Life, 1916-04-27 · page 11 of 44
Life — April 27, 1916 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This satirical poem by Wallace Irwin critiques European fashion during World War I. The illustrated border shows stylishly dressed women in extravagant Easter outfits, creating ironic contrast with the poem's content. The satire targets: - **French and German combatants** for continuing fashion concerns during wartime (French modistes trimming helmets, Germans designing patterns) - **American fashion industry** profiting from European war by creating "new effects" and copying styles - **Women's fashion** during wartime—exaggerated silhouettes, fur coats, puffed skirts, checkered suits, and elaborate hats—presented as frivolous given soldiers' trenches The closing line, "We are thinking up the fashions for ourselves," suggests Americans are commercializing European suffering. The joke: while Europe bleeds, fashionable society obsesses over hemlines and ankles.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Upon Viewing an Easter Display in a War Year N Europe Satan’s loose, And is kicking up the “ dooce,” Never stopping for vacation-time in Lent: Famous modistes of the French Spend their Easter in a trench, Shooting patterns into many a German gent. Milliners whose very name Meant, in Paris, lasting fame Now are “trimming” German helmets with a shell. They can’t think, while laying mines, Of mere feminine designs, For they have designs on Prussia. War is hell. Thus while Europe fallow lies As to Fashion’s changing guise, Lo! It gives our local style-smiths quite a chance For to scallop, sew and pleat “New effects” from head to feet, Just to show we have our Art as well as France. See, our home-grown “ Russian” coats Have our daughters by the throats, Swathed in furs, like harem beauties, to the eyes; And those skirts, puffed out like eggs, Show a foot or more of * * * (Deleted by the censor), While their hats resemble deep-dish apple pies. And the evening gowns you'll mind! Short in front and long behind, With a train that’s like a weary, drooping flag; While those maypole-ribboned ankles Give a thought that sort of rankles To a simple, peevish man, inclined to nag. There is fur around the boots, There are awful checkered suits, There are maidens dressed like jabberwoks and elves— Say! Those style-smiths of the French Can rest easy in the trench: We are thinking up the fashions for ourselves. Wallace Irwin, comicbooks.com