Judge, 1920-07-03 · page 12 of 36
Judge — July 3, 1920 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis: Judge Magazine Satire **"An Immodest Suggestion"** satirizes the 1920s public obsession with women's lingerie. The author argues that newspapers, musicals, and even home life revolve around undergarments—socks go undarned and shirts unbuttoned while families prioritize silk underwear. The satire proposes a presidential candidate should campaign on a platform promising "four complete outfits of lovely silky stuff for every lady in the land," ridiculing how trivialized women's fashion has become compared to serious issues like the League of Nations or Prohibition. **"The Third Generation"** contrasts the hardy grandmother (who raised 13 children, never fell ill, died at 87) with her modern granddaughter (who employs servants, owns electric appliances, buys convenience foods, yet becomes a "nervous wreck at forty" after nursing one child). The satire criticizes how modern labor-saving devices and easier lives have paradoxically made women weaker and less resilient. **The lower cartoon** appears to joke about a couple's affectionate nickname ("dove"), though the punchline is partially cut off.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Drawn by Mexant De Mus “Don't You THINK WE OUGHT TO INTERFERE BEFORE THAT POOR HICK LOSES HIS BANKROLL?” “Intervene Notuinc! I BoarveD wit THAT ‘POOR Hick’ Last sumMER.” An Immodest Suggestion Attention! Candidates for President By H. W. Davis N all the history of our blessed country there never was a time when the public’s interest in ladies’ underwear was so high as it now is. All is lingerie. Newspapers are at least one-third camisole, teddy-bear, teddy-bocker, combination suit, and silk vest. A modern Drown by A. Macnerent She—Svucn A LOVING COUPLE, DID YOU HEAR HIM CALL HER “HIS DOVE He—Yes, 11’3 A WONDER HE WOULDN'T MAKE HER TURN 12 musical comedy is ninety per cent. chemise; and no bedroom drama—and all others are negligible—is complete without at least one pair of unmentionables continually in the limelight or some innocent boob’s overcoat pocket. The filmy finery has even wormed its way into a command- ing place in that most sacred bulwark of our civilization, the home. What is home without mother and the girls in a mad scramble to finish up the scason’s Teddies? Socks go undarned, shirts go buttonless, pants go unpatched—but silk underwear gocs on forever. Therefore, if we were a didate for president—which Heaven forbid—we'd have a lingerie plank in our platform, or bust. We'd pledge our meck self with impunity and without reservation to at least four complete outfits of the lovely silky stuff for every lady in the land. What matters the League of Nations or the price of things? What matters Mexico or prohibition? What matters anything but underwear? “Give us lingerie or give us nothing!” There’s a slogan that will fetch ’em out to vote. The Third Generation By Katuerine Necrey Grandmother: Carded wool and spun flax. Washed, ironed, baked, cooked, swept, dusted and sewed. Milked, churned, made soap, jellies and pickles, cleaned house and cooked for farm hands in harvest. Cared for the kitchen garden. Brought thirteen children into the world and looked after them. Never was sick in her life. Died at eighty seven. Granddaughter: Lives in one story-bungalow. Has Jap to care for lawn in front of house and rose garden in back. Has vacuum swecper, electric washer, electric iron, clectric sew- ing machine and fireless cooker. Buys canned goods and deli- catessen food. Keeps a house maid, has a woman come in one day each week to do the heavy work, and has her clothes made. Has to go to sanitarium after nursing her only child through teething. Nervous wreck at forty. Different Mrs, Lowbrow—What kind of people are they? Mrs. Highbrow—I hear they used to allow a quadruped of por- cine extraction to browse in the most resplendent apartment in their domicile. Mrs. Lowbrow—I'm so relieved. Some horrid women were saying that they used to keep the pig in the parlor. OUT HER TOES.