Beside her, a list of the official criteria by which Charm ’s Ten Girls to Watch had been selected:
1. Her grooming is not just neat. It’s a picture of perfection.
2. Her hair is glossy, gleaming, and well kept at all times.
3. Her figure is well proportioned and appealing.
4. Her posture and poise are impeccable.
5. Her use of makeup is deft, highlighting her best features. She never wears too much.
6. Her campus attire is in keeping with local customs but is never rah-rah.
7. Her weekend and party attire is stylish, flattering, and reflective of good taste.
8. Her clothing is not just attractive; it is in pristine condition at all times. Wrinkles and runs are unthinkable.
9. She is an individual dresser with a unique look and an awareness of her fashion type.
10. She represents the best in college girls today.
It was hard to tell which rule pleased me most. Gleaming hair? Campus attire that was never rah-rah? The individual dresser who was nonetheless aware of her fashion type?
And then there were the descriptions of the winners that year. Charming young ladies, one and all. For instance, the dark-haired beauty from the red-coat-walking-down-the-stairs photo:
Janet Bell is as sweet as a spoonful of ice cream (not surprising given that her father owns Bell Creameries, one of the biggest dairies in the South). But when it comes to completing her degree in English before setting off to spend a year in Europe to study painting, Janet is a woman of unmelting determination.
Why modern editors trimmed away such high-flying rhetorical flourishes I simply couldn’t understand.
In 1958, the rules ran once again (as I soon discovered they would every year until the contest got all academic-merity in 1968) and the girls were photographed in locations around the United States. “She is you, from Sea to Shining Sea,” read the headline above the spread of the winners in technicolor skirts and jackets, arm in arm along a rocky outcrop on the California coast. A page over, the caption beside two girls photographed on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial read, “She is monumental in spirit,” following which the girls’ coats, hats, gloves, shoes, and so on were described in detail. At the end of the color photos was a black-and-white page with detailed diagrams of curler patterns that readers could use to achieve the girls’ hairstyles.
I wanted to cut out every page and frame it, and I also wanted to hunt down a number of the outfits. The bouffantish hairdos, well, I could pass on those, though I had to admit that upon close inspection the “Winged Peak” curler pattern used to create one of the girl’s wavy little bobs was not without merit.
I swiveled my chair around, readying myself to retrieve more issues, but then, outside my door, in the stillness of the archives, I saw something move. I froze, startled. We’d had rats in my apartment, honest-to-goodness-much-bigger-than-mice rats, so I’d developed a keen eye for scuttling movements. But what caught my eye had been too big to be the darting of a rodent. I rolled my chair so I could see down the rows of shelves a little better. And just like that, it became official—I hadn’t made it up. I was not alone. There, in the Charm aisle, was a man. Who was not Ralph.
He was tallish (taller than Robert), and nicely angular, in a button-up shirt and jeans. From his profile, he looked young, thirty maybe, with dark hair and preppy good looks that leaned away from frat boy and toward struggling poet. I made lots of noise, clearing my throat and stepping loudly out of my office, hoping not to startle him. I ran my hand through my hair to give it a quick fluff.
“Hi there,” I said, cautiously stepping into the aisle as if I were Robinson Crusoe approaching some unknown intruder.
“Oh, hello!” He held one of the white Charm hardbound books open in his arms, and juggled it from right to left so he could shake my hand.
“I’m Elliot,” he
1. Her grooming is not just neat. It’s a picture of perfection.
2. Her hair is glossy, gleaming, and well kept at all times.
3. Her figure is well proportioned and appealing.
4. Her posture and poise are impeccable.
5. Her use of makeup is deft, highlighting her best features. She never wears too much.
6. Her campus attire is in keeping with local customs but is never rah-rah.
7. Her weekend and party attire is stylish, flattering, and reflective of good taste.
8. Her clothing is not just attractive; it is in pristine condition at all times. Wrinkles and runs are unthinkable.
9. She is an individual dresser with a unique look and an awareness of her fashion type.
10. She represents the best in college girls today.
It was hard to tell which rule pleased me most. Gleaming hair? Campus attire that was never rah-rah? The individual dresser who was nonetheless aware of her fashion type?
And then there were the descriptions of the winners that year. Charming young ladies, one and all. For instance, the dark-haired beauty from the red-coat-walking-down-the-stairs photo:
Janet Bell is as sweet as a spoonful of ice cream (not surprising given that her father owns Bell Creameries, one of the biggest dairies in the South). But when it comes to completing her degree in English before setting off to spend a year in Europe to study painting, Janet is a woman of unmelting determination.
Why modern editors trimmed away such high-flying rhetorical flourishes I simply couldn’t understand.
In 1958, the rules ran once again (as I soon discovered they would every year until the contest got all academic-merity in 1968) and the girls were photographed in locations around the United States. “She is you, from Sea to Shining Sea,” read the headline above the spread of the winners in technicolor skirts and jackets, arm in arm along a rocky outcrop on the California coast. A page over, the caption beside two girls photographed on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial read, “She is monumental in spirit,” following which the girls’ coats, hats, gloves, shoes, and so on were described in detail. At the end of the color photos was a black-and-white page with detailed diagrams of curler patterns that readers could use to achieve the girls’ hairstyles.
I wanted to cut out every page and frame it, and I also wanted to hunt down a number of the outfits. The bouffantish hairdos, well, I could pass on those, though I had to admit that upon close inspection the “Winged Peak” curler pattern used to create one of the girl’s wavy little bobs was not without merit.
I swiveled my chair around, readying myself to retrieve more issues, but then, outside my door, in the stillness of the archives, I saw something move. I froze, startled. We’d had rats in my apartment, honest-to-goodness-much-bigger-than-mice rats, so I’d developed a keen eye for scuttling movements. But what caught my eye had been too big to be the darting of a rodent. I rolled my chair so I could see down the rows of shelves a little better. And just like that, it became official—I hadn’t made it up. I was not alone. There, in the Charm aisle, was a man. Who was not Ralph.
He was tallish (taller than Robert), and nicely angular, in a button-up shirt and jeans. From his profile, he looked young, thirty maybe, with dark hair and preppy good looks that leaned away from frat boy and toward struggling poet. I made lots of noise, clearing my throat and stepping loudly out of my office, hoping not to startle him. I ran my hand through my hair to give it a quick fluff.
“Hi there,” I said, cautiously stepping into the aisle as if I were Robinson Crusoe approaching some unknown intruder.
“Oh, hello!” He held one of the white Charm hardbound books open in his arms, and juggled it from right to left so he could shake my hand.
“I’m Elliot,” he
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