Continuity

Shalimar - and Chanel No. 5 -- in 1959, already from another era.  The distance from the early 1920s to 1959 seems longer than the time from 1959 to now.  And here I sit, in  2012, pleasantly steeped in Shalimar.  And, in a way, Mr. Mort endures as well.

 Very nice page mates.  

I just took the very silly Guerlain Fragrance Consultation (Favorite odors, yes; but dream bedroom?  Please.) and discovered I am a Mitsuoko person.  Perhaps.  I am having trouble with the perfume categories.  Shalimar is "Oriental," but it smells flowery and powdery to me.  Chanel No. 5 is "floral," but it just smells like perfume.  I can't pick out "oak" or "blackberry" in wine, either.  I find Shalimar quite pleasant; rather non-threatening for a French perfume.  This is good, because I have a lot of it, thanks to a generous saleswoman at Sephora.   This is, of course, the less expensive stuff.  I look forward to trying the real thing.  In 1959, the price range for the perfume was:  $6, $10, $18, $30 and $50.  Today, an ounce of perfume is $327.00 at Bloomingdales; that's almost the same as $50.00 in 1959.

You can also get Shalimar deodorant.  This doesn't seem like a good idea.

The most recent perfume reference I came across happens to be Shalimar:

     "She stubbed out her cigarette, freshened her lipstick, sprayed a little shot of Shalimar on the delicate, veiny skin on the inside of her wrists.  The faintest scars, thready bracelets like white cotton where she had tried to slice through them, a long time ago now."  From Started Early, Took My Dog.  

Mr. Mort!  Doffing your hat like that!  And this model could actually be a Mr.  I don't know who Mr. Mort was in 1959, but soon he became Stan Herman, a mainstay of Seventh Avenue in the 1960s.  (And now a star of QVC leisure wear!)  I look forward to more of Stan Herman as Vogue marches on.  But for now,  we're going to cheat just the tiniest bit and jump ahead to 1960.

"Mr. Mort" invaded England in early 1960, bringing the "snappy Madison Avenue secretary" look to dreary London town.   And not a minute too soon: "London Kitty Foyles continue to go about in their regrettable 'sloppy Joe' sweaters, adorned with ropes of beads, and worn with tight, short skirts, darkish stockings and pale, skinny-heeled, pointed-toe shoes."  

England had the last laugh. Carnaby Street already had its first "Carnaby Street" boutique.  And that Mr. Mort dress looks awful square.  

Let's go to the movies!

*    A meditation on Crime and Punishment with interludes of instruction in an interesting art.

*   I saw this just now in the theatre.  (Robert Bresson retrospective at Pacific Film Archive).  Drawn like a moth to the flame of mediocrity and philistinism, I liked all the parts that were not part of the greatness of Robert Bresson.  That would be scenes of Paris in 1959 and all the pickpocketing.  I understand that it's a great movie - great as in academically great -- but I was slightly bored.

*  Except when this guy was on screen:  

Well, you couldn't really see him.  Here he is again:  Henri Kassagi.