Horrified teenage delinquent? Frightened abduction victim? Scared spider supper? Honey, I played them ALL.
Here, see if you remember this. “Ieeeee!” Iconic, right? Back in ‘56, everybody was doing that. But I started doing it in 1948, in a little off-Broadway theater. Without me, there’s no screaming damsel. And do I ever get credit? Why, not even a little bit.
Oh, don’t get me wrong, I certainly had a good life. I’d wake up early and go to the Plaza for breakfast and to be afraid of a cockroach for some bug spray ad, then quickly run to Gimble’s and nearly faint at the rising cost of clothes. Then it was off to the beach so I could be terrified at the latest roller coaster- that was for a radio spot, as I recall -then back to the city so I could feel the stress of “woman’s trouble,” whatever that was. I’d finish by helping with the cover of some detective magazine, and falling prey to some bikers in the Village, then maybe a little nightcap uptown, where the high art crowd would often hope to see me shocked at learning my boyfriend had left me for another woman. Finally I’d be horrified to learn what time it was, heartbroken when I couldn’t catch a cab, my heart would race when I couldn’t find my apartment key, and I’d fall asleep only to wake up from a terrible nightmare.
You can only imagine how I reacted when I found out other women were mimicking my style. Why, yes, I did in fact put my hands to my head and scream. How did you know? Are you a historian? And be aware, if you say yes, I’ll be drastically surprised.
Wear this shirt: for a day or twoooooooooo
Don’t wear this shirt: inside out. Poor lady would have to smell your bellybutton all day.
This shirt tells the world: “No! NO! NOOOOOOOOOO!”
We call this color: Black Future
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