There’s so much that’s crazy in today’s fashions for the girl who wants to be gear or groovy, that you can’t blame any girl who goes a little mad in trying to keep up with the unconventional. Which is why DAWN GRAYSON is currently sporting a trend-setting garment of the I920’s— well, she says that’s about when she heard they were last worn.
Imagine it, forty years in a museum and they’re still as good as new.
THERE are some people who like the comfort and security of an armchair better than anything else. The only thing that gets them out of it is the chime of the ice cream van or the coo-hoo of the blonde who wants to share it. If Sir Francis Drake or Christopher Columbus had been like that, nobody would have gone anywhere and the Red Indians would still be undiscovered.
That might have saved Tarnation Jake from being scalped, but Jake being what he was it was the best thing that could have happened to him. To him the call of the wild meant getting there first and keeping it all to himself. Ornery old coot. After he lost all his hair it hurt him too much to keep his hat on and he got sunstroke. Poor old guy.
Nice to know the sense of adventure actuates CHR1STEL BIRKHOLZ, otherwise we wouldn’t see her in the great outdoors looking like an intrepid explorer’s beautiful dream. Intrepid explorers don’t only dream about hidden cities and odd-looking aborigines. They have moments when they’re just like the rest of us.
Christel, when she isn’t responding to the call of the wild and getting lost, is a West Berlin fashion model.
Wake up, Charlie, here comes the lollipop man. Go and get two orange-flavoured ones.
Where's Mary?" asked the hall porter of the posh hotel.
"Who’s Mary?" said the new manager.
"She's our receptionist," said the porter. He was talking about MARY MAXTED, a lovely London dolly who works behind the reception desk at this hotel.
"Gad, is that Mary? I thought she was Miss Blackpool," said the manager, "she's got the looks for it. Well, when she re-appears ask her to come to my office. I want to discuss interior decorations with her."
Everyone's like that about Mary. They all want her individual attention. Well, it's about the most normal reaction going.
You don’t have to wear a big Stetson and be a Texas oil millionaire to enjoy life. All that money helps, of course, but it’s not a necessity. As a millionaire you can own an ocean-going yacht and still get lost in a storm at sea, and what has life to offer you then if there’s no lifebelt in sight ?
You’d be better off as an ice-cream man on the beach at San Remo. Girl who doesn’t own any oil wells and only takes home what she earns as a shorthand-typist in a London office is SUE SEYMOUR. Life to Sue is simply great. She’s eighteen years old and she swings along with the London scene.
Big business executives work late and get ulcers Sue twists and shakes on the dance floor and has fun. She likes a game of tennis, a galloping horse and the deep end of a swimming pool.
Millionaires sweat over the tape machines and bite the ends off their Havana cigars over each share fluctuation. Sue carries on making the most of life, and in her gay pursuit of the great outdoor pleasures she takes her tent in case of rain.
The weather was fine on this occasion and if you know of a more idyllic combination than a tent, a quiet glade and sweet Sue, then don’t keep it to yourself.
"Well, I don't know, some people,” said LEONORA DIETRICH, glancing curvily out of her West Berlin apartment window. "He's actually looking. Why doesn't he go away and take his ladder with him?"
What made her ask herself a question like that we don't know. What made her stand at the window like that we don't know either. Fresh air is all very well but you need to be dressed for it.
"Go away," she called.
"Eh?" said the man on the ladder. He was nearly falling off it.
"If you don't go away,” said Leonora, “I’ll call the police.”
"I don't care if they do lock me up,” said the goggle-eyed Berliner,”l'm not moving yet. I'm waiting for the matinee."
So Leonora went and hoity-toitily phoned the police. And the police came around and joined the man on the ladder. Leonora looked out of her window again and they all had a lovely matinee show.
If you’re as talented a model as Miss GERALDINE GERRARD, who is currently in demand with the fashion houses of Birmingham, Liverpool and Manchester, then you really are a model miss.
"Eh ?" said Higgins the butcher.
“You heard,"said housewife MARIE GRAHAM. "What about my legs ?"
"Lovely," said Mr. Higgins.
"I ordered a leg of pork and a leg of lamb," said Mrs. Graham, "so where are they ?"
"Oh, them legs," said Mr. Higgins.
"Yes, them legs,"said Mrs. Graham, "for my dinner party. Some like pork and some like lamb and I'm hoping to please them all."
"Well, tell you what, invite me," said Mr. Higgins, "and I'll bring the joints round myself."
"Oh, be my guest, do," said the lovely young housewife.
"I'll have beef myself," said Mr. Higgins, "so I'll bring a steak too."
According to a British firm of lingerie manufacturers, the current trend points to the return of suspender belts. As skirt lengths drop to knee level, girls are beginning to wear stockings again, and the traditional holding gear is a must.
The trend is for frilly belts in startling colours, but black is still a favourite for slinky evening wear, as model CAROL BARBER illustrates.
Husbands are buying them for wives.
"What's this?" said Mrs. Newlywed to her adoring man when he presented her with a wicked red belt.
"To keep your nylons up," he said with a saucy grin.
"What's nylons ?" said the young lovely.
If you’re reading the latest James Bond thriller, put it down for a moment and concentrate on DEBORA STEWART, who is our idea of the girl James would most like to read to him while recovering in hospital from being blown up by a load of Persian dynamite.
All that aside, the delight of Deb at this particular moment is her new mini-dress.
If you must know, it delights us too. Debbie looks so enchanting in it that irrespective of whether we’d been blown up by Persian dynamite or a Molotov cocktail, we’d like to have her to read to us too. It would be joy personified to our tender ears and it wouldn’t strain our eyes, either.
Well, you can’t help going overboard for the modern girl when they look so indescribably gorgeous. To think there were times when girls wore bustles and dim people didn’t even know how many legs they’d got. You couldn’t even see their shoes.
Of course you couldn’t, because they wore elastic-sided boots.
Dear Debbie, can we be your Valentine?
Beauty queen and film starlet is TINA RYATT, Welsh girl and just about as easy on the eye as a mink coat.
You can have your ton-up bikes, your first-night tickets, your new cooker, your fragile stomach.
Give us a mink coat.
If you could arrange for Tina to be wrapped up in it we’d be all over indescribable gratitude.
All the way from Mexico came a dream.
After the excitement of the Olympic Games there, MARIA MONTEZ couldn't settle to her work in a dress shop in Mexico City, so she came to Europe to participate in the happenings.
She finished up in London. The happenings in Paris and Rome were extremely Continental. Being pinched all the time was blush-making.
"And by perfect strangers, no doubt," said Sir Harry.
"Perfect? Senor," she said, "how can you say perfect when you mean naughty?"
"Ah, a good question," said Sir Harry.
"I do not mind a pinch here and there," said Maria, "but not by naughty men."
"I used to be naughty. I've grown out of it now," said Sir Harry.
It's neither amazing nor sensational now.
The topless look.
Girls are revelling in freedom from bras and corsets. Bosoms are out, like. But honestly, you don't know where to look at a party, do you? Be terrifying if the craze took on a blase, everyday phase. You know how one gets crammed up in a tube train. What on earth could you say to CAROLINE FORD if you found she had suddenly become your bosom friend on the rush hour Inner Circle line?
"What lovely weather. Miss Er—Um."
"I'm not Miss Er—Um, and would you mind not hanging your umbrella on me?"
"Oh, dreadfully sorry—"
"Now you've dropped something, you silly man."
"Oh, just my eyeballs."
Simply revelling in all that freedom is Caroline.
The dark girl is JUTTA SRIPPIPATANA and the blonde who came to join her is INGRID STENGERT, and they’re both models in West Berlin.
Girl who wants to know how the modern equivalent of Amelia Bloomer’s reach-me-downs look on her is our inimitable SUSAN DOUGLAS.
We don’t want to publicise our own bias in the matter.
We leave it to you.
You say.
No, it wasn't that HELENE GIBBS was taken with a desire to get away from the pressures of London life. She's doing very well as a model, thank you, and is enjoying herself.
It just happened that when she was modelling stockings and suspenders in an outdoor location, some entranced cowboy from Texas became riveted.
"Well, I ain't seen a better looking filly since Thanksgiving," he said to the cameraman, "I reckon I'd trade a ranch for her to come home and cook for me."
"Do me a favour, eh ?" said the cameraman. "Shove off, eh?"
Texas swiped him with his stetson. He was that keen not to have any interruptions. Seeing how keen he was Helene got lost in the undergrowth, getting away from the prospects of slaving over a hot stove in Texas.
"I don't even like cooking," she said to a gooseberry bush.
