The people who I thought glamorous were almost always cool and withheld. I think of the film actors who rarely move their facial muscles or even turn their heads but simply shift their eyes under lowered eyelids—like Robert Mitchum and Jane Greer. They seem glamorous for being unattainable, removed, above it all.
I'm a WIP print subscriber and loved your first column - looking foward to more!
Re glamour, as a child growing up in a rustbelt suburb, basically everything/every place else seemed glamorous to me. We would often drive on an I-75 overpass through the heart of industrial Detroit, and even when very young I would think "ugh, why do we live *here?*" I've lived most of my adult life on the east coast, and I've been lucky to live in some beautiful neighborhoods. But I have retained a weird atavistic connection to industrial landscapes, which seem to "be about" actually doing things, even if most of that work was in the past. I stumbled on the work of Bernd and Hilla Brecher at one point, and their photographs seem to capture that unique beauty.
A couple of years ago, laid up with a foot fracture, I took up knitting (I'm well into middle age). I've been surprised and discouraged by how political a lot of fiber people are. I spend a fair amount of time in my native midwest for family reasons and when I'm there I go to a knitting group. I was kind of surprised at first that this comprised mostly young women (but some men as well!). I enjoy it because it gives me a view into a different community (as well as helpful tips, as my skills are pretty bad) but it's tiresome to listen to, say, rants about JK Rowling.
When I was a teenager, I had a Che Guevara flag on my wall. I was pretty middle-of-the-road politically and later leaned right (and my parents quickly pointed out his crimes and Cuba’s failures). But the image still pulled me in. His stare, the bold black-and-red design, the iconic look — it felt powerful, like an invitation to be part of whatever he was part of.
The people who I thought glamorous were almost always cool and withheld. I think of the film actors who rarely move their facial muscles or even turn their heads but simply shift their eyes under lowered eyelids—like Robert Mitchum and Jane Greer. They seem glamorous for being unattainable, removed, above it all.
https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMTMzNDU5NjAxNl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwNjI5OTQyNw@@._V1_.jpg
Thanks for the support, Virginia! Can't wait to hear the first podcast episode!
I'm a WIP print subscriber and loved your first column - looking foward to more!
Re glamour, as a child growing up in a rustbelt suburb, basically everything/every place else seemed glamorous to me. We would often drive on an I-75 overpass through the heart of industrial Detroit, and even when very young I would think "ugh, why do we live *here?*" I've lived most of my adult life on the east coast, and I've been lucky to live in some beautiful neighborhoods. But I have retained a weird atavistic connection to industrial landscapes, which seem to "be about" actually doing things, even if most of that work was in the past. I stumbled on the work of Bernd and Hilla Brecher at one point, and their photographs seem to capture that unique beauty.
A couple of years ago, laid up with a foot fracture, I took up knitting (I'm well into middle age). I've been surprised and discouraged by how political a lot of fiber people are. I spend a fair amount of time in my native midwest for family reasons and when I'm there I go to a knitting group. I was kind of surprised at first that this comprised mostly young women (but some men as well!). I enjoy it because it gives me a view into a different community (as well as helpful tips, as my skills are pretty bad) but it's tiresome to listen to, say, rants about JK Rowling.
When I was a teenager, I had a Che Guevara flag on my wall. I was pretty middle-of-the-road politically and later leaned right (and my parents quickly pointed out his crimes and Cuba’s failures). But the image still pulled me in. His stare, the bold black-and-red design, the iconic look — it felt powerful, like an invitation to be part of whatever he was part of.
https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/61N3E6ySrEL.jpg
I write about that Che image in The Power of Glamour.
FDR was a saint compared to Woodrow Wilson, on any number of topics. Certainly when adjusting for time (and circumstances) served.