Word: pasteles
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...thing, fashion reporters were finally permitted to disclose the breathlessly awaited details of the royal trousseaux. Hats were "off the face," for royalty may not hide from onlookers under a lowering brim. For Princess Elizabeth there were pastel evening gowns, "really romantic, with rustling, or softly flowing full skirts." For 16-year-old Margaret ("She's a nice kid," said one of the designers, "with a naughty glint in her eye"), at least one "slinky, grown-up looking, sophisticated" chiffon. "Her Majesty," wrote one reporter, "is expected to land in a misty blue, bordered with matching ostrich feathers...
...their brave words and eager hands, the twelve had a lot of "mopping up" to do. Paris still had intractable citizens who liked to look at more recognizable pictures. After 5½ years in Manhattan, Painter Marcel Vertes had just returned to Paris to open a show of the pastel, boyish maidens who have long decorated the covers of Vogue and Harper's Bazaar and sold Schiaparelli perfume in the U.S. A dozen gendarmes were needed to keep order at Vertes' opening, and all 50 of his agelessly sweet and sexy pictures sold out in a few hours...
Traubel likes to sing with Melchior because his size dwarfs hers. To dress her own vast proportions as handsomely as possible, Traubel has all her clothes-including her stage costumes-designed by Hollywood's Adrian. In the sewing room of Adrian's chic pastel salon, there is a headless and barrel-chested, size 46, grey muslin model standing majestically between those of Claudette Colbert, size 32, and Norma Shearer, size 32. Adrian's loose-leaf notebook lists the Traubel specifications after those for "Temple, Shirley." They tell a sizable story: "Bust, 51 inches [Shirley...
...last summer's dilapidated Brunswick and even this fall's pastel-shaded hotel are still another long jump from the elegant hostelry of 1878, when King's "Hand-Book of Boston" reported...
...lives. The Blithe Spirit Private Lives formula is only slightly varied, but the cracks are fresh and strictly bon ton. Here are no new ideas, no thought, no stimulation--unless concurrent mistresses is your idea of a good time. Dear Noel's world, artfully constructed of gold cloth and pastel pasteboard, contains no people, at least not the kind that inhabit the world. Rather does this craftsman of the sex comedy take into his delicate hands again the familiar set of dolls and sends them whirling on the polished floor, kidding, insulting, wallowing in the tart and tasty intoxication...