Word: flannelled
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Molloy now generally plans to steer clients away from Wall Street drab and toward Madison Avenue pizazz. But there are exceptions. If Edward Kennedy wanted advice, looking toward the 1976 election, Molloy would recommend an "innocent look": "You know-short hair parted on the side, blue blazers and gray flannel slacks, loafers and preppy ties. That's the only way someone with his problems can be credible." Should George McGovern rally to yet another national election, Molloy would offset his ultraliberal reputation with strictly conservative garb. "People thought George was unstable in 1972. One day he was Broadway George...
...City. He was walking home from work, and saw one of those unbelievable raving fags: purse, approximately pink hair, boots up over the knees, poodle, and so on. His reaction was disgust. But then he noticed the guy he was talking to: dark hair, blue eyes, sideburns, blue jeans, flannel shirt--unbelievably hunky. Well, clearly, the poodle guy was... But if he was talking to him, then he must be, too, but... God, is that guy handsome!... Should he go over and introduce himself?... But then everybody else would... And of course Reid finally walks right by, and has always...
Both notions seem to be contributing to the present revival. The bow boom received most of its energy from the Gatsby-look promotion that began some months ago-the whole cardigan sweater, floppy flannel pants, '20s thing (TIME, March 26). But instead of fizzling the way the women's bow tie fad did, bows for men became bigger this summer-in design as well as sales...
...gray-blue flannel suit leaned across his tidy teak desk, past the elegant brown calf briefcase with gold combination locks, and pressed one of the 30 buttons on his elaborate intercom. "What's on TV tonight?" he asked. "Only some weight lifting," a male secretary replied. "Oh, all right," the button-pusher said. "We haven't got time anyway...
...quits, and soon sets out for his old job at a lumber camp. Facing nature alone, unfettered by machinery, he will lead, a romantic spirit would suggest, the rustic existence he is suited for. As he prepares to leave, close-ups of this burly man in a tartan flannel workshirt, his axe once again on his shoulder, alternate with shots of his sturdy wife, Helene Loiselle, ready to run the household by herself for as long as he is away. But Jutra's conception is not romantic -- no more than Walker Evan's photographs of the depression. The two come...