Word: hipping
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...tired of pants after wearing them all day skiing, are switching to skirts, some of them mini, more of them of the long, hostess variety. Turtleneck T shirts are In, but they must be made of synthetics, since cotton is very Out, even for skiing. Tom Jones shirts and hip-huggers are In; bell bottoms are Out. Furs, from mink and leopard to lynx and baby seal, are big in coats, hats and even skirts. Suede boots, fur boots, climbing boots and mod boots are In; so are tennis shoes...
Honorary Harvard degrees go to Adam Clayton Powell ("he spoke his mind"), Gen. Wessiny Wessin ("he danced to distant drums"), and Lt. Gen. Lewis B. Hershey ("he lived by the precepts of the prince of peace"). Richard Nixon, speaking in Fulton, Mo., accuses President Johnson of "shooting from the hip...
...Leonard Lyons. "Through booze I met two Chief Justices, 50 world champs, six Presidents and DiMaggio and Babe Ruth." Gregarious Toots hadn't had a belt for an astonishing nine months, ever since he took a dive on a Washington hotel floor last March and broke his hip. "I vowed not to take a drink until I could stand on my own two feet," Toots graveled in his Manhattan diner. But now that he can stand, he's making up for all the lost weekends he lost. "I missed about 30 cases in those nine months," said Toots...
Most of the ads, though, seem to be aimed at the prom set. Lavoris' pitchwoman is "Fran," a hip Ann Landers-type columnist, fielding readers' problems. Her inevitable solution: "Use Lavoris, lover boy. You'll sweeten up those sour dates." How did she guess? "Don't think your dear old Aunt Fran doesn't know which way the wind blows." Colgate 100 has similar advice to the breathlorn. The date is over, and Tom is depositing Betty at her door. She melts into a coy pucker only to be offered [gasp!] a handshake...
...link to the period in Weill's widow, Actress Lotte Lenya, with her cynical eyes and big-city-scarred voice. Set this musical by committee in a chic-sleazy nightspot called the Kit Kat Klub, supply a rouged M.C. played with androgynous guile by Joel Grey, bring on hip-roiling, braless chorines with soft-boiled smiles and any kind of love for sale, orchestrate it all to the flesh tones of insinuative tenor saxes, and the atmosphere is complete. It's as vivid and sexy as aboriginal...