Life, 1929-02-15 · page 19 of 44
Life — February 15, 1929 — page 19: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
The illustration depicts an elegant woman in 1890s formal dress admiring herself in a mirror, surrounded by other fashionably dressed women at what appears to be a social gathering or party. The caption reads: "A social tragedy in the eightieth days when rats were not always rodents—a scarlet fever victim about to make her first public appearance with shorn locks." The satire concerns female vanity and social propriety of the 1890s. The "tragedy" is that a young woman recovering from scarlet fever (which required head-shaving during treatment) must now appear publicly with short hair—a severe social embarrassment in an era when long hair was essential to feminine beauty and acceptability. The joke mocks both the woman's vanity and society's shallow judgment of women's worth based on appearance.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Tre Gay Nineties Ni See S A social tragedy in the coiffurish days when rats were not always rodents—a scarlet fever victim about to make her first public appearance with shorn locks. Richard Vincent Culter “Dick” Culter died in Florida on January 28th. Lire is only one among his many friends and admirers who mourn his loss. He was a great artist, a great humorist and a great friend. To his bereaved ones, we extend our heartfelt sympathy. astrologist did state that wherever their apparent conflict rendered it difficult for her to determine their exact significance I was blessed with what the world called luck, so I did not bother to puzzle my- self further, and should have been well satisfied had she sent me that statement alone, which I do pray to God may not be ill founded. Lunched alone at home on cold duck and a fine vegetable salad, and later to call on Fred and Agnes Smith, where was much talk of journalistic mat- ters, in especial of the change in the] Morning Telegraph, whose front page looks now so conservative that Fred is always expecting to find upon it some headline like “Packet Landed in Boston —Blacks to Be Sold at Public Auction.” He did also tell me of his nephew who is a junior at college and who came home for the holidays with nothing at all writ- ten on his coat. Walking through the town, stopping at a shop to buy some playing cards, and the salesman did try to urge upon me some with “We” and “They” inscribed on their backs, and I laughed so heartily at such dimwittedness that he must have thought me daft. So home, finding there Samuel mixing him- self what he calls a slight mitigation against the asperities of life, so I did have some of it also, and felt sufficiently heart- ened to submit to my hairdresser without my usual misgivings, for as the years do go by, I am increasingly squeamish about being touched with a hot iron. comicbooks.com