Life, 1886-09-09 · page 3 of 16
Life — September 9, 1886 — page 3: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "Life of Fashion" - Social Satire on Wealthy Leisure This satirical piece mocks the frivolous expenditures and constant social obligations of wealthy society women. The text complains about wives constantly demanding new fashions ("my white, my gray, my crimson, and my blue") while husbands foot expensive bills for dressmakers, fancy dinners featuring costly dishes like asparagus and Pommery champagne, and mandatory social events (opera, cotillions, parties). The accompanying sketches depict fashionable society figures attending various social functions. The satire targets the endless cycle of conspicuous consumption and social climbing—constant carriage rides between events, hiring servants, maintaining appearances—all sustained through what the author suggests is wasteful, unsustainable spending. The author (P.L. Blackford) critiques both the women's materialism and the broader wealthy class's priorities during what appears to be the Gilded Age.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
- LIFE H, while it is a scarcity, the orders fly around, For Spanish mackerel, ‘very cheap” at sixty cents a pound, A dollar's worth of strawberries a plate will scarcely fill, But, then, to eat them is the “style,” so who would mind the bill? The dish of fresh “‘ asparagus” full early must appear, 'T is true that it is flavorless, no matter, it is dear, While ‘ Pommery Sec. must flow, This tribute to the times we pay, at least to it we owe. must circulate, and ‘‘ Haut Sauterne” The carriage rolls from house to house, the occupants alight, To three ‘‘cotillions ” we must go within a single night, And then there is the ‘‘ Opera,” where we ’re bound to meet some friends, . And so, to scarce ten minutes time, the stay at each extends. & Saw. With dressmakers, from morn to noon, our wives are talking o'er The making of some gown unlike all they have worn before. ‘We hear them say: ‘‘My white, my gray, my crimson, and my blue, I’m tired of all, you really must invent me something new.” Our evenings, if we stay at home, on parties must be spent, All sorts of costly dishes from ‘‘ Pinard’s” must there be sent, Behind our chairs, in ‘ swallow tails,” the hired lackeys wait, Our table, too, doth groan beneath the bulk of borrow’d plate. Friends, visitors, acquaintances, our entertainments grace, We shake the hand of some of whom we scarcely know the face, Of Fashion's draught of pleasure great, we quaff the sparkling cup, ‘The Season's short, and while it lasts, we all must keep it up. ‘The Season now is finishing, our hall each morning fills, With “tradesmen” who impatiently are waiting for their bills ; The ‘‘green grocer” is obstinate, and shows himself displeased, Nor till we pay him for the ‘‘ peas” will go away ‘‘ appeased.” The Confectioner has called again, is waiting in the hall, And “‘ really would be pleased to know the day heis to‘call ;” He's sorry our convenience with his so little chimes, Tis strange that he’s not hit it once, he’s called so many times. The man we hired the ‘‘ coupé” of, has left a note to say, He'll call to-morrow, as he has a ‘little bill” to pay ; And as he fears he’s “‘ slightly short” of the required amount, So, therefore, he must trouble us at once for his account. The ‘‘ Florist” who has hitherto been naught but smile and bow, Begins to show a countenance not quite so pleasing now ; And the ‘‘city,” which is warm enough ‘neath summer's burning suns, Is made too hot to live in by a crowd of eager duns, So to the ‘‘ seashore " by the rail and steamer, far and wide, ‘We ‘Lions of Dame Fashion’s Court,” to distant places glide, Until the autumn weather, when it all begins again, With those, at least, who manage well their credit to sustain. P. L. Blatchford, comicbooks.com