The Telltale Skin

Telltale skin – if only Edgar Allen Poe had known about this product, he could have written a dark story about it. But he didn’t, did he? So we’ll be moving on.

First of all, is this guy 30 or 50? Let’s take the average and say he’s 40. I guess he looks all right for 40. Sort of boring and smirky, but this ad is from Esquire in 1966. He probably looked good in that context.

He may want to consider skipping the Brylcreem, though. Or perhaps he put Shape-Up in his hair. It does look “excessively moisturized.” In other words, greasy.

And that Shape-Up stuff doesn’t seem to prevent him from wrinkling up his forehead. Speaking of “telltale skin that shouts ‘old before your time!’” That forehead certainly is shouting “old before his time!” I can hear it from here.

The ad also says that male skin is more fibrous – like they all had coconuts for heads. That girl behind the guy is thinking: Darling, you have a complexion like a sisal mat! Well, here’s a bottle of cosmetic shellac for you. From Baxter’s of California! In a BIG bottle. Because you need to use it round-the-clock. Forever!

And “facial depletion” – that’s right out of a horror movie, isn’t it? Edgar Allen needs to get on this concept right away! And he could be the next model for Shape-Up, too – because, well, take a look at his ‘Before’ shot. This is probably just what Poe needed!

You Will Roux the Day

She’s being brave about it, you can tell. The tight smile, the tenseness in the eyebrows (or perhaps that’s just an excess of eyebrow pencil).

What can you do with Roux Shampoo, exactly? Aside from rhyme a little, that is. And make bad puns.

Make gumbo, perhaps. Or some sort of white sauce. “Oh my, that stew does look lighter and brighter – and – and richer, dear – but I just ate. Really.”

They still make Roux shampoo, as you can see right over here. The Roux crew also make a hair-color mousse called Fanci-Full, which I remember seeing years ago on the bottom shelf of the hair-color section in the drugstore. That’s where you find all the oddball stuff, like Dippity-Doo hair gel. Which rhymes, of course, with Roux. And, uh, shampoo.

All women who think “they can do it,”
What ever it is, they will Roux it:
Then to make some amends
They will gel the split ends
But Dippity Doo tends to glue it.

Happy National Poetry Month, and all that.

This splendid 1960s ad is from Hairfinder.

Hills Like Short Paragraphs

His name was Barrett, he said. He sat down at the table. I was waiting for the train to Pamplona and drinking the wine.

“This is good wine,” I said.

The waiter brought Barrett some wine. He drank. “Yes, it is good,” he said.

“But I have no money for the wine,” I said.

“I can teach you how to make money.”

“Really.” I looked at the hills, in the distance. They were big and square. Like typewriters, I thought. Except that they had no keys. Maybe they were more like rocks.

Barrett was speaking. “You can write short paragraphs. I know plenty of editors. I tell you what to write. And where to write.”

“Where will I write?”

“You can get a room at the local inn.”

“But I am waiting for the train to Pamplona. I’m going over those hills over there. The ones that look like big grey rocks.”

“No no no no. You mean, like white elephants.” He paused. Frowned. Then he pointed at my notebook, which was closed. “Write that down,” he said.

“Who are you again? Do I know you?” I said. I stood up and looked down the track. No train in sight. Also no money. So I sat down again.

I said, “Promise me one thing.”

“Depends what it is,” he said. He drank some more wine. Then he belched. He thought I didn’t hear, but I did.

“Promise me that there’s no tedious study.”

“There won’t be.”

“And tell me about the checks.”

“They will be small, and in a hurry. And there will be many. And they will add up quickly.” He paused. “They will bring cash,” he said at last.

“All right,” I said.

But then Barrett stood up. He threw some coins on the table. “Write to me in Chicago,” he said. Then he walked away. I never saw him again.

Charmed to the Teeth

I found a nice charm school for the Face-elle girl from yesterday’s post!* She’ll have to commute from Windsor to Toronto, but the opportunity to study with Eleanor Fulcher is just too good to resist.

For 4 Exciting Weeks she can learn all sorts of things. Well, four things. I guess that’s one per week. And there’s a menu right on the ad so that the charmless, gormless students can choose their very own combo plates from the following: Figure, Walking, Skin Care, Make-Up, Hairstyling, Wardrobe, Hand Care, Etiquette, Voice and Poise.

If you don’t learn how to Walk, how do they teach you Poise? Are you only going to be poised when posed in a chair? And if you choose Skin Care but not Hand Care, does Miss Fulcher make you wear mittens? So many questions…

But the results speak for themselves. That’s quite a dramatic Before and After. In fact, it looks like those are two entirely different women. The one on the left is Awkward and Unsure, supposedly – though she looks pretty sure to me. After Girl is Poised and Confident. That’s because she has had a nose job and is wearing two inches of solid makeup. They both look happy, though. That must be because they are enjoying Modern, Air-Conditioned Comfort – in the middle of December. The Art of Faking Smiles must be a prerequisite for the course.

Eleanor and Co. are still around and their website is over yonder. This ad is from the Toronto Star, November 1963.

* Thank you so much to my pal Hairball for inspiring this post!

Do You Want To Know A Secret?

Do you want to know a secret? Well, do you?

Depends on what it is. There aren’t any secrets about nose-blowing that would enhance my life, no. Although this perky gal on the right would disagree.

Is there really anyone still on the other end of this phone, listening to Mitzi ramble on and on and ON about her obsession with ersatz Kleenex?

Face-elle made these plushy, velvetty, “completely Canadian” gems in its “newly-enlarged mill” – so says the tiny print under the banner. They must have needed the extra space down at the mill because Face-elle are the size of luxury hand towels!

Mitzi doesn’t even know the SECRET of Face-elle tissues, she only knows that they are “wonderfully different.” Wonderfully different than what, an elephant? A TV dinner? The telephone? Who knows.

What we do know is that they are Softerized and “Melobonded for super strength.” Just like Superman – he has super strength too! Perhaps this is what he uses when he has a super sniffle.

And then Mitzi says, “they won’t ‘blow through’ even with the gustiest sneeze.” She’s quite the conversationalist, is she not? It is probably just at that point that the person on the other end gently hangs up the phone and tiptoes away, shuddering slightly.

This gem is from the Windsor Star, 1959 (that’s Windsor, Ontario, by the way).

The Bronze Age

It’s profitable, fun and free
This retro opportunity
Just send your address to LA
Start now, you must obey, they say.

And thus they will enlighten you
On how to bronze a baby shoe;
O glorious business – when you’re done
You’ll be both rich and having fun!

But though the head asks not for dough,
Don’t be so sure he’s in the know:
His source of fun and good advice
Has trouble spelling “metallize.”

I do not like those little shoes,
I wish that they would just vamoose,
And toddle off some other place,
And take away that creepy face.

Why do these floating heads all work
Endorsing products for some jerk
Who wants to sell us retro trash
In order to amass some cash?

But worst of all, they send a shoe.
Where did they get that shoe all new?
Or what is worse, a worn-out one:
Not profitable and not fun.

Night School Confidential!

Someone needs a holiday. Maybe a sabbatical, come to think of it.

The Bourn-Vita is made by Cadbury’s – does that mean it’s like a chocolate bar? They say you “sleep sweeter,” so it must be. That would be great, wouldn’t it? As long as it didn’t have a messy caramel filling, because that tends to get on the sheets. And the globe. And her notes. And then she’d probably want to get up and run the washing machine. Which would defeat the purpose of the Bourn-Vita.

I just want to know whether her husband is sitting at the little molded chair-desk she has in the bedroom, taking notes and trying to look interested. He’d better – there’s going to be a pop quiz at 2:30, just before math class.

Many thanks to Amy for the ad, from the New Zealand women’s magazine My Home (1955).

Potato Chip Haiku

Golden Flake floozies,
You are dressed for fun all right
In that crinkly sack,

Like a tinfoil dress
Whipped up by Rudi Gernreich
That is one mod bag.

Cooked up by an F,
Who wears a little apron
And waves a big fork.

I doubt that letters
Moonlight as junk food pushers -
This is quite dubious.

These Red Seal chips
Are like rowdies at the hop -
Light, fresh and noisy,

And delicious too!
So says a cartoon squirrel
Who’s smaller by half

Than these falling chips
With their strange red undersides,
Whose main selling point

Is this new package
Of bright primary colors
Pretense of newness -

But ultimately
You open the bag and think:
Relax, they’re just chips.

Thank you so much Heather for the inspiring ad.

Paper Plate Tectonics

“You’d never think they were paper…”

Au contraire, madame! I think we all can see that they’re paper plates. Because:

1. China plates don’t tend to be shrink-wrapped in packs of twenty.

2. And fine china is not found in the grocery store on the same shelf as plastic knives and forks.

3. Or, in fact, in the grocery store at all (unless it comes in a box of detergent – we’ll get to that later this weekend, if I can find the scan).

Having said all that, they are a useful product. You can do plenty more with Royal Chi-net plates besides serve cook’s Beef Wellington on them! You can use them as falsies, just like Mrs. Knickerbocker over there on the right, who clearly has a sense of humor about the whole thing – absolutely a prerequisite for this fashion trend. Mind the plate dividers, though.

Many thanks to Uh…Bob at Flickr for the ad.

Ultra Tiresome Wireless

Well, Mike – you certainly won’t be making any meaningful connections with people once you start using this wireless nightmare.

As for hookups – uh uh, not gonna happen.

That’s because you’ll be walking around everywhere – parties, the office, campsites, the movie theater – and, as they say, “your voice comes booming through.” Won’t that be swell!

Ultra-Mike is not a toy- it’s a rugged, scientifically engineered transmitter in mike form that gives high fidelity – performance.

They hesitated there, didn’t they? They’re not sure if it’s a performance or – something else…Noise pollution? Civil disobedience? Violation of municipal by-law? You be the judge!

This has got to be the final, frightening endpoint of fun-with-microphones ads, doesn’t it? Ultra-Mike was the Godzilla of proto-karaoke. There couldn’t have been anything more mobile, more obnoxious – could there?

Advertisement from 1948. For a review of the increasingly menacing microphones, please see:

The Life of the Party
Hey Kids! Let’s Put On A Show!