How Can You Keep Her Down on the Farm, After She's Seen Par-ee? (France, Part One)

Ugh, you guys! It has been too long!!

I've been busier than a bee at my new job in the publishing industry, and man-- it has been a ball so far. I work in a division that supplies academic titles to university libraries across the U.S. of A... and between getting to geek out about EC comic reissues (fabulous), essay collections on Marguerite Duras (FABULOUS), short fiction reviews, and exhibition catalogs of the work of art deco glassmakers (be still my beating heart), guess what, I am loving it. I can't get away from books, and I don't want to! My only break from nonstop title categorizing has been a one week trip to Paris, France. You heard right! I was scared to even tell anyone about it in case it fell through at the last minute, but passports and guidebooks in hand, we set off for Charles de Gaulle airport out of Chicago O'Hare a week after my 29th birthday. And just shy of a month before our first wedding anniversary! I'm telling you, things have been nuts this side of the computer screen. 

BUT ANYWAY, FRANCE. PLEASE LET ME TELL YOU ALL ABOUT FRANCE.

I ordered that coffee in French. My first francophone restaurant interaction!  I feel like we spent a semester in high school French II preparing me for this moment. Judges be like, "9.8...9.9...10! 10! 10!"

I have probably said it before, but I've actively studied French since about ninth grade. After a chance dip into the world of French New Wave in mid-high school and the rigors of a top-notch French class helmed by Mlle. Murphree, I graduated from the magnet I went to with such a degree of fluency that I was able to skip past my advanced credit (which only allowed me into like a second level class) straight into a 300 level course freshman year of college. Circa 2003, every waking moment was watching the complete Truffaut oeuvre with paper taped over the English subtitles on the tv (yep, VHS tapes from the library. I feel old just saying that). I remember watching the haunting La Chambre Verte the morning of my AP French exam in a perfect fit of pique. My college conversation professor, teaching the course entirely in the target language, was a dead ringer for Michael Caine of the present day-- an elderly Australian in a driver's cap and navy blue Member's Only jacket who had studied at the Sorbonne on a linguistics scholarship and spoke Chinese, Greek, and French as well as he did the Gallic tongue. When I piped up in the first class, eager to respond to some question posed to the group, he answered back, "Very well, mademoiselle. And you've obviously spent some time abroad, your accent is very good." Face burning, I replied "En fait, je n'ai jamais quitté les États-Unis." And it was true-- I'd learned all my francophone ways making cassette tapes of the dialogue to Jean Paul Belmondo movies. It was way easier for me to talk like a fifties' small-time hood in French than maybe talk about the current state of affairs in l'Hexagone, but hey! I was happy my accent was killin' it, blank as my non-existant passport would have been at the time.

"Le dimanche matin, c'est le moment revé...pour faire la grasse matinée." Chantez pour moi, JPB!

That class with Michael Caine's aussie doppelganger ended with the semester, and I was stultifyingly bored in most of my other French classes. The program at my college was weak, and though a deep infatuation with the music and life of Serge Gainsbourg the next year kept me a little invested in deciphering old French magazine articles online and lyrics on mix cds, mostly I would show up for exams and still average an A in the course. Years passed, and while I graduated with a minor and ended up teaching French at an inner city high school for three years, the latter of those activities was more about keeping kids from killing each other than the passé simple of common verbs. Going straight from high school to college to a grown up career, there just hadn't been time or money or, honestly, enough chutzpah on my part to get across the Atlantic to the place I'd dreamed about in front of my tv screen, as Jeanne Moreau sang about the whirlpool of life. As I spent most of the spring of this year reading books about how to transform your life and reach goals you never should have put aside, I realized that if I planned to start a family in the next year or so here, "someday" might end up being "never"...and wouldn't that just have been too sad for a girl who was truly Gallic at heart?

So I called AAA (did you know they do travel agency stuff? Spoiler: They do travel agency stuff.), wrote some checks out of funds socked away in our savings account, and started studying maps of the different arondissements. Truth be told, I was so overwhelmed with my first two weeks on a new job and my birthday, that I didn't get to do my honor student due-dilligence of having the métro routes memorized before I went. Luckily, they have an app for that. Our plane from Nashville was delayed two and half hours, and we literally had to beg them to let us on the about-to-depart plane in Chicago. While my checked-at-the-gate vintage naugahyde hard case suitcase (empty but for a pair of sneakers and an umbrella, because I anticipated bringing home souvenirs) didn't make it to France until the next day, we touched down in Paris around 9 AM French time. Which, omg, crash course in how time zones work, was 2 AM NASHVILLE TIME. I'd always understood that jetlag was a thing, and time zones were a thing, but I felt like the near-hysteria I was at after a nine hour flight and later, in the afternoon, 24 hours of being awake, was a real "whuh, whoa, ok" for this little non-traveler.

This was our hotel, in the 10ème, very close to la Gare du Nord. We could see Sacré-Coeur very well, and the very tip of the Eiffel Tower, from our windows on the seventh floor...see those x's in the dormers waaaaay up on top of the building? That was us!

Check out the view from said window:

Seriously? Are you even serious right now? The thing I would like to set out here on the beginning of recounting my trip is that I am, for better or for worse, completely predisposed to thinking something I'm really excited about will be terrible before I actually experience it. I prepare for something to be awful to protect myself from having my heart broken when things inevitably turn out for the worse. France, after the fourteen year old build up of anticipation, was so COMPLETELY WONDERFUL that the only regret I have from the trip is that I didn't get over my apprehensions and go sooner. Or that we didn't get to spend a year there rather than a week. At any rate, if you have expectations, whatever they are, seriously, my experience of it surpassed them.

"Uh, we're moving here, right? What do we have to do in order to move here?" --Me

The short list of things I was surprised about:

• How clean everything was. I tend to think of Nashville as being clean but the boulevards and cafes were immaculate everywhere we went. Movie-shoot clean. Compare that to my trip to New York City in college, where I was actually staggered by the sight and smell of a towering ziggurat of plastic garbage bags in every alley I passed. Oh, and the rat the size of a cat that at one point crossed my path. None of that in France, which I would have somehow expected for a city of its size?
• How friendly everyone was. My initial, long held fears of being scoffed at by natives for my slightly-imperfect-after-years-of-disuse French were completely unfounded. SO. COMPLETELY. UNFOUNDED. The biggest problem I had in learning French was never comprehension or reading or vocabulary, or even conjugation, but having the confidence to speak without second guessing my word choice in front of a classroom full of people ready to remind me that it was the plus que parfait form, NOT the simple passé composé. Believe it or not, for someone who dresses as odd duck as I do, I have confidence issues. Based on the enthusiastic and kind responses of people to conversation and the odd "which way is the this?" question, however, I was trying to make up reasons to speak to people in restaurants and stores and historic sites by the second day. And never was I disappointed by how charming and nice they were.
• How little time I spent shopping or on my phone. Uh, I LIVE to shop, and I found myself balling past stalls of knickknacks and paper goods on the Seine's Left Bank to try and get to the next restaurant or museum. I wanted to be in France and my natural hunter-gatherer instinct was taken over by wanting to see EVERYTHING, EVERYWHERE. Weird, right? I only bought four things. Now next time, if I get to go to Les Puces, all bets are off, friends...
• How not-homesick I was. I have never been on a trip that was longer than three days and not woken up day four going "WHY AM I STILL HERE. I want to be home with my records and my books and my stove and my own bed!" Though we went every DAY from 8 am til about 8 pm, walking, taking the metro, visiting places-- and though we were bone tired by the day of our departure, I was literally tearing up in the shuttle on the way to the airport, listening to "Les Initiales B.B." on France Bleu on the radio and our cab driver have a low key discussion in French about when his girlfriend's parents were coming to town, "Non, non, mon amour, j'ai dit pas ça ,"watching the store fronts and the other cars zooming by, because I didn't want to leave. But not to worry! I'll just have to go back again tout de suite! :)

Here's my sweet little husband, who, as always, is the best travel companion a human could possibly ask for. He stayed positive when I put us on the wrong metro line at least twice, when I made him wait in line for three hours, listening to possibly the worst electric guitar busker of all time during all three of these hours, so I could go to the Catacombes (more on that later), and even when I dragged him out of bed at four in the morning so we could catch an early train to the beaches at Normandy. Shoutout to Matthew also for being just as much into France as I was. That might have partially been because our hotel was in walking distance of a painfully hip, 1980's video game themed pizza parlor and cocktail bar, but...again, more on that later.

I've got to go get on with my Saturday, but I hope to update you more on our trip next week, and try to find some rhythm or balance to posting here on a regular basis. I've missed your comments and I've missed blabbing to you about the world at large! Don't worry, I'm still reading sixties' home decorating manuals and hoarding old photos and books, so I'll chime in on those again soon as time permits. In the meantime, HOW ARE YOU? What have you been up to? Have I missed any insane sales or vintage goings on? I'd love to hear anything and everything from you.

Well, that's it for today-- have a FABULOUS weekend and I'll talk to you soon! Au revoir!

Dispatch From New Job (1953 Leather Upholstery)

Well, how's tricks, kids? Long time no see!

I've been almost a week at my new gig, and I'm liking it very much so far! I'm working in approvals for academic titles at a publishing distributor (read: bibliophile HEAVEN), which so far is a lot of reading titles and author bios and skimming books to see what university would want what book and why. At least that's what I'll be doing when I get a handle on things-- at the moment, I'm asking a lot of questions and sitting through a lot of training and HOPING to do something like that with some degree of facility at the end of it all. What strikes me the most is how similar it is to my first week of college, yea those eleven years ago-- lots of trying to impress upon people how capable/smart/useful you are when you're feeling anything but! I started at the same time as two other fellows, and the entire division is relatively new, so it's not so bad as far as having to ask questions constantly. And Lord knows I've been enjoying getting to work with books up close and personal! Other items on the radar, next week, I turn 29, and the week after that, Bub and I are off to La France (Je ne plaisante pas!)...it sounds like I'm making things up. "AND I won the lottery...AND I was voted president of Mars..." But it's really true! I've been having to pinch myself lately for how thankful I am about the way things are shaking out. Keep a good thought for me that someone doesn't come and explain the Alan Funt nature of these recent occurrences to me. :)

I've got to get back to business, but I've missed talking kitsch to you all, though! Have you found anything good out at the sales lately? Seen any amazing feats of vintage wonder? How are things in your neck of the woods? I can't stay and chat but I thought I would leave you with this 1953 two-page ad from (you guessed it) House and Garden magazine on the wonders of leather upholstery. If you ask me, it looks pretty wonderful. Let me know what you think of them if you're still out there!

Have a great Thursday! I hope to talk to you soon!

Lisa

                        

                              

              

               

Photo Thursday/Friday: So Long, Library! (Vintage Nashville Public Library Photos, 1914-1962)

Good afternoon!

I hate to say it, but the time has come, folks-- today is my last day at the Nashville Public Library! After four years of service, I'm hanging up my reference desk spurs for an exciting new position a little ways out of town. Nerd that I am, it's still in the book business...and I'll have to tell you all the details about it as I figure them out myself! I start at the new gig on Monday. I'm not sure what that means for the future of She Was a Bird, especially in the next few weeks as I'm transitioning into a totally different work environment, but hopefully I'll still be spitting vintage on a semi-regular basis right here. So stay tuned! 

To commemorate this life event, I thought I would shamelessly borrow some photos from Nashville Public Library's Digital Collection of photos to show you the place (or at least the precursors of the place-- our building only dates to 2001, but its reputation precedes it!) I've been proud to call my home-away-from- home since 2010. I'm taking tomorrow off from blogging to celebrate, but not to worry-- I'll be back sometime next week to tell you all the news that's fit to print. Keep a good thought for me that I make the professional leap smoothly!! Find great stuff! Have a good weekend! We'll talk soon. :)

-Lisa

Carnegie Library, Nashville, Tenn., circa 1918 (source)

Photograph of the circulation desk of the Nashville Public Library, circa 1955 (source)

Carnegie Library, Nashville, Tenn., circa 1918 (source)

The circulation desk of the Nashville Public Library, circa 1948 (source)

Photograph of the reading room of the Nashville Public Library, circa 1953 (source)

Photograph of the Young Moderns Den of the Nashville Public Library, circa 1960 (source)

Photograph of the Nashville Public Library Airport Reading Room, circa 1962 (source)

Art Totes (MoMA Store Online)

Good afternoon!

I have been a luh-haaazy so and so today, I will tell you what! If I'm 100% honest, I would have to admit that a good portion of the morning was devoted to watching Alfred Hitchcock Hour and browsing the MoMA store online. The former yielded this episode with a creepy Bruce Dern and this episode with later Family Affair dad Brian Keith, the latter these gorgeous tote bags from the museum's gift selections. I am seriously in the market for a big tote bag with some kind of flair to it, and don't these just fit the bill to a tee.

Come take a look!

UNIQLO Jean-Michel Basquiat Collage Tote Bag

Q: Jean Michel Basquiat? A: Jean Michel YES. I was googling his name and tote this morning, which clued me in to MoMA's tote bag holdings in the first place. I wish this was one of his more intricate drawings, or on a darker background so it looks a little more dramatic, but as it is, I can't believe this just popped up at the top of my search results. Thank you, internet. Also, this exchange at the non-fiction desk: Me to my friend Jesse: I wish they'd done one of his self portraits or something instead of this, people are going to think I just made it myself. Jesse: So, one of his more tortured, painful pieces of art-- Me: ((sheepishly)) For me to carry my lunch in or whatever. #thedayimhaving #consumerist

UNIQLO Andy Warhol Flowers Tote Bag

When I started teaching and needed something other than a Jansport backpack to carry my lesson plans and grade book to and from school, I had the TJ Maxx Andy Warhol market cornered on tote bags. I must have had five or six of them, the ones I can remember being pink Elvis on a yellow background, "Happy Bug Day", a black and white striped one with a pink cat, and my favorite, Jackie Kennedy on a red background. The only problem with these bags is that the silver material on the straps (with quotes like "If I weren't me, I think I'd like to be Jackie Kennedy" and "In the future, everyone will be world famous for fifteen minutes") flakes off when you put too much weight on the sturdy canvas bag itself, and it looks bad. Uuurgh. So, maybe this print of his famous flowers series would be nice!

Or maaaaybe this Keith Haring bag:

UNIQLO Keith Haring Turquoise Tote Bag

It is both a) the slickest looking of all four of these bags but conversely b) the one that looks the most like something from Forever 21, due to Haring's oft-copied, youthful street designs. Have you seen the documentary The Universe of Keith Haring? Watching one of his wall high murals being completed at time lapse speed is really neat.

And back to the Warhol:

UNIQLO Andy Warhol Soup Can Tote Bag

You can't get much more iconic than Andy Warhol's soup can series, and here it IS. Not some knock-off, but the real deal (or as real as a print of a soup can forty some years after the initial frisson of newness struck the art world).

Bonus: this bag by artist Lauren DiCioccio...about twice as expensive as the other four, but the cheeky play on throwaway plastic bags (as a luxe, satin and hand embroidered satchel) is wonderful. Maybe I could get this and carry it as my purse with one of the other totes. It's almost my birthday, after all!!

Thank You Bag

How about you? Which one of these bags would you schlep to work as a reminder of the outside world? What artwork would you like to see on a tote bag? Do you have a go-to brand or website for fun, novelty items that are more kitsch than kawaii? Let me know! I'm in the market!!

That's all for today, but I'll catch you back here tomorrow. Have a great Wednesday! We'll talk then.

Mrs. Mia Wallace (Pulp Fiction Makeup series from Urban Decay)

Good afternoon!

I'm feeling a little under the weather today-- haven't stopped sneezing since what seems like yesterday afternoon and don't seem to have much hope of stopping before night fall today! I took the day off work and have just recently ingested some antihistamines which will hopefully knock me out until such time as my nasal passages decide to cease and desist, so keep a  good thought for me that they do! However, I wanted to check in on you and show you this little blast from the past: here I am in 2004, in the apartment dorm I shared with my friends Ryan (pictured, as gogo dancer) and Torey (not pictured, but probably equally awesome in costume), in all my sophomore year of at UT glory. Because of my goggle eyes, above average height, and long nose, I used to get a lot of comparisons in college to Uma Thurman (believe me, I'll take it!), so the year after Kill Bill's I and II came out, I decided to embrace Tarantino's muse in one of my all time favorite movies, Pulp Fiction, for Halloween*. You can't see, but I'm wearing black cigarette pants and silver flats, the latter of which MW took off for her iconic dance with Vincent Vega:

Why this trip through time? To show you I don't think I ever even tried to smile in photos until at least 2007? To reminisce on how I had to hack the wig I'm wearing down to a shorter length with bangs, which I overshot by a tad? To highlight the assortment of weird things taped to our kitchen wall (including a TV guide cover of Will Ferrell that is cracking me up a little now just to see it?). No! To commemorate the good news that Urban Decay has just released a line of makeup products, twenty years after the release of the movie, that bear homage to what is arguably one of the best written movies of the nineties'. Folks, check it out! Pulp Fiction makeup!

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Yes, that is misquoted bible verse Ezekiel 25:17 on the back; yes, I used to be able to recite not just that passage, but the entire scene from the car ride to Brett's house to Brett and friends' demise in a cloud of "great vengeance and furious anger" as a party trick. In high school (have I told you this story before?), I hooked my dad's cassette deck and tuner up to the VHS player, and recorded two 90 minute cassettes of the audio of Pulp Fiction, and while I may have only physically seen the movie ten or fifteen times, I've listened to it something like 500 times. In my defense, it was before the internet! We had so much time on our hands back then, people. Also, how else was I going to internalize lines like "My name's Paul, and this is between y'all" or "Ha ha ha, m'f--ker, they're you're clothes", which still bring me joy to this day? I digress. Are you seeing the packaging? Wait til you check out the eyeshadow inside:

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Yep, each are also from the speech. Urban Decay even includes a tutorial on how to get the Wallace look from the movie (in case you haven't studied that scene from Jack Rabbit Slim's nearly as much as you should have):

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How do you think that stacks up to the real deal?

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Though the lipstick and lipliner looks a lot more red than what they went for in 1994, I'm still drawn like a moth to this red, red, RED lipstick. I only wonder if in real life it wouldn't be too dark for my complexion. The Revlon "Fire and Ice" that I favor has like no dark undertones to it, which makes it so wearable for me and my fair-ish coloring. Isn't it super late forties' looking to you though? I might have to treat myself to this $22 lipstick..Fire and Ice is like $5 a tube, so that's a heck of a splurge, but maybe it'll be worth it to live out my dreams!

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And last but not least, glitter eyeliner and rust red nailpolish. I'm less excited about these, because the eyeliner seems more Lou Reed's Transformer than Pulp Fiction, and I'm just not brave enough to do nail polish that isn't Revlon Red, but I still think they'd be neat on someone else. Is that someone else you?

When in doubt, What Would Lou Do?

Update: My friend Kelsey, who clued me in on this whole amazingness to begin with, has ordered us both some of the lipstick, so I'll have to let you know how it turns out when it gets here. Also, THANK YOU KELSEY!!!! How about you? Are you a huge Pulp Fiction or makeup fan? Which of these are you probably going to break down and buy? And what movie do you think would be a fun one to do a beauty-along with? I'm thinking of all the vintage color movies I would like to emulate, and am drafting a letter to Urban Decay in my head as it happens. This is only the beginning, haha!

PS, I now want to watch Pulp Fiction again. Did you know we almost used this as our first dance at my wedding? I finally decided you wouldn't be able to see my feet under my bell-shaped gown, and that Matthew's superior dance skills would shame my own, but it would have been neat to do anyway!

I have to go lay down my weary head, but have a fabulous Tuesday! Godwilling, I'll talk to you tomorrow! Til then.

* Just wanted to mention that on the way out of Andy Holt Apartments, the night this photo was taken, I was in an elevator with a Kill Bill Uma in the yellow track suit, a katana bearing O-ren Ishii, and another Mia Wallace, this one post-heroin-O.D. with a syringe sticking out of her chest. Isn't that wild? "Calling all Tarantino characters, please board the elevator at the same time". I still think mine was the most convincing, but I'm biased. :)

Standard Textbook of Cosmetology (1938, 1954, 1959, 1962)

Good afternoon!

I hope you had a great weekend-- ours was busy, busy, busy! Friday, Dad and I hit the flea market; Saturday, we went to a couple estate sales and watched some Jimmy Stewart westerns, and Sunday, Matthew and I lounged as hard as we could possibly lounge on a rare, shared day off. Six hours of season one of the Real Housewives of Atlanta and delivery General Tso's tofu yesterday is making me feel a little bad for my gluttonous indulgence of high calorie food and low quality (BEST POSSIBLE QUALITY)  reality tv...but you're only young once, right?

Speaking of being young, I'm thinking of cutting my hair to sync up with big changes on the not-so-distant horizon (don't worry, it's good news!). It's down to my elbows right now, but as you can tell from blog pictures, I always wear it up, and I think I'm ready for a bob for the first time in six years. As far as short hair styles, do we consult Celebrity Hair Now or similar shiny tabloid hair makeover rags? Nope-- you know us better than that! I dug up this Standard Textbook of Cosmetology, originally published in 1938 but updated as recently as 1962, to take a look at what was good in the world of coiffures. I didn't find my new hairstyle, but I did find some pretty neat stuff! Wanna take a look?

Mr. Lee's State Beauty College was a cosmetology school in Yakima, Washington...while I couldn't find much information on the institution, I like to think it was like that episode of Tabatha's Salon Takeover where she updates a beauty school that was started by the suave and then-eighty-some-odd year old proprietor named Flavio in the fifties'. Imagine the kind of Warren Beatty in Shampoo like hot guy hair stylist, and these are the dreams I'm projecting on Mr. Lee. The book, from page one, is a hoot-- it combines all the different editions of the book (1938-1962....quite a wide swath of beauty trends there) as one semi-cohesive textbook for the would be beautician.

First, please color me thrilled about this forecast for your success or failure as a working beauty professional:

That pert, swept-updo gal Friday is SO. CUTE. And I whole heartedly agree with the Goofus and Gallant like juxtaposition of how you should do and how you shouldn't. Could someone please needlepoint "TO BE SUCCESSFUL-- you must learn to do the little things that will make people like you" for me to hang up in my home and place of business?

Two pages later, we've jumped from the late forties' to the early fifties' (but still not au courant with the 1962 publication of the book) and what your own personal hygiene as a beautician should entail.

Do you ever notice in hair salons (or maybe the hair salons I would go to in college that specialize in $10 haircuts), there will be two or three girls with perfect, asymmetrical bobs streaked in cute highlights, wearing skinny jeans and a nice top, and they are never the person who comes to cut my hair? I am 9 times out of 10 stuck with a mountainous woman with over, over, OVER processed hair the color of  nothing found in nature, and styled (herself! After all, she's a beautician!) in the fashion of Kate Gosselin or somebody's-trying-too-hard-mom. This woman unwaveringly would look at my photo of Mia Farrow or Jean Seberg or whatever waif-like style icon I was going for at the time, and say "Yeah, I can do that," and proceed to give me a shorter version of her own hair cut. What I wouldn't give to see someone like this smiling brightly at me over the counter-- she would understand how I want hair um exactly like hers and what's more, know how to do it!

Each and every time I brush out my curled hair, I manage to look like one of the Mandrell sisters-- not-that-that's-a-bad-thing, but I can't not do bouncy, 70's prom curls even when I specifically wanted short, forties' defined waves. My hair has a natural wave to it, but is by no means curly, and I have the hardest time figuring out what kind of potions or potents I need to put on it to make the curls stay curled! I know a lot of it is in the comb out... vis à vis the chart below. SO MANY CUTE CURLS. So little that have actually appeared on my head:

I can just see myself with a pen and paper trying to remember if I was doing C curls or CC curls:

Oh, look! The exact marcelled wave from the 20's and 30's I want, but here in this 1962 textbook! Do you think it would be super, unbelievably difficult to recreate this style in the 21st century? Also, would I look like a fruit damn cake? I'm going to do research in the text of the book, but chime in if you know anything about these hair dids. Can I look like La Swanson with the basic, limited hair skills I already possess?

I love thinking of the illustrator going, ok, I need to show how this would work in the theoretical. Also, I need a poster of this crazy figure for my house.

Pin curls! Another thing I will be able to do once I hack off about a foot of this hair. Make me look like Carole Lombard, pin curls!

 This one reminds me of Norma Shearer-- doesn't it you?

Poor, dopey looking "convex" and Disney villainess looking "low forehead, sharp chin"-- I feel like I have a straight pointed profile? Can I vote none of these?

Ok, now that you've seen some of the actually helpful portions of the book, I present to you the truly weird and wackadoodle illustrations from the second half:

Jim! Jim, what happened to your FAAAAACE?! I love how nonplussed he looks even without skin.

It's a rake...for your scalp...wired for electricity...soooo....

With and without protective goggles.

A quartet of horrors. 1) Pattymelt face, 2) I'll worry about my foot bones, you worry about keeping me in Louboutins, 3)Why does Simone Signoret have such a hairy face, 4) Why does this diagram have a face at all! Disturbing! 

I've got to get going, but let me know what you think! Should I cut my hair? What vintage styling tips have you found helpful? Seen any weird textbook illustrations lately? Spill, spill!

Have a great Monday, and hopefully I'll be back tomorrow with some weekend finds! Take care; talk to you then.

Rerun: Photo Friday: Flappers in the Sun Edition (1920's)

This blog originally appeared on She Was a Bird April 27, 2012.

I found this non-descript portfolio, about the size reproduced above, in a box of photos at an estate sale in Inglewood a few years ago. Nashville-ites who know the area, it was one of those big Tudor houses near the library on Gallatin Road, the HUGE 1920's and 30's houses built on the main drag, many of which have been converted into law offices, dental offices, or in one memorable case, a palmistry shoppe. The layout of the house featured a rabbit's warren of twisty, narrow little rooms on the first floor, and a slope-ceilinged second floor area up a central set of stairs, and just lo-o-o-ots of stuff. As it was a Sunday, everything was deeply discounted and I bought the whole box of pictures for less than five bucks, thinking I would go through it later to enjoy the treasures. I'd forgotten all about them (remember how I said I was a kind of, sort of a hoarder?) until I was scanning some from the box in, and met the cutest little couple in doing so!

People, meet Gentleman Jim and Flapper Fran. The snapshots didn't come with any kind of descriptive captions or names other than the St. Louis based developing company on the back, but we'll go with those descriptive monikers for the moment.

     

As much as I like any kind of vernacular photography, the kind I like best, being a little dress-a-holic, is seeing the detail of old clothes in old photos. I thought this was Flapper Fran, but in looking at the other photos, and by way of the clothes, turns out this is her cousin Flapper Frieda! The second flapper is wearing a daisy of an outfit in sharp heeled satin pumps with little bows on them, a straight-up-and-down flapper dress with tiers of ruffles at the bottom, a drop-bead neclace, corsage, and the de riguer cloche hat of the day (the coat from the first picture seems to have taken a powder). Frieda, Fran and Jim are posing on and in front of some kind of public building, but I can't tell from the photos what building. Is this a shot on the courthouse steps just after they've been married ? Or is it just a good looking building on an afternoon stroll downtown?

Gentleman Jim's friend, Gentleman Hal, makes an appearance in the next shot:

Something about the posing in this one reminds me of a ventriloquist and his dummy. Am I right? Dig Hal's tie.

Whoah! Double vision! Flapper Fran and Flapper Frieda together. See how similar their faces are? I assume they're related, but again, by the lack of markings, I really have no way to tell.

Frieda and Hal together. It looks Frieda and Hal are a couple, and then Fran and Jim are a couple. Don't you love making conjectures about old pictures with no hope of ever finding out if you had the context correct? It's kind of fun and it's kind of sad, thinking there were at least four people at one time who knew exactly what was going on in each of these photos.

  

THIS IS PROBABLY MY FAVORITE. Moving out of town to the country side for a picnic, the foursome pose in various rocky/scenic places around an old wooden bridge. I love the stiff body language and scowling faces of people in the pre-digital-camera, how-did-I-look-no-erase-that-one era. Those planar, Cherokee cheekbones remind me of Loretta Lynn and my own great-grandmother on my dad's side. Look at that dress!

                                   

This one turned out very fuzzy, but look at Jim's hat. Nice hat, Jim.

Rethinking straw for the summer 1929 season, Jim removes the hat for a solo portrait. See the sharp crease in his pants and the short-at-sides-longer-at-top-F-Scott-Fitz haircut. Handsome, huh?

Last but not least, Fran looking as rawbone and skinny and scowly as her cousin:

I still love it.

Do you have any vacation/day trip photos in your collection that tell a narrative like Fran + Jim + Frieda + Hal? Which flapper styles do you wish would make a comeback so you could copy Fran and Frieda's look without looking like you're doing a stage production? Have any good estate sales coming up this weekend? Let us know!

Have a great Friday, and we'll see you on the other side of the weekend!