’s this shoddy rush ending which leaves the kitsch taste in your mouth. One that prompts Jae-Ha Kim, at Amazon.com, to say that Sparkle has “somewhat of a cult following among fans that enjoy a good cry along with their kitsch.”

So, does Sparkle shine?

Like rhinestones. It may not be as satisfying as the real thing, but it has great charm — as long as you don’t inspect it too closely.

PS Another thing to note about Sparkle is the film’s music. While all the actors were considered good enough to sing the film’s scores by legendary Curtis Mayfield, the film never had a proper film soundtrack album — instead, Mayfield produced Aretha Franklin singing over the existing music tracks.