Vintage Powder Room

Happy Birthday, Baby.

 I selected the MERRY WIDOW hairnet package in honor of Jean Harlow’s birthday for a couple of reasons; because it was made in England, I believe it demonstrates the world wide appeal of Jean Harlow – the woman on the package was obviously mimicking Jean’s look.  Also, it’s an ideal segue into a reflection on Harlow’s ‘boudoir’ style.

  
Jean’s now iconic platinum blonde hair was a revelation when she appeared in her first big hit, HELLS ANGELS, in 1930. It was an otherworldly shade of blonde that made her appear as if she’d just stepped out of a cloud, and brought a part of it with her.

 When she was cast with Loretta Young in PLATINUM BLONDE (1931), Howard Hughes convinced the producers of the film to rename it from the original title of GALLAGHER in order to promote Jean’s image. 

Hughes’ suggestion was dead on – Jean’s platinum tresses sent women stampeding to their local drugstores for cases of peroxide.  And for those women who needed advice on hair tinting, J.W. Robinson Co. department store in Los Angeles offered a tutorial with Miss Marie Sample of London. 

There were even a series of ‘Platinum Blonde’ clubs (organized by Hughes). The clubs offered a prize of $10,000 to any beautician who could match Harlow’s shade.

And long before the ‘underwear as outwear’ look became popular (think Madonna in a bustier), Jean Harlow was wearing gowns that would have been as much at home in the bedroom as at a party. 

 For DINNER AT EIGHT, the incomparable designer Adrian created a breathtaking gown for Harlow.  The dress of white satin was as fluid as a chilled martini, and it hugged her curves so closely that she couldn’t even sit down in it.

Jean was made for the pre-code era; she was sassy, brazen, overtly sexual, and the films in which she appeared provided her with dialogue as provocative as her costumes.  For instance:  ‘Would you be shocked if I put on something more comfortable?’

 In RED-HEADED WOMAN (1932) Harlow had this delightful exchange with a sales clerk in a dress shop:

 Lillian ‘Lil’: [trying on a dress in a store, Lil positions herself in front of a sunny window] Can you see through this?
Off-camera store clerk: I’m afraid you can, Miss.
Lillian ‘Lil’: I’ll wear it.
Off-camera store clerk: Oh!

My favorite of Jean’s films is RED DUST (1932) – and in the scene I love the most, Jean is taking a bath in a barrel of water. She’s effervescent, charming, and seductive all at once.  It’s no wonder that Gable couldn’t stay away from her!

 Jean Harlow was a cotton candy confection of a woman, but she never seemed aloof or unapproachable. She often wore a smile, if little else, and her eyes were full of intelligence, warmth, and humor.  She will be forever mourned.

This Sunday, March 6, 2011, I’ll be attending a celebration of the centenary of Harlow’s birth at the historic Egyptian Theater in Hollywood.  The event is being hosted by the Los Angeles Art Deco Society, and co-hosted by American Cinematheque.

For information regarding the Jean Harlow Centenary please visit: http://adsla.org/info/content/march-6-jean-harlow-centenary-egyptian-theatre

I hope to see you there!

 The most recent addition to my collection is an exquisite sample envelope for Henry Tetlow’s GOSSAMER face powder.   

 Gossamer debuted in 1888 and the sample envelope in the photo has a copyright date of 1895, which means that it was available during the “Gilded Age”.    

 The term ‘Gilded Age’ was coined by Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner in their 1873 book, The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today. The name refers to the process of gilding an object with a superficial layer of gold and is meant to make fun of ostentatious display while playing on the term golden age.”    

Mark Twain

 ”What is the chief end of man?–to get rich. In what way?–dishonestly if we can; honestly if we must.”
– Mark Twain-1871     

 Mark Twain’s quote accurately sums up the Gilded Age; it was an era during which every man was a potential Andrew Carnegie.  The Americans who achieved great wealth flaunted it in ways that would have cost them their heads in 18^th Century France.   One of the most outrageous examples of enormous wealth, coupled with a profound lack of taste, was at a dinner party thrown by Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish to honor her dog – who arrived sporting a $15,000 [$389,637.70 in today’s dollars!] diamond collar.  

Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish

 To put that kind of money into perspective, while Mrs. Fish’s spoiled pooch wore diamonds, many human Americans wore rags. In 1890, 11 million of the nation’s 12 million families earned less than $1200 per year [$28,818.49 current U.S. dollars]; of this group, the average annual income was $380 [$9,125.85 current U.S. dollars], well below the poverty line.  

 Of the women who would become well-known during the Gilded Age, one would leave her mark on history – and that woman was Jennie Jerome.  

 Jennie was born Jeanette Jerome in Brooklyn, New York on January 9, 1854.  Jennie’s first marriage was to Lord Randolph Churchill, the second son of John Winston Spencer-Churchill, the 7^th Duke of Marlborough and Lady Frances Anne Emily Vane.  The couple wed on 15 April 1874, at the British Embassy in Paris.   

Lord Randolph Churchill

  Jennie had the money and the time to indulge her wild side. There was a persistent, unverifiable, rumor that she’d had a tattoo of a snake twined around her wrist, which she would hide with a bracelet when required.  

 Even if the rumor of a tattoo is false, Jennie’s wild side would lead her into numerous affairs while she was married to Lord Randolph Churchill. Among Lady Randolph’s conquests were Karl Kinsky (aka Karl, 8th Prince Kinsky of Wchinitz and Tettau) and King Edward VII of England.  

 Lady and Lord Randolph had two sons: Winston (born less than eight months after the marriage) and John.  Jennie’s sisters believed that John’s biological father was Evelyn “Star” Boscawen, 7th Viscount Falmouth.  

 Known in society for her intelligence and wit, Jennie’s affairs not only provided her with excitement, but they enabled her to make the kinds of connections that would help Lord Randolph, and later Winston, in their careers.  

John, Jennie, and Winston

 Lady Randolph played a limited role in her sons’ upbringing – a hands off approach to child rearing was typical of the day for women in her social circle.  Winston had a nanny, Mrs. Elizabeth Everest, whom he adored – however he worshipped his mother.  He’d frequently write to Jennie, begging her to visit him, which she rarely did.  Their relationship changed after Winston became an adult; the two became friends and allies. Winston came to view his mother as his advisor and political mentor.  

Elizabeth Everest

 Lord Randolph died in 1895 at age 45, reportedly of syphilis, although given his symptoms it’s been hypothesized that he actually succumbed to a tumor deep within the left side of his brain. The hypothesis of a brain tumor is credible, particularly when you consider that neither Jennie, nor her sons, exhibited any signs of syphilis.  

 On July 2, 1900 Jennie married George Cornwallis-West, a captain in the Scots Guards who was the same age as her son Winston!  Neither John nor Winston was particularly thrilled with Jennie’s choice of a husband, primarily due to the age difference.  Even with the difference in their ages, the marriage lasted for twelve years; the couple was separated in 1912 and was divorced in 1914.  

 Jennie remained single until June 1, 1918 when she was married to Montague Phippen Porch, a member of the British Civil Service in Nigeria.  If John and Winston were dismayed by her marriage to Cornwallis-West, they must have been apoplectic when she wed Porch — he was three years Winston’s junior!  

 Personally, I think the “boys” should have lightened up.  It sounds to me as if Jennie aged chronologically, but retained a youthful outlook and personality that drew the younger men to her. Perhaps a man her own age couldn’t have kept up with her!

Jennie was 67 years old when she slipped while descending a friend’s staircase; she was wearing new high heeled shoes.  She broke her ankle and gangrene set in and her left leg was amputated above the knee.  She died soon afterward in her home in London following a hemorrhage of an artery in her thigh (a direct result of the amputation). 

Six years later there would be another freak clothing-related death of a prominent woman.  On September 14, 1927 Isadora Duncan (whom many consider to be the creator of modern dance), was riding in an open car when one of her signature long, flowing scarves became entangled around one of the vehicle’s open-spoke wheels and rear axle, breaking her neck.  

While searching for a photo of Isadora Duncan, I found the nifty photo of the plug-in heated scarf. Does it have anything to do with Isadora’s death?  Not really; I was just enamored of the advertisement.    

However, whether you favor a traditional scarf, or one of the plug-in varieties, I must advise you to accessorize with caution.  

I was recently interviewed by the mysterious, and stylish, FILM NOIR BLONDE for her blog.  Over the course of the two part interview we talked about my collection of vintage cosmetics ephemera, as well as a runaway lipstick tube in the 1946 film noir THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE.  Please visit FILM NOIR BLONDE she is, as she says, “Black & white and chic all over”!

Are you feeling lucky?  If you are, I have the perfect event to suggest to you, CASINO MODERNE! 

Photo: Margaret Bourke-White

 By the light of day, you may be a businessmen, banker, housewife, shop girl or Sunday school teacher, but this is 1920 and the dawn of Prohibition, where by night you are limited only by your imagination.

Corbis Image

 Inspired by the HBO series “Boardwalk Empire,” the Art Deco Society of Los Angeles brings a 1920s casino to life on Saturday, February 5, 2011. For one magic night, immerse yourself in living history of the most scandalous kind as you wander, cocktail in hand, through the oldest private club in Los Angeles or settle in at a gaming table that will be legal in the year 2011.
 
The Los Angeles Athletic Club was founded in 1880, but old Hollywood made it glitter. Add to the gleam as the evening begins at 7 p.m. until it ends at 11:00 p.m. (unless, of course, the cops raid it first!) Purchase a Prohibition-era cocktail, as you enjoy complimentary hors d’ oeuvres and games of chance.
  
Members $50 (ADSLA and LAAC)–Please note that membership will be verified at Will-Call.  If no proof of membership is produced at this time, attendees will be responsible for paying the difference between Member and Non-member rates.

 Non-members $65
Advance tickets are available via Brown Paper Tickets. 
Tickets at the door will go up by $10/each.

 Los Angeles Athletic Club
431 West Seventh Street, Third Floor
Los Angeles, CA 90014
  
Parking $4.50. Parking structure is adjacent to the Club. Entrance is just past LAAC’s awning on the right.
 
Spend the night in Charlie Chaplin or Rudy Valentino’s rooms!

The Los Angeles Athletic Club has generously offered Casino Night attendees a discounted room in their historic hotel for $134.00.  Rate includes American Buffet Breakfast in the third floor Grill Room, in-room WiFi, use of the Athletic Facility and discount overnight parking of $12.00/car.   Not included is the city occupancy tax, currently 14%. Call 1-800-421-8777 to book your room.

I’ve mentioned in previous posts that celebrity endorsements and branding of cosmetics is nothing new. One of the earliest and most successful brandings of a line of cosmetics would use the name and image of actress Edna Wallace Hopper.

Edna Wallace was born in San Francisco, California to Waller and Josephine Wallace. She was likely born on January 17, 1872, but throughout her life she steadfastly refused to reveal her age. She said that no one could verify it because her birth records had been destroyed in the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.

Acting was in her blood, well, sort of – her father was head night usher at the California Theater. Even if her father didn’t act in the theater there was sufficient drama at home to make an impression on young Edna.

Edna’s dad was also employed as a barkeep, and it was in that capacity that he met Alexander Dunsmuir in about 1879. Dunsmuir was the son of a wealth Scots coal baron in Victoria, B.C. He’d been sent to run the family’s business office in San Francisco, but he much preferred a glass of whiskey. And who can blame him?

Waller eventually moved his wealth drinking buddy into the family home as a boarder. That wasn’t a very smart move. On one side of the coin was hard working Waller, on the other side was the enormously wealthy Alex. Could anyone have been shocked by the outcome when Edna’s mother fell in love with Alex, and the Wallace’s divorced? Waller was left with Edna and her brother, but after a while Josephine missed her kids. When Waller was offered a settlement in exchange for custody of the kids, he accepted.

Alex and Josephine may have been in love, but Alex’s mother had a vice-like grip on the purse strings and she wasn’t about to accept “that woman” as her daughter-in-law. She was so adamant about her disapproval that she even threatened to disinherit Alex.

Rather than annoy Alex’s mother by forcing the issue, the lovers quietly set up housekeeping (pretty risqué for the time) and waited for the inevitable – the woman couldn’t live forever, right? In 1898 Alex and his brother James finally gained control of the family business.

Alex took $350k (approximately $9 million in current dollars) of his share of the family fortune and built Josephine a fine home near San Leandro, California. He deeded the house to Josephine.

With no further family hurdles to overcome, Alex and Josephine were married. On their much-delayed wedding day Alex made out a will leaving everything but the San Leandro home to his brother James. The couple was married on December 21, 1899 at a hotel in San Pablo, California and honeymooned in New York City – where just one month later, while still on their honeymoon, Alex died. His years of hard drinking had taken their toll. Sadly, Josephine didn’t live much longer, she passed away in 1901.

In 1904 Edna filed suit hoping to crack the will and walk away with about $1M. Even with the evidence of Alex’s drinking, the judge determined that he’d been of sound mind when he willed everything (but the house) to his brother James.

Floradora Girls

By the time of her mother’s death Edna had already starred in her most famous role, Lady Holyrood in the popular London stage play FLORADORA [see my earlier post on FLORADORA]. Though not playing one of the renowned Florodora Sextettes, she shared in some of the wild adulation of male admirers who mobbed the backstage door after every performance.

During the late 1890s Edna had married, and divorced, a fellow actor DeWolf Hopper. DeWolf had been as bald as a billiard ball from childhood (he had alopecia), so he wore wigs both on and offstage. In later years a reaction to harsh medicines that he took for throat problems gave his skin a bluish tinge. Being bald and blue did not diminish his powerful voice and great sense of humor, so DeWolf was still able to attract women – apparently in legion numbers. He reportedly had an insatiable appetite for young actresses and he’d left a trail of six wives and countless mistresses in his wake—he became known as the “The Husband of His Country.”

If the name Hopper seems familiar to you, you may be thinking of famed gossip columnist Hedda Hopper to whom DeWolfe was married from 1913-1924.

Hedda Hopper c. 1920

Edna took fewer acting roles in the 1910s, but her career took off in a surprising new direction in the 1920s. She was one of the earliest stage actors to have a facelift – she even had the operation filmed! She would make personal appearance tours over the next eight years showing the film and giving beauty tips.

Edna’s beauty advice appeared often during the 1920s in newspapers like the Los Angeles Times.

Edna’s tours and timeless good looks captured the attention Claude C. Hopkins, and advertising man who worked for American Home Products. The cosmetics line was a success and was still be advertised in the 1940s, although by that time only Edna’s name was being used.

Hopper separated from her second husband and he died in the 1930s. She went on to become the only woman of the thirty-six member board of L. F. Rothschild & Co. She traveled daily by subway to her office to handle investments until shortly before her death in New York City from complications of pneumonia on December 14, 1959. The news reports of her death gave her age as anywhere from the mid-80s to 95.

This is just embarrassing – I’ve had my Halloween post up for the entire month of November! Clearly it is time to get back to work, and what better way to kick things off than with this lovely hairnet package. The package is dated 1925, and was designed and/or printed by Seidner & Hitzigrath in New York.

The package is unprinted, that is there’s no brand name on it. I can only imagine what fanciful name a company could have devised for this package.

Of course when thinking of mermaids, the Hans Christian Andersen tale of the The Little Mermaid immediately comes to mind. Fairy tales, particularly Andersen’s, are so frequently painful reflections on love, loss, and rejection that I wonder why parents would ever have chosen to read them to a child. Yet he has always been widely acclaimed for entertaining and delighting children (The Ugly Duckling still makes me cry!). Having said that, I don’t necessarily find the stories great reading to or for a child. The tales illuminate some of the most remarkable traits of the human spirit (even when the “human” is a mermaid or a duckling); the quest to find oneself through sacrifice and/or love.

Sacrifice and the quest for an immortal soul is the thread that runs through The Little Mermaid. The story sounds more like something from Plato than from a Danish writer of children’s books. Plato believed in an immortal soul and, apparently, so did the Mermaid; she went to extraordinary lengths to acquire her heart’s desire. Her longing for a soul would ultimately end her life as a mermaid (she would dissolve into foam) and deny her the Prince of her dreams.

The Little Mermaid dissolving into foam

Andersen’s own longing for love was unrequited. At one point he wrote in his diary: “Almighty God, thee only have I; thou steerest my fate, I must give myself up to thee! Give me a livelihood! Give me a bride! My blood wants love, as my heart does!

Christian fell in love with the famous opera soprano, Jenny Lind (whose nickname, “The Nightingale”, was inspired by one of Andersen’s stories). He finally found the courage to propose to her, in a letter that he handed to her as she boarded a train. Her answer to him was: “farewell… God bless and protect my brother is the sincere wish of his affectionate sister, Jenny”.

Andersen appears to have been drawn to unattainable people of both sexes. Andersen wrote to Edvard Collin: “I languish for you as for a pretty Calabrian wench… my sentiments for you are those of a woman. The femininity of my nature and our friendship must remain a mystery.” Collin, who did not prefer men, wrote in his own memoir: “I found myself unable to respond to this love, and this caused the author much suffering.”

Although Andersen was unable to find love at a personal level, he received it on a far grander scale. At the time of his death, he was an internationally renowned and treasured artist. He received a stipend from the Danish Government as a “national treasure”. Before his death, steps were already underway to erect the large statue in his honor, which was completed and is prominently placed at the town hall square in Copenhagen.

There is a statue of the The Little Mermaid in Copenhagen Harbor, as well as tributes to him in Solvang, California, and in Lublin, Poland.

Andersen’s birthday (April 2) is celebrated as International Children’s Book Day. That’s an extraordinary legacy.

Both the Vintage Powder Room blog and Facebook page use an image of a woman gazing into a mirror as the profile graphic.  The image for this blog is a detail from a hairnet package in my collection.  The image for VPR’s Facebook page is of the actress Ann Sheridan gazing into a mirror.  How fitting it is that there is a Halloween tradition that relies on a woman looking into a mirror.

 The tradition, a form of divination, was popular during the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries.  It was said that if a young, unmarried woman looked into a mirror at midnight on Halloween, she would see her one true love.  

 I’m posting a few of the images here for your viewing pleasure.

May your wish come true.

And may your Halloween be lucky!

Unsure of your choice? Let the witch help you.

May you see your true love’s face.

Why should the ladies have all of the fun? Here’s something for the gentlemen.

Happy Reflections Everyone!

Beautiful, colorful, and feminine, the ALMA face powder box (manufactured by Harmony of Boston) reminds me of a woman who possessed those qualities and a few more during her life time; Alma Maria Mahler Gropius Werfel.

Alma Schindler

Alma’s maiden name was Schindler and she was born on August 31, 1879. Alma was a socialite who became well known in her youth for her beauty and vivacity. She became the wife, successively, of composer Gustav Mahler, architect Walter Gropius, and novelist Franz Werfel, as well as the consort of several other prominent men.

Alma Schindler

During her childhood and into her teens Alma played piano and composed music – some of which survives and is still performed today.  Alma was a pretty little girl, however it was in fin de siecle Vienna that she grew into a woman of legendary beauty, often referred to as “The Most Beautiful Girl in Vienna”. 

Gustav Klimt

Alma’s first serious love affair was with the artist Gustav Klimt (a member of the group of artists known as the Vienna Secession) when she was 17 years old.   

Gustav Mahler

It’s not clear if Alma had serious aspirations as a musician/composer – in any case her marriage in 1902 to Gustav Mahler (19 years her senior) caused her to shift her focus from her own creative needs to the care and emotional support of her famous husband.  Her role as muse is one she would play repeatedly throughout her life.  Her infidelities and multiple marriages suggest to me that being the wife or consort of a creator, rather than making art herself, may have caused her great frustration.  If she couldn’t attain fame and success on her own merit, then she could align herself with powerful and talented men over whom she could exert a degree of influence.

Walter Gropius

A few years into her marriage to Mahler the couple lost their five year old daughter, Maria, to scarlet fever and diphtheria.  Alma’s grief led her into an affair with the young architect Walter Gropius (who would later become the head of Bauhaus) whom she met at a spa.

Following Mahler’s death in 1911 Alma didn’t immediately turn to Gropius, rather she began an affair with the tempestuous artist Oskar Kokoschka, who created many works inspired by his relationship with her, including his painting Bride of the Wind. Kokoschka was intensely possessive and jealous, and Alma grew weary of his constant demands for her time and attention. 

Bride of the Wind

It’s likely that Alma breathed an enormous sigh of relief when Kokoschka enlisted in the Austro-Hungarian Army. The absence of her obsessed and unstable lover gave her an opportunity to distance herself from him, and she subsequently resumed her relationship with Gropius.  Gropius, like Koskoschka, was serving in combat during WWI.  She and Gropius married in 1915 during one of his military leaves.

Oskar Kokoschka

Kokoschka was undoubtedly a handful. He was also, in my opinion, her most interesting entanglement.  When he got the news that Gropius and Alma had been married he immediately ordered a life sized doll of her be made to his specifications!  Yes, Alma may have been the first “real doll”. 

To understand fully the extent of Oskar’s mania for Alma, below is the letter he wrote to the doll maker Hermine Moos.

“Yesterday I sent a life-size drawing of my beloved and I ask you to copy this most carefully and to transform it into reality. Pay special attention to the dimensions of the head and neck, to the ribcage, the rump and the limbs. And take to heart the contours of body, e.g., the line of the neck to the back, the curve of the belly. Please permit my sense of touch to take pleasure in those places where layers of fat or muscle suddenly give way to a sinewy covering of skin. For the first layer (inside) please use fine, curly horsehair; you must buy an old sofa or something similar; have the horsehair disinfected. Then, over that, a layer of pouches stuffed with down, cotton wool for the seat and breasts. The point of all this for me is an experience which I must be able to embrace!”

Later Kokoschka eagerly demanded of Moos: “Can the mouth be opened? Are there teeth and a tongue inside? I hope so!”

the Alma-doll with her maker

Kokoschka, being a thoughtful lover, rushed out to purchase Parisian clothes and lingerie for his ersatz amour. Given all of his efforts, was Oskar surprised by the Alma-doll’s lack of reciprocal passion?  There came a time when he realized that the doll would never be the loving surrogate companion he’d longed for – and it was then that Oskar decided to use her as a model for some of his paintings.  

Self-Portrait with Doll

Ultimately Oskar used the Alma-doll (which was constructed of wood and fabric) as an effigy and beheaded it at a bacchanal at his atelier in Dresden.  Any of us who have suffered through an unfortunate affair can surely understand the catharsis of the symbolic beheading of a former flame.  In fact, why didn’t I ever think of that?

There is one problem with beheading an effigy; some of your neighbors may think that a murder has actually been committed!  The morning after the party the police arrived at Oskar’s door demanding an explanation for the reported homicide which, once given, could not have put them much at ease.  At least Oskar was free of his obsession.  He described the end:

“The dustcart came in the grey light of dawn, and carried away the dream of Eurydice’s return,”Kokoschka remembered. “The doll was an image of a spent love that no Pygmalion could bring to life.”

Franz Werfel

Meanwhile Alma didn’t find it difficult to remain faithful to Gropius; she found it impossible!  She embarked upon an affair with the Prague born poet and writer Franz Werfel.  Alma became pregnant and in 1918 she gave birth to a son, Martin Carl Johannes Gropius.  Martin, born prematurely, survived only ten months.  And to compound Gropius’ grief over his loss he’d discovered Alma’s affair with Werfel, which gave him cause to question Martin’s paternity.  

Alma’s marriage to Gropius didn’t survive much past Martin’s death, and by 1920 she and Werfel began to openly live together.  For some reason Alma wasn’t in a marrying frame of mind and postponed tying the knot with him until 1929. She did, however, refer to herself during the nine years as “Alma Mahler-Werfel (dropping “Gropius” like a burning match).  In 1938 Alma and Werfel, who was Jewish, fled Austria ahead of the Nazis. After an arduous journey, much of it by foot over the Pyrenees, the couple immigrated to the U.S., finally settling in Los Angeles.

Alma c. 1920

There are lots of things that have puzzled me about Alma, but one of the most confounding was how she, a lifelong anti-Semite, had ever married Werfel in the first place.  His talent must have been significant enough to allow Alma to ignore her bigotry.

By most reports it appears that Alma was a vain and contentious woman who lacked empathy and, as such, she found it particularly difficult to age gracefully.  Her son-in-law, Ernst Krenek described her as:

 “…a magnificently tarted-up battleship.  She was accustomed to wearing long, flowing garments in order not to show her legs, which were perhaps a less remarkable detail of her physiognomy. Her style was that of Wagner’s Brunhilde transported into the atmosphere of Johann Strauss’ Fledermaus.”

 Werfel died in Los Angeles in 1945 while correcting galley proofs of his last book of verse. In 1951 Alma moved to New York to complete her autobiography, which she’d begun in the late 1940s.  She’d hired a ghost-writer who fell out with her because of her anti-Semitism and her attacks on people who were still living.  The book, ironically titled “And the Bridge is Love”, was published first in English and wasn’t the success Alma had hoped for.  In fact her book was criticized for being salacious, ambiguous, and contradictory. Which immediately places it on my “must read” list.

By the time that a German version of the book was being prepared for publication a few of Alma’s friends, including Thomas Mann, had already distanced themselves from her.

Alma, listening to Mahler

Alma, of the many surnames, passed away on December 11, 1964 at the age of 85.

NOTE: Much of the information for this post was gleaned from Wikipedia, and from:

http://www.alma-mahler.com/engl/almas_life/almas_life.html

Could the woman on the hairnet envelope be anyone other than Carmen, the fiery temptress and faithless lover in Georges Bizet’s opera?

In the first act Carmen, a cigarette factory worker, seduces a young solider by tossing a flower at his feet. Really? Clearly it didn’t take too much to capture Don Jose’s attention, or his love.

By the end of the last act Carmen had dragged Don Jose’s reputation, and his heart, through the mud. Of course a woman of Carmen’s volatile temperament could not hitch her wagon to a doormat, so she would jilt Don Jose in favor of Escamillo, a handsome toreador.

In classic operatic tradition Don Jose doesn’t thank Carmen for the memories and bid her adieu – he picks up a knife and stabs her to death just as Escamillo wins the bullfight. Opera has never been known for its subtle symbolism. And that is precisely why I enjoy opera so much. It never makes a small gesture.

There is something else that has never made a small gesture – platform shoes. They are incapable of restraint.

Apart from rock stars of the 1970s, my favorite wearer of platform shoes would have to be Carmen Miranda. It’s easy to think of her as an opera on two legs. And she did not earn the moniker “Brazilian Bombshell” by being a wallflower. She was bold and brash and so was her footwear.

Carmen was born in Varzea da Ovelha, a village in the northern Portuguese municipality of Marco de Canaveses. She was christened Carmen by her father because of his love for Bizet’s masterpiece. His passion for opera influenced all of his children, and especially contributed to Miranda’s love for singing and dancing at an early age.

Her father may have been a fan of opera, but he did not approve of her plans to enter show business. However, in true operatic fashion her mother supported her and was beaten when her husband discovered Carmen had auditioned for a radio show.

Carmen had previously sung at parties and festivals in Rio. Her older sister Olinda contracted tuberculosis and was sent to Portugal for treatment. Miranda went to work in a tie shop at age 14 to help pay her sister’s medical bills. She next worked in a boutique, where she learned to make hats and opened her own hat business which became profitable. She may never have envisioned just how well the hat making skills would pay off!

Carmen was very popular in Brazil, but once in the U.S., Carmen’s career (and platforms)  hit the ground running. She arrived in 1939 with her band, Bando da Lua. She was presented to Franklin D. Roosevelt at a White House banquet, and went on to star in a baker’s dozen of Hollywood films!

Just eight years later Carmen was the highest-paid entertainer and top female taxpayer in the U.S., earning more than $200,000!

On March 17, 1947 she married movie producer David Sebastian. He was not a successful producer and even more of a disaster when he declared himself Carmen’s manager. In the few months that they lived together as husband and wife he made a series of bad business decisions. He was a boozer, and dragged Carmen along with him. Carmen was a Catholic and would not seek a divorce so she and David were legally married until her death in 1955.

The “lady in the tutti frutti hat” has had a profound influence on popular culture, and her likeness has popped up in everything from cartoons to the character of Chiquita Banana.

On August 4, 1955 while appearing in a live segment of the Jimmy Durante Show, Carmen collapsed. She recovered quickly and resumed her performance not realizing that she’s suffered a heart attack. Her heavy smoking and alcohol consumption, compounded by her use of amphetamines and barbiturates had taken a serious toll on her health.

Later that night Carmen suffered a second heart attack at her home in Beverly Hills and passed away.

Honoring her wishes, Carmen’s family had the entertainer’s body flown back to Rio de Janeiro. The Brazilian government declared a period of national mourning and 60,000 people attended a formal ceremony in Rio’s town hall. More than 500,000 people escorted the funeral cortege to her final resting place.

I’ve never had a burning desire to visit Rio de Janeiro, but after finding out that there is a Carmen Miranda Museum there – I may have changed my mind.

This wonderful 1947 advertisement showcases Daggett and Ramsdell’s Debutante collection of cosmetics.

The ad calls “Come out! Come out!” which is, of course, a reference to the “coming out” parties or cotillion balls which were held to introduce a young lady (known as a debutante) from an aristocratic or upper class family to society. 

The rich are not like you and me.

The idea for the parties was to literally bring a girl out and display her to eligible bachelors and their families with an eye to marrying her off to someone within a select circle of people. An early incarnation of TV’s popular “The Bachelor”.

Girl dressed for Quinceañero

There are many versions of a coming out party in different cultures. Here in Los Angeles most of us are familiar with a Quinceañera, Quince, Quinceañero or Quince años (English: “fifteen years”) which is a Latin American coming of age ceremony for a girl marking the transition from girlhood to womanhood.

If you drive around Los Angeles on the weekends you’ll often see these ceremonies taking place. They are just as elaborate as any wedding. Planning for the Quinceañera begins at least one year in advance and involves family, friends, and a priest who will perform the ceremony in church.

Debutante gown c. 1890s

The word debutante comes from the French débutante, and means “female beginner”. They were at their zenith during the nineteenth century; however, they exist to this day.

Personally, I’m fascinated by the American debutantes of the 1930s. The Depression era must have been a peculiar time to be a “deb”. Maybe that’s why magazines of the period focused on “poor little rich girls” like Doris Duke and Barbara Hutton.  Perhaps the fact that many of the debutantes had unhappy lives made their riches to riches stories more palatable to a woman in a bread line.

Doris Duke

Born in New York City, Barbara Hutton was the only child of Edna Woolworth (1883–1918), who was a daughter of Frank W. Woolworth, the founder of the successful Woolworth five and dime stores. Barbara’s father was Franklyn Laws Hutton (1877–1940), a wealthy co-founder of E. F. Hutton & Company (owned by Franklyn’s brother Edward Francis Hutton), a respected New York investment banking and stock brokerage firm.

Rudy Vallee

Barbara Hutton came out on her eighteenth birthday on November 14, 1930. At the time an average ball cost around $16,000, ($208,872.81 in current dollars). Barbara Hutton’s debutante ball cost over $60,000 ($783,273.05 in current dollars). Who attended this party? The people that you would have expected to have been there, the Astor and Rockefeller families to name two. The guests were entertained by crooners Rudy Vallee and Maurice Chevalier.

She looked so sad - Barbara Hutton c. 1931

While the average family was struggling to make ends meet during the 1930s, girls like Barbara were coming out to continue their lives of wealth and privilege. It is no surprise that public criticism was so severe that Hutton was sent on a tour of Europe to escape the scrutiny of the press and the disdain of the public at large.

By the time of Hutton’s twenty-first birthday in 1933 she had trust fund worth roughly $2 billion in today’s money. Ironically much of Hutton’s fortune came from the Woolworth five and dime stores – places she would never have to shop.

Actually though, there appears to have been a kernel of truth to the “poor little rich girl” moniker. Barbara’s life may have been lived in the finest clothes and spent in the most sumptuous of surroundings but, by all accounts, she was never happy. The things that money couldn’t buy continued to elude her – for example, a happy marriage. She tried marriage seven times, each ended in divorce. None of the men seemed to possess much in terms of wealth or character.

"Cash & Cary"

Her first two husbands used her great wealth to their advantage, especially the extremely abusive Kurt Haugwitz-Reventlow, with whom she had her only child, a son named Lance. (Lance would die tragically at 36 in a small plane crash.) Reventlow was verbally and physically abusive. He finally beat her so savagely that she was hospitalized and he was tossed into the slammer. He had even managed to convince her to relinquish her American citizenship and to take his native Danish citizenship for tax purposes, which she did in 1937 in a New York federal court. Reventlow’s constant abuse led Barbara to drug abuse, and to anorexia (from which she would suffer intermittently throughout the rest of her life).

Is it me, or is this a trifle kinky?

 Cary Grant, to whom she was married from 1942-1945, appears to have been the only one of her husbands who sincerely cared for her. The couple was dubbed “Cash and Cary” by the press but Grant, who had enough money and fame of his own, didn’t need anything from his wealthy wife. She would continue to describe him as the only decent man she’d ever married.

Brenda Frazier

Barbara Hutton would continue to fascinate people but arguably the most famous of the 1930s debutantes was Brenda Duff Frazier.

Brenda Diana Duff Frazier’s December 1938 coming out party was so heavily publicized worldwide she eventually appeared on the cover of Life magazine for that reason alone.

Brenda’s father, Frank Duff Frazier, came from a prosperous Boston family. Her mother, the former Brenda Germaine Henshaw Williams-Taylor, was the only daughter of Sir Frederick Williams-Taylor. He was a general manager of the Bank of Montreal who was knighted in 1910 and combined his middle name and birth surname into a new hyphenated surname. A hyphenated name sounds much ritzier, don’t you think? Brenda’s parents eventually divorced, causing little Brenda to spend much time with her social-climbing maternal grandmother.

Paris Hilton's latest mug shot

If you thought, as I did, that the term celebutante was coined recently for the likes of Paris Hilton – well, we’re wrong! The term was created in 1939 to describe Brenda.

Brenda was greatly admired and often copied during the years when she was dubbed “Glamour Girl #1”. She anticipated Goth girls by decades when she popularized her famous “white-face” look. She used a very light colored face powder which made a stark contrast to her red lips and deep brunette hair. Fame comes at a price though – Brenda frequently suffered with a stiff neck because she was afraid to move her head, lest she displace a single hair in her perfect coiffure. Brenda also started a trend when she was photographed wearing a strapless white velvet dress. Strapless gowns quickly became a must have for women of all ages – and they remain a classic style.

Like the other “poor little rich girls”, the debs of the 1930s, Brenda’s life appeared enchanted when viewed from the outside. Sadly, like her fellow debs she was also unlucky in love. She was married twice, both unions ended in divorce. And, as Barbara Hutton had done, she suffered from anorexia throughout her life.

Eventually Brenda must have tired of the endless parties because she withdrew from the public eye for years. She may have slipped away unnoticed had she not been revealed at the end of her life in a photo by Diane Arbus.

If nothing else the photo serves as cautionary tale for those daughters of the fabulously wealthy who lead lives of excess without substance. 

Paris, take note.

Photo of Brenda Frazier by Diane Arbus