Judge, 1927-10-15 · page 48 of 68
Judge — October 15, 1927 — page 48: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains three satirical pieces commenting on 1920s social customs: **Top cartoon:** Depicts men in formal wear at what appears to be a dress affair, with the caption noting it's "natural" that knickers (a casual athletic garment) would eventually be worn to formal events. This mocks the era's loosening dress codes and changing social formality. **"I've Got a Little List" poem:** Arthur L. Lippmann ranks various slang terms for women by decency. He accepts "cutie," "Sheba," and "baby" as tolerable, but expresses violent disgust at "Hello, sister!"—suggesting this particular greeting represents an unacceptable level of casual, disrespectful familiarity between genders. **"Why She Is Different":** Marion E. Burns ironically describes an old-fashioned, makeup-free girl as a museum artifact—a "picture—in the Art Gallery." This satirizes how rapidly 1920s women's behavior had changed: bobbed hair, cosmetics, cigarettes, gin, and casual "petting" were now normal, making traditional femininity obsolete and quaint.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
JUDGE “I’ve Got a Little List” In him who calls a female “cutie” There is some good, some charm, some beauty. While he who dubs a lass “a Sheba” Is not as low as an ameba. Some decency I hold there may be In him who calls his dame “ baby!” “some He may be gentle as a Hama— The chap who has “a_ nifty mama!” But him I'd bludgeon, bruise and blister Who greets a lass with “Hello, siste —Arrtuur L. Lippmann Rare Old Prints FAMILY ENTRANCE It was only natural that the popularity of knickers would eventually find them used at dress affairs. Why She Is Different She’s just a sweet, old-fash- ioned girl. Her hair isn’t bobbed and no trace of cosmetics may be found in the hue of youth which adorns her cheeks « Her eyebrows have never been plucked and she doesn’t smell of cigarettes or gin. Her manner is charmingly demure. But a glance is needed to tell one that the flamboyant petting of to-day of jazz-mad pleasure seeking, are things in which she has no part. She is the picture of maidenly reserve and untainted innocence. She is a picture—in the Art Gallery. Patient—Now, if I could kinda spit that tooth out quick, he’d —Manrion E. Burns fall through the window and break his neck—God willing. comicbooks.com