Word: chic
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...clothing designers who act as taste arbiters have laid down a few fiats for this season. Red, white and blue stars, which were so chic on many of last year's parkas and pants, are out. In their place the hills are alive with this year's color: burgundy. Also hot are matching pants-hat-and-jacket sets in zany prints dominated by purple...
WHEN it comes to picking areas, some skiers opt for the challenging, while others choose the chic. Lovers of the exotic may insist that Morocco's Atlas Mountains, home of the ruggedly independent Berber tribes, offer the best schussing. Cross-country buffs are likely to feel that mushing through Norway's Jotunheim (Giant's Home) region is nearest to nirvana...
...recent years, there has been considerable improvement in popular comprehension of the problem. Reasons: medical research linking overeating and heart disease, consumer campaigns against low-quality food and incomplete labeling, the counterculture's war on all things artificial, the conviction that thin is chic. The popular response, however, has been confused. Having begun to suspect that eating as usual is not good for them, Americans are often frustrated in their quest for something better. Dietary prescriptions tend to be contradictory. Nutritionists disagree on the merits of milk drinking, argue over the value of vitamins and debate long and learnedly...
...certainly the most tiresome in this less than gripping display of good intentions. For one thing, the story is endless, seventy pages long. Fifty longer than it need be. It is also mercilessly superficial, and badly written. Jack Orkney's socialism, like Parisian communism and New York radical chic, is actually only another throb in the bleeding heart of liberalism. The politics here described are, no less disappointingly, such now antiquated rituals (once known and loved) as the sit-in, the pray-in, the fast-in Jack Orkney's complaint, if I may improve on the title, is the standard...
...film's only potential interest, its triangular network of human relationships. Rafelson splurges on suggestiveness and bankrupts the meaning of his suggestion. Sally's menopausal trauma is supposed to be a simmer that slowly comes to boil in manic proportions. But Rafelson dissects it into a series of chic vignettes; she throws a tantrum over rusty bathwater, is glimpsed through a bedroom door, naked, giddily squirting a watergun at a cowboy costumed Jessica. Tear-streaked, she burns her beauty aids with funereal ceremony, mourns her Maybelline in the sand, and ends by chopping her hair off with distraught, mechanical motions...