Life, 1923-06-07 · page 8 of 44
Life — June 7, 1923 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two cartoons satirizing early 20th-century fashion and social pretension. The top cartoon mocks gardening advice between social classes—a woman in fashionable dress instructs a working-class man on planting, using pretentious terminology ("succotash") while he responds practically ("use your bean"). The bottom section, "The Truth About Lausanne," appears to satirize a high-society conference or gathering. The accompanying illustration shows people in formal attire in rural/rustic settings, creating humor through the contrast. The text describes attendees' fashionable dress codes and social posturing, suggesting the event's emphasis on appearance over substance. The final illustration depicts someone arriving in elaborate formal wear to this gathering, highlighting the absurdity of maintaining strict fashion conventions in incongruous settings. Both pieces mock upper-class pretension and disconnection from practical reality.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LFA “Oh! Don’t be such an old cabbage, George. Tell me how to plant this succotash.” “Use your bean, Madeleine, use your bean!” The Truth About Lausanne (Now It Can Be Told by Our Fashion Reporter.) AUSANNE! A gathering of the predominant figures of the world. I thrilled as I entered the hall—now the great outstanding question of the day would be solved. Will it be a three- or a two- button coat for formal day wear? As I take my seat a man is talk- ing. I feel cheated, disillusioned, chagrined. I have come many miles to see the world’s greatest and here is a man taking part in the confer- ence actually wearing a lounge suit and a white piqué tie. People “M’riar! M’RIAR! Open the door.” “Kind o’ deef, ain’t she?” “Naw, she hain’t deef, but tryin’ to listen to the fonygraf an’ the party line *phone an’ the wireless, an’ havin’ only two ears, it’s sort o’ hard sometimes to git her ’tention—M’RIAR!” are listening to him talk—I don't understand it. I look at the others gathered around a table. The same disregard for what is the cor- rect thing. I console myself with the thought that maybe they are underlings. But no, their faces are familiar. Verily, the world’s chaos . is easily understood. The speaker pauses, turns to- ward the door and gives a barely perceptible nod. Immediately the news man in me is aquiver. I scent the real thing now. A man rises, approaches the speaker. “Person- age” is written over him in large characters. His two-button Oxford morning coat is faultless—cut deep enough to show a glimpse of pearl- gray waistcoat. He has on a gray silk tie, knotted correctly, and a white stiff-bosomed shirt with pen- cil stripes of blue; gray striped trousers, and pearl-gray spats. I wait for him to be accorded the reception due him. Silently he comes up to the speaker’s platform, passes behind the speaker, removes from the table the empty water pitcher and leaves the hall. Harvey Kent. comicbooks.com