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1930s FASHION REVIVAL

lesliejthompson — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 05:00:07 +0000

Designers Revisit Depression Era Chic
By Sarah-Louise Boyd and Joanne Bennett

As summer reaches its peak and the mercury hits new highs, those with an eye for fashion are already looking toward the cooler weather to come, questioning whether plaids or ruffles should influence their autumn style. Where do they look? Why, to bible of fashion, of course: Vogue.

Hailed an essential by fashionistas everywhere, Vogue is the guidebook for trends past, present and future. Designers know this, too, and often study the pages of previous eras to inspire their new creations. Remember the introduction of skinny jeans? That was “so 1980s”. The blast of block colors and A-line dresses in stores this past spring? It was “so 1960s”. Fashion is cyclical, darling, and for the upcoming fall/winter lines, the 1930s are what’s en vogue.

Contrary to popular belief, the Depression Era was far from depressing. In fact, this was an historic time when it came to fashion trends. During the Roaring Twenties, women had shed their constrictive corsets and hobble-skirts for more liberated looks. They opted for practicality over opulence, favoring the straight shift cut of flapper dresses and Coco Chanel’s comparatively casual style. But the looks were purposefully boyish and minimized the impact of women’s feminine wiles. During the Thirties, fashion moved back from the practical, shapeless cuts of the 1920s to ladylike outfits that emphasized the female form while still focusing on simpler designs that offered freedom of movement.

The Fall 2008 ready-to-wear line from John Galliano featured 1930s-inspired bias-cut gowns

While Twenties fashions downplayed busts and hips under column shaped dresses and mannish pants, women of the Thirties clamored to embrace their curves. Hemlines dropped dramatically to reflect the more somber mood of the post-crash economy, and daytime suits and dresses were neatly tailored, featuring wide shoulders and nipped waistlines to create a slender hourglass silhouette. Fabrics like rayon and fine wool crepes draped intriguingly across the thighs and fell into pretty pleats. Evening gowns were cut on the bias to emphasize a woman’s sensuous shape. By day, ladies of the 1930s wore sweet, feminine styles in muted hues, and by night, they favored sheer glamour, with shimmery metallics and shiny silks.

Fall fashions from Baby Phat hearken back to the glamour of the Depression Era

Many of today’s top designers are finding inspiration in the fluid forms of the 1930s for their 2008 collections. Spring and summer saw the resurgence of the light chiffons and subdued floral prints popular during the Depression era, a trend reflected on the big screen in the feature film Atonement. For fall, expect to see more true feminine glamour, with flowing fabrics, tiers of ruffles, and luxurious ropes of pearls in the ready-to-wear lines of names like John Galliano and Baby Phat.

To keep things modern, the romantic, girly looks may be a bit edgier for fall. Art Deco-inspired accessories, such as rhinestone jewelry and intricate lace handbags, also will be all the rage. So, keep your eye out for these 1930s styles, whether vintage or new, as the fashion industry makes new strides along the catwalk of history.

The Neiman Marcus Fall 2008 accessories preview featured 1930s-inspired designs (Fashion Wire Daily/Renata Espinosa) Click to view full-size image

PIN-UP MAKEUP TUTORIAL

the editor — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 16:34:53 +0000

Love the look of classic pin-ups from the 1930s, ’40s and ’50s? Ever wondered what makeup tricks they use to get that perfectly flawless finish, those sultry bedroom eyes and those ruby red lips? Learn to do it yourself in this quick video tutorial from ItsJudyTime, and you can look like a retro pin-up model, too!

[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxwvGeZsWNA]

KISS ME, YOU FOOL

the editor — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 00:57:19 +0000

The Timeless Appeal of Retro Red Lipstick
By Jodi McNarland

Some staples to a woman’s wardrobe simply cannot be ignored. A little black dress may catch a fella’s eye, and strappy heels may turn a gentleman’s head, but nothing puts the shine on the apple like luscious red lips.

Briefest history? Babylonians used ground jewel powder (expensive, no staying power), Cleopatra used ground beetles (yuck and yes, I know we’re still doing it, but we hide it well and let’s leave it at that, shall we?), less affluent Egyptians used henna and ground leaves (poisonous mercury-based plants no less).

The long and the short of it: Women figured out thousands of years ago that red lips look lovely, and who are we to go against tradition? Time has marched on, however, and there are almost as many styles and brands as there are women to wear them. Glossy, matte, pearly, metallic–have a little fun with it. I’m here to talk about the color.

THE MAGIC OF THE RIGHT RED

Photo by Melai Parcon Lopez

I know it’s hard to resist the rainbow that greets you when strolling up to your favorite cosmetics counter, nor should you have to. (That’s what samples are for, darling.) Pink, peach, even plum (if you must) may put you on the cutting edge, but the right red can be your best friend long after those others are relegated to the bottom of your oldest clutch purse. Are you a blonde bombshell? An exotic brunette? How about the Girl Next Door? No matter, there’s a red for you.

Picture it: You’re in your sweetest frock, smartest suit, or slinkiest strapless number. Your hair is a masterpiece and your eyes sparkle, shine or smolder. Your beau is waiting at the door, but you’re still missing that certain je ne sais quoi. Jewelry? Right where it belongs. Shoes? Perfect match (and comfortable to boot–after all, it’s your fantasy). What could it be? The right red on your lips brings your face to life. You’re still you, just more so. Paint on a little glamour and prepare to get noticed.

MAC Dubonnet. Chanel Barcelona Red. Cover Girl Really Red. Lancome Red Desire. Anna Sui Rouge Chine. Mary Kay Red Salsa. Elizabeth Arden Slink. See what catches your eye. Just between us, I can’t tell you which brand I use–no endorsements, darling–but I don’t leave the house without it.

So, put on a little lipstick dear. The whole world is waiting for you to make your appearance.

SPIN FACTORY

the editor — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 21:06:32 +0000

Moss Lamps Add That Special Twist
By Donald-Brian Johnson, Contributing Writer
Photos by Leslie Pina

Here’s the situation: It’s your turn to play host. You want the gang to be impressed, and you’ve done your best with the decor. It’s OK. But you want more than OK. You want a focal point. You want that one, wonderful object that will leave them gasping. You want a Moss lamp.

This Moss floor lamp with a revolving

Once seen, a Moss lamp is never forgotten. These plexiglas marvels of the 1940s and ’50s not only invite attention, they demand it. Produced by San Francisco’s Moss Manufacturing Company, the lamps were born of necessity. Originally, Moss made traditional metal lamps, but with the dawn of World War II and metal rationing, a new raw material was needed. Company owner Gerry Moss turned to staff designer Duke Smith. Smith’s answer: plexiglas. Developed in 1934, plexi had a number of points in its favor: it was inexpensive, it was novel, it was easy to work with, and, most importantly, it wasn’t rationed.

A new material demanded new designs, and Smith’s early lamps took full advantage of plexi’s adaptability: angled pieces not only formed the lamp bodies, but also jutted out in every direction imaginable. More variety was soon on the way, thanks to the non-stop imagination of company co-owner Thelma Moss. An entrepreneur extraordinaire, Thelma made it her mission in life to inspire her designers. What Thelma Moss imagined, Moss designers brought to life, and Thelma imagined plenty.

This Moss table lamp features the

Revolving platforms, for instance. Thelma was adamant that Moss lamps do something, and soon they did: they revolved, giving rise to the Moss reputation as makers of “the lamps that spin”. Ceramic figurines by some of the top firms of the day, (among them, Hedi Schoop, Ceramic Arts Studio, Lefton, Yona, Dorothy Kindell, and deLee Art), were attached to plexiglas disks powered by hidden motors. A flip of the switch, and each figure began its stately revolve.

“But wait,” as the ads say, “there’s more!” Buoyed by the success of the spinners, Thelma lobbied for further embellishments. Under the direction of Duke Smith, and later designer John Disney, the basic plexiglas shapes served as launching pads for an endless variety of Thelma-inspired innovations. Soon, the revolving platforms became mini-stages, lit by separate bulbs both above and below. Plexiglas planters were added, as were figurines that actually seemed to interact with their plexi environments: young girls perched on motorized swings, Oriental figures peering around oversize gongs, dancers extending their arms to the strains of tinkling music boxes. Clocks, radios, and even walkie-talkies were also eventually incorporated into the lamp designs. Topping things off were those signature Moss shades: gargantuan (at times up to two feet square), and often fashioned of the Moss secret formula for “spun glass”–an angel hair/adhesive mixture cured in a metal mold to form a hard shell.

Pushing the Envelope of Design

This Moss clock lamp has a revolving

Sometimes, real-life events inspired Thelma’s lamp inspirations. Moss designers came up with a plexiglas “champagne fountain” for her daughter’s wedding. Taking note of the guests’ response, Thelma’s next request was for an operating Moss fountain lamp. It soon shared inventory space with Moss aquarium lamps, Moss waterwheel lamps, and even a full-size “Moss Fish Tank Bar” that combined the functions of a lamp, an aquarium, and a bar, all in one unit. Originally retailing at $199.95, the “Fish Tank” can, if hooked today, net more than $2,400.

Before Moss arrived on the scene, lamps were regarded by furniture dealers as “deal-sweeteners.” Buy a sofa, and a lamp pair was thrown in as a bonus. But, Moss lamps were different. Expensive for the time, (ranging from $29-$79 for a single lamp, while designer pairs were retailing at $40), the lamps became stars in their own right. As one dealer remarked, “With Moss lamps, we usually end up throwing in the sofa!”

For a time, Thelma’s dreams seemed in sync with the dreams of every young householder seeking to embrace the thoroughly modern. But with the onset of unified decor schemes in the 1960s, consumer interest shifted to lamps that were lamps, rather than conversation pieces. Lamp production at Moss Manufacturing ceased in 1968.

Thelma Moss (right), creative spark of Moss Manufacturing, models a

Today, however, Moss lamps once more shine brightly, invigorating retro environments with their bold design choices and whimsical charm. For your own decor, you may decide on just a single towering floor model guaranteed to draw all eyes (perhaps the almost six-foot “Leaning Lena,” with a fluorescent tube within its angled stem), or a matched pair of smaller, but no less stupendous, table lamps, sporting exquisite revolving ceramic figures by Hedi Schoop or Yona. You may even, like some devotees, opt for an all-Moss house, with unique Moss creations of all shapes and styles replacing more humdrum lamps, thus providing visual treats at every turn.

But, one thing’s for certain: whether you select a single lamp or a multitude, you (and your guests) will definitely find Moss “the light fantastic.”

Three Coins in the Fountain
Price-wise, a good rule of thumb in estimating the cost of a Moss lamp is: the more bells and whistles, the higher the price tag. Early non-figural lamps can range from $100-$125 for table models, $175-$200 for floor versions (fluorescent panels will add about $50-$75 to the cost). Lamps with figurines by “name” designers fall into the category of dual collectibles, and their prices will reflect this. A table lamp with a Hedi Schoop figurine can run $250-$275, while one with a figure by the less-in-demand Decoramic Kilns may sell for only $150-$175. Revolving-platform lamps will start at about $200 for table models, $400 for floor versions. From there, prices escalate. The relatively affordable, such as music box lamps, average $275-300; seldom-seen, and therefore pricier rarities, include fountain lamps ($1200-1300) and bars ($2200-2400).

Where to find the lamps, or more info about them? Online auction sites, such as eBay, often prove a good source for Moss lamps, as do shops and shows specializing in mid-century memorabilia. Interested collectors share comments and photos on the msn.com group site MossLampsofCalifornia, and Moss in all its glory is captured in our book Moss Lamps: Lighting the ‘50s (Schiffer Publishing, 2000, $49.95). For “the lamps that spin”, popular taste has spun full circle.

The Landing Pad is a new recurring column on retro decor by Donald-Brian Johnson, who writes and lectures frequently on mid-20th Century decorative arts. In addition to his book on Moss lamps, Johnson is also the co-author of such titles as Higgins: Adventures in Glass; Higgins: Poetry in Glass; Ceramic Arts Studio: The Legacy of Betty Harrington, and Specs Appeal: Extravagant 1950s & 1960s Eyewear. All are published by Schiffer Publishing, Ltd.

50s PIN-UP MAKEUP LESSON

the editor — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 17:35:39 +0000

I’m certainly not the first pundit to note the striking similarity between modern day cinema vixen Angelina Jolie and the beautiful Sophia Loren, classic star of the silver screen. But, the uncanny resemblance between the two celluloid goddesses is even more apparent on the cover of the new issue of Vanity Fair, hitting newsstands this week. Jolie’s naturally chiseled cheekbones and pillow-plush lips are glamorously enhanced by classic matte makeup remniscent of the 1950s pin-up style. The good news is, you can recreate this look at home, and enhance your own natural beauty with fabulous retro flair. All it takes is the right tools and a little patience. Here, our YouTube tutor kuuipo1207 shares her trade secrets to recreate a fabulous Fifties pin-up style that will have you looking like a classic Hollywood star!

[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ULBx4Kcb2o]

CLEARLY STYLISH

the editor — Sat, 10 May 2008 22:35:19 +0000

Higgins is “A Glass Act”
By Donald-Brian Johnson, Contributing Writer
Photos by Leslie Piña

Vintage glass adds retro panache to any decor

Sometimes, all it takes to rev up a retro decor is the right accessory. And, when it comes to just the right decorative touch, the choice is as clear as glass–Higgins glass!

These fused glass pieces from the fabulous ’50s combine an arresting mix of geometric and curved lines with a bold use of colors. Whatever your decorating scheme calls for–from eye-popping oranges to cool blues–the vast and vivid Higgins inventory is guaranteed to have what you’re looking for.

The Higgins saga began in 1948, with the opening of a Chicago-area studio by newlyweds Michael and Frances Higgins. The Higgins, both with extensive previous artistic experience, took it as their mission to revive the ancient art of glass fusing. Although popular in the past, fused glass had, by the mid-20th century, been abandoned in favor of blown glass.

Grouping of Higgins bowls, produced at Dearborn Glass Company circa 1961. Country Garden, $550-$600; Arabesque Apple, $225-$275; Sunburst, $175-$200; and Buttercup, $125-$150.

Essentially, fusing is the creation of a “glass sandwich”. A design is created on one piece of enamel-coated glass, either drawn with color enamels, or pieced with glass segments. Over this, another piece of enameled glass is laid. Placed on a mold, the object is then heated. Under heat, the glass “slumps” (or bends) to the shape of the mold. The design itself, fused between the outer glass pieces, will not fade or wear with use, remaining brightly colorful through the years.

Off Like a Rocket
The Higgins quickly learned what the early ’50s market wanted and turned their fusing technique to the production of such useful objects as bowls, plates, assorted serving dishes, lamps, clocks, and–a trend of the times–smoking accessories, particularly ashtrays of every shape and size.

Pi Plate by Michael Higgins

While their uses may have been everyday, the zingy color combos and imaginative stylings unique to Higgins pieces attracted buyers by the droves. The duo were also helped greatly by their association, from 1957 to 1964, with industrial manufacturer Dearborn Glass Company. Unlike many other artisans of the period, whose only sales outlets were art fairs, the Higgins now had the advantage of nationwide distribution and promotion of their work. And, since every piece produced bore the lower-case signature “higgins”, their name recognition was immediate and enduring.

At Dearborn, the Higgins adapted their handcrafted procedures to the demands of mass production, churning out endless houseware items in patterns with such vibrant, instantly enticing names as “Stardust”, “Barbaric Jewels”, “Arabesque” and “Mandarin”. As Dearborn’s promotional postcards of the time indicate, it was literally possible to set an entire table (except for the silver) with Higgins glass. Frances Higgins later recalled that the goal set for Higginsware at Dearborn was “a new line every six months”. If a particular pattern sold well, the couple were urged to adapt it to every size and shape imaginable. Soon, for example, simple serving plates gave way to “two-tier servers”, followed by “three-tier servers”. If the public might possibly buy it, the Higgins would create it.

Going Their Own Way

Dropout vase by Frances Higgins, 1967. $5000-$5500.

By the mid-1960s, the hectic Dearborn pace had become wearing. After a brief 1965 stint at Haeger Potteries, Frances and Michael Higgins elected to open a private studio in Riverside, Illinois, which has remained the home of Higgins Glass since 1966. At their Riverside studio, the creative couple continued to produce many of the items that initially brought them acclaim. However, they now also had the freedom (and time) to pursue in greater depth such innovative uses of fused glass as mobiles, sculptures, jewelry, framed glass art, and even room dividers made up of “Rondelays” (linked glass circles first developed by Michael in the ’50s).

Michael Higgins died in 1999, Frances Higgins in 2004. The Higgins Studio is now under the ownership and direction of their longtime design associates Louise and Jonathan Wimmer. Pieces created today honor and expand on the traditions and of the past. This direct line of continuity means that glass objects in the distinctive Higgins style will continue to enchant collectors for many years to come.

Michael and Frances Higgins at their Riverside studio in the 1980s.

Thanks to the vast Higgins output, there are Higgins pieces available today for collectors of every taste (and price range). Some unique (and exceptionally valuable) pieces are part of the collections of such institutions as the Smithsonian, the Metropolitan, and the Corning Glass Museum. On the other hand, many pieces produced during the Dearborn years can still often be found, quite reasonably priced, at modern shows and shops, or online.

A Dash of Glass Panache
The trick in using Higgins to accent a retro decor is, in some cases, to see beyond the original use of an object, to its use as you envision it. Perhaps your home has no need for a whopping 15″ freeform ashtray, no matter how brilliant its color scheme. That same ashtray, however, re-imagined as a generously-sized chip dish, will definitely brighten up the buffet line. Oversize vintage chargers, while perhaps too valuable for actual dining use, make wonderful place-markers when setting a period table. And Higgins cigarette boxes have a multitude of uses in addition to their original one, from change holders, to dresser vanities, to candy dishes.

Bubbles sculpture by Frances Higgins, 13 inches, $1500-$1700.

Many Higgins objects, of course, remain just right as originally intended: a single large Higgins bowl or dish, or the same pattern in several different shapes and sizes, makes an emphatic design statement when given star billing on a table or sideboard…Rondelays in varied, complementary colorways hung in a window, provide an arresting alternative to windowshades and curtains…and a shimmering Higgins mobile, alive with abstract shapes and paintbox primary colors, will provide stunning visual impact to any room. Guaranteed. The choice is yours–the only difficulty comes in having so many possibilities to choose from!

The Higgins Studio was initially hailed as the home of “modern miracles with everyday glass”. Today, collectors continue to discover that “modern miracle”: the excitingly eye-catching appeal Higgins glass, both old and new, brings to any environment.

“We just try to make what looks good, anytime, in any place. Things that are lasting, and can be enjoyed for years to come.”
-Frances Higgins

The Higgins Glass Studio is located at 33 East Quincy Street, Riverside, IL 60546; Ph: (708) 447-2787. www.higginsglass.com.

The Landing Pad is a recurring column on retro decor by Donald-Brian Johnson, who writes and lectures frequently on mid-20th century decorative arts. With photographer Leslie Piña, he is co-author of Higgins: Poetry in Glass (Schiffer Publishing), as well as Higgins: Adventures in Glass, and numerous other books on mid-century modern. He can be contacted at www.ceramicartsstudio.com.

DOUBLE DIP

the editor — Mon, 05 May 2008 13:53:25 +0000

Thanks for the Mammaries
By Dixie Feldman, Contributing Writer

The fabulously flat-chested Myrna Loy

One of my favorite things about classic films is the soothing normalcy of all the bosoms. In the Golden Age of Hollywood there was a reassuring diversity and sanity where breasts were concerned. Sure, in the Fifties we were treated to some pneumatic marvels, but for every Jayne Mansfield there was an Audrey Hepburn. These days, popular culture gives us just one ice cream flavor, and in two superhuman scoops.

Today when you’re graded on your curves no one wants an A , cup, that is. We live in a world where a D-plus means you’re far from failing, and perfectly adorable little bosoms are wilting under waves of public apathy and their owner’s own self-loathing. While many men will quote the great Will Rogers by proclaiming they’ve ‘never met a breast they didn’t like,’ the truth is we’ve all lately been schooled to believe chests must be super-sized to make the grade.

Nowadays there are humungous boobies everywhere you turn. They bob in and out of blouses like two bald men on a raft, they protrude from billboards, and they say a fuzzy, pixilated hello every time robotically wild girls dutifully lift their shirts from the streets of New Orleans to the sands of Ft. Lauderdale.

It’s almost impossible to tell the women’s magazines from the men’s magazines, or from those on photography, music, fitness or motorcycles. Periodicals of every description have at least one pair of breasts pushing up, peeking out, or playfully handheld by their coy celebrity owner. So why are newsstands hawking the hardly newsworthy, secondary sex characteristics found on half the populace? Why do movie posters bludgeon us senseless with hefty preternatural chests that stretch credulity as much as sweaters? (Remember the poster for I Still Know What You Did Last Summer? I still don’t know how Jennifer Love Hewitt was able to stand erect, much less fend off a psychotic killer.) Why do physicians who presumably champion healthy physiognomy place ad after ad suggesting your average-sized breasts are in desperate need of slicing open? Just when did such big boobies become such big business?

Classic starlets from Mansfield to Hepburn prove beautiful women come in all cup sizes.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like bosoms as much as the next guy. (Some of my best friends are breasts.) I recognize that sex sells. I even understand that our economy is built on building up insecurities and seducing us to purchase what we don’t have and now desperately need. Fine. Breasts good. No problem. My problem is not with bosoms but with the domination of these large, largely fake, manufactured mock mammaries. Mass media and the proliferation of pornography on VCRs and the Web have acclimated the population to see and expect a fabrication of female form that rarely really exists. Slim women with two mammoth mounds of fat protruding from their svelte carbo-scoffing bodies are no stranger to the scalpel. Big ole tetherballs tethered fixed and firm on otherwise pliable God-given frames inundate us day in and out, so much so that when a real bosom sheepishly rears its silicone-free heads it appears inadequate and even weird.

Most television ta-tas are cantilevered into Wonderbras or so surgically amplified that there’s nary a flat chest left on the flat screen. In shows like Baywatch and their ilk, there’s likely more saline on the beach than in the ocean. Pamela Anderson and her V.I.T.s have left us thinking the caricature is the norm. Now lovely ladies from nine to ninety are wanting breasts up to snuff, padding themselves with those flesh-colored, chicken cutlet-y inserts you buy at drugstores or disfiguring their figures with sacs with a twenty-year shelf life.

While it’s fitting that breasts be appreciated, even celebrated, that celebration turns sour when respect is replaced by an irreverent drive to build a better mantrap. These features great and small are wonderful even when they’re Wonderbra-less. Breasts are fantastic just the way they are. The real miracle is not to be found in a Miracle Bra, but in the gorgeous, genuine variety of fabulous flesh in the mammary mosaic.

Dixie Feldman is a writer and public speaker, television personality, and die-hard retrophile. She is currently working on a book about The Lost Art of Being a Dame.

FORBIDDEN ISLAND

the editor — Tue, 20 Jun 2006 18:14:58 +0000

Bay Area Tiki Lovers Have a New Tropical Refuge
By Will “The Thrill” Viharo

Once ubiquitous in cities and small towns across the nation, the tiki bar has recently enjoyed a resurgence in popularity, a by-product of the whole Tiki Culture renaissance of the ’90s, spearheaded by enterprising, savvy swingers, like Tiki News founder Otto Von Stroheim and Sven Kirsten, author of The Book of Tiki. While the “lounge revival” has mostly subsided from mainstream interest, the Tiki Boom is still in full hula-sway, most recently evidenced by the opening of FORBIDDEN ISLAND on the (mainly landfill) island community of Alameda, California, just across the harbor from Oakland in the San Francisco Bay. Without actually traveling back in time to Hawaii circa 1962, this brand new lounge is as close as one can get to the authentic, postwar tiki bar experience.

Proprietor Martin Cate and his business partners, Michael and Mano Thanos, know exactly what they’re doing, since they have the exotic experience to back up their boldly uncompromising enterprise, borne of a mutually pure vision. Martin has been a bartender for Trader Vic’s and brings his mixologist magic to the drink menu. Michael and Mano Thanos have already opened one successful tiki bar in the East Bay, the Conga Lounge in the birthplace of the Mai Tai, Oakland.

(Yes, Oakland is the home of the Mai Tai–the first Trader Vic’s opened in the early ’30s as Hinky Dink’s on San Pablo Ave., right across the street from another tiki lounge, Zombie Village.) Boasting the flagship Trader Vic’s in Emeryville, the recently opened Kona Club (also in Oakland), Tiki Tom’s in Walnut Creek, and now Forbidden Island in my home of Alameda, the East Bay has reclaimed its throne as the mainland hotbed of Tikimania.

A Tiki-Themed Dreamland
Forbidden Island was conceived to be the ultimate tiki bar experience, and it succeeds on all fronts, including the faux-shipwreck decor, the eclectic and deliciously intoxicating drink menu, and the outstanding jukebox, which includes an astounding array of retro sounds, both vintage and contemporary.

With a handful of quarters you can listen to Henry Mancini, Herb Alpert, Martin Denny, Arthur Lyman, Les Baxter, Elvis, Sinatra, Dino, Bobby Darin, Tom Jones and Patsy Cline, all mixed in with modern bands like the Moon-Rays, the Metrolites, Pollo del Mar, Project Pimento and the Mai Kai Gents, plus killer compilations of Motown, Soul, Surf, Crime Jazz, Latin Jazz, Classic Country, Rockabilly, ’50s R&B, and more. Nothing makes a specific ambience work more than music, and Forbidden Island is the only tiki bar–heck, the only bar, period, that I know of–that offers the perfect musical accompaniment to your imbibing pleasure.

Intoxicating Cocktails to Suit Every Taste
Now, the drinks. Next to music, the actual cocktails are the key ingredient to any successful bar, perhaps most especially a tiki bar, which requires an artful skill from the bartenders (and well-rewarded patience from the patrons.) All of FI’s drinks are made with fresh juices and the best of spirits (and in the best of spirits), increasing your healthy buzz but reducing your hangover at the same time. Some favorites include:

The Sidewinder’s Fang ($8) – a sweetly sour blend of lime, orange, passion fruit and dark rum, originated at the defunct Lanai in San Mateo, CA.
The Cornonado Luau Special ($9) – another “buried treasure” unearthed for our enjoyment, this mix of lemon, lime, orange and choice rums hails from the long lost Luau Room of San Diego’s fabled Hotel Del Coronado.
The Hawaii Kai Treasure ($8) – yet another rescued recipe, this time from New York’s historic Hawaii Kai, a creamy creation mixing lime, grapefruit and a touch of honey.
The Royal Hawaiian ($6) – My wife Monica the Tiki Goddess’s top choice, named after our favorite hotel in the world, the Pink Palace on Waikiki Beach, a smooth, cool martini made of pineapple and gin.

Along with these specials are the standbys, like the Mai Tai (available in two recipes, the “classic” which is more lime-based, and my preference, the pineapple-infused Island Mai Tai with the rum float); the Zombie; three different Grogs (Captain’s, Navy and Pirate); a variety of Daiquiris (the Mango is the best); the Hurricane; and the Painkiller, which speaks for itself. All in all there are 38 recipes to choose from, with prices generally in the $6-$10 range.

Otto Von Stroheim, publisher of the popular Tiki News, and our resident retro columnist Will

Some of the drinks are unique recipes concocted by member of the famous online community Tiki Central, including the ever-popular Monkeypod, which combines tamarind, coconut and lime juice with a strong dose of spirits for a tangy punch of potency. Another one, Neptune’s Garden, is a tribute to Alameda history: once known as “the Coney Island of the West,” and the home of the snowcone, Alameda’s Neptune Beach was a legendary destination, a playground by the Bay that was converted into a military base during WWII, never to regain its original glory. Now it’s Crab Cove, a popular scenic spot, sans the rides, swimming pools and other amusement amenities, but a few sips from this blue baby and you’re swimming in nostalgia, with maybe a whirl on the old roller coaster, too…

Groups of four can dive into The Mystery Bowl ($22) which takes The Scorpion Bowl ($22) a step further–you’re not sure what you’re ordering, it’s the bartender’s surprise. But, trust me, you won’t be disappointed. Forbidden Island also offers $5 drink specials during Happy Hour, Tuesday through Thursday from 5-7PM. On weekends you may have to wait in line, since it’s already a hit hula-hipster hangout. It’s worth it.

Tasty Tropical Treats, Too
Forbidden Island also offers some snacks to feed your thirst. I’ve tried ‘em all and they’re all quite tasty (I’m partial to the Wings, but the Rangoon is not far behind, great fries, too). Here’s the list, you can’t go wrong with any selection:

Coconut Shrimp ($6)
Buffalo Hot Wings ($5)
Vegetable Spring Roll ($5)
Crab Rangoon ($5)
Fish and Chips ($6)
Onion Rings ($4)
Sweet Potato Fries ($4)
French Fries ($3)

An Exotic Landscape to Thrill the Senses
The last essential component: the decor. Martin, Mike and Mano have it down to a scientific art form. Visitors are welcomed by an abundance of tropical eye candy as soon as they walk in the door. But it isn’t kitschy. It’s simply and purely atmospheric, designed by the owners and implemented by ace world class tiki bar builder Bamboo Ben, yet another Tiki Centralite. There are tiki statues, tiki mugs and bamboo artifacts everywhere, but they’re so integral to the environment they’re practically understated.

Although FI is a “theme bar,” you feel like you’re in a well-preserved time capsule, as opposed to a trendy new meat market cashing in on the latest craze. The big tiki in the corner with the cascading pool is subtlety soothing, and the framed album covers (including, of course, Martin Denny’s Forbidden Island) and movie posters (including, naturally, the ’50s adventure flick Forbidden Island) add to the ambience without distracting from your drink. Like the Conga Lounge, the television behind the bar only shows (soundless) clips from classic TV shows and movies featuring seductive scenes of Hawaii, tiki or other Polynesian Pop. Along with the jukebox, which provides the aural stimulation, this visual touch succeeds in creating the self-contained illusion of actually existing in a bygone era, a parallel universe where the classic tiki bar, and lounge culture, never died. It lives on thanks to Mike, Mano and Martin. Mahalo, mateys.

Mahalo, mateys!

FORBIDDEN ISLAND
1304 Lincoln Ave.
Alameda, CA 94501
Hours:
Tuesday-Thursday, 5PM-Midnight
Friday/Saturday 5PM-2AM
Sundays 3PM-Midnight
Happy Hour Tues-Thurs 5-7PM
Capacity: 60 (bar, patio and “tiki hut” booth seating)

Will “the Thrill” is the Mayor of the B-movie burg “Thrillville.” You can find him swingin’ on a hammock at Thrillville.net.

MEMORIES OF MOM

the editor — Sat, 05 Feb 2005 22:11:17 +0000

Or: Why Finding Closure Isn’t for the Birds
By Dixie Feldman, Contributing Writer

Mama Peggy and her rootin' tootin' offspring

I’d like to talk about my mother, and a parrot named Butch. But I’d first like to tell you why my mom was way, way better than us. Well, way better than me.She was also the kind of mother that left space for you to be yourself. For example, when it came to clothing, Mom was the classy type who once told me her favorite color was taupe. I, on the other hand, never met a rhinestone I didn’t like. Whenever we were shopping together we had an expression we’d use whenever one of us held up an item for the other’s inspection. “Isn’t this shirt cute?” I might say.

“I wouldn’t choose it for myself,” she’d charitably reply. And in turn when she invariably held up what as far as I was concerned might as well have been a burlap sackcloth, I’d answer, “I wouldn’t choose it for myself.’ And we’d each go on to buy our tawdry and tasteful frocks, respectively.

Mom was the kind of person who:

* Found a $20 bill on the floor in the mall and took it immediately to the nearest store where she turned it in to the cashier, “in case anyone comes back looking for it.”
* Would buy a second teddy bear for her car’s backseat window so the first one “wouldn’t feel lonely.” (OK, that I’d do, too.)
* Let her children have Jiffy-Pop and those little hors d’oeuvres pizzas for dinner on Saturday nights.
* Celebrated Valentine’s Day with gifts delightfully inappropriate for small children. (I still have the glamorous bottle of Calandre perfume I got when I was six.)

Peggy in her prime.

These examples speak of some of the things I most cherish about mom: her unfailing honesty, and her attentiveness to the really important things in life, important things like holidays, and the well-being of stuffed animals.

Even though I’m the kind of person some folks generously call “a character,” Mom always let me do my own thing, no matter how wacky, or unsettling. When I was a teenager Mom didn’t worry that I listened to Alice Faye instead of REO Speedwagon. She didn’t balk when I wore thrift store nightgowns to school, or plucked my eyebrows into Harlow-like oblivion. Mom wasn’t fazed when I had dozens of adult pen pals I’d met through the “Nostalgia Book Club” (a fine organization I’d encountered in the back of TV Guide.)

RetroRadar Editor Leslie Thompson with Dixie Feldman in her Manhattan abode

But it wasn’t just that Mom didn’t flinch at my unrelenting nuttiness, she was also really supportive well beyond the call of maternal duty. One summer she drove an hour to North Miami nearly every week so I could pick up one of a succession of hideous objets d’art I kept winning from this late night movie trivia contest on local TV. The first time we went to pick up the indescribable lampesque item I’d won, the store didn’t believe 14-year-old me was the Miss Feldman who’d known so much about Adolphe Menjou. When they questioned my authenticity Mom indignantly defended me, saying “Go ahead! Ask her, ask her anything!” To this day I don’t know when I’ve ever felt as button-poppingly proud.

Mom also supported my old movie jones by letting me stay up late to watch one of my favorites–and on rare occasions even stay home from school. Sometimes when I was very young she’d let me stay up past the “Wonderful World of Disney” to watch a socially relevant movie. This is how little girl me came to see Patch of Blue with Sidney Poitier, The Diary of Anne Frank, and, inexplicably, Hitchcock’s The Birds.

Our own Craig Thompson gets his teeth cleaned by a member of Dixie's menagerie

The Birds was scary, but The Diary of Anne Frank was scarier. It made a big impression on me, maybe because Mom had always made sure to impress upon us the tragedy of the Holocaust and spoke of her own family that perished during the War. After seeing the movie I dropped my previous imaginary friend, “Susie Chindergarten,” like a hot potato for my new non-fictional pal, Anne Frank. In retrospect, this turned out to be a mistake, as it’s hard to ask for sympathy, or complain about the horrors of recess, when your confidante is Anne F. Still, there was something comforting about my imaginary friend, this sad, sweet, silent companion who accompanied me everywhere like an invisible little black balloon.

Though I’m older and have outgrown a need for secret friends, I haven’t outgrown needing and wanting my mommy. Now that Mom’s lustrous soul has trailed Anne’s into some softer, sweeter world I have to face this new mommyless world where the sun will shine not quite as bright, I will sing not as often, and where Christmas can never be the same. But I’m comforted knowing that Mom is comfortable, finally, in a better, brighter place. And I now have a new hidden friend in whom I can reliably confide and find solace. I feel that Mommy will always be here with me, for me, when I need a friend. When I need my mommy.

There’s something primal about the word “Mommy.” It seems like a small, childish word, but there’s something there that’s deep and enormous and eternal. And sometimes, when life is like the ocean–rough, and salty, and threatening to pull you under–you can feel like you’re floundering in a vast sea that’s scary and deep and dark. But then something huge and smooth rises from beneath to lift you to a dry, safe shore. Some people call that glossy big-ness “God.” (Sometimes I call it God.) But always–that gentle, loving hand FEELS like–feels like “Mommy.”

The comfort of a mommy–and the longing for a mommy–is powerful, unalterable and universally understood. The words Ma, Mama, Mommy are the heart’s Esperanto, transcending time and culture. And perhaps more.

Which brings me to my parrot, Butch.

Like my Mom, I am utterly, constitutionally incapable of buying just one of something I like. She bought shirts in every color–me, I have five parrots. Butch is one of them, a talkative African Grey whose conversations are primarily confined to cashews and admonishing my dog, Lulu. But he also says important things, like “Good boy,” “Hello!” and “I love you.” But, as I sat and tried to write words that might sum up how I feel to be without my beautiful, beautiful mother, I found I couldn’t come up with anything truer than the words Butch says whenever I leave the room. These words tick loudly like a Metronome in my brain, and wail incessantly from deep inside my chest. Butch implores, over and over, “Where’s Mommy?” “Where’s Mommy???”

And Butch says something else. From the bathroom and the hallway outside my front door I hear this sad, simple message. I repeat it now, with all my heart:

Goodbye Mommy. I love you.

Dixie Feldman is a prolific writer and public speaker, popular television personality, and die-hard retrophile. She is currently working on a book about The Lost Art of Being a Dame.

BOTTOMS UP

the editor — Thu, 05 Aug 2004 23:12:44 +0000

Don’t Be So Cheeky
By Dixie Feldman, Contributing Writer

Esther Williams looked super sexy even with all her curves demurely covered.

One of the many things I cherish about “old movies” is the way their denizens are refreshingly clothed. This era of scantily clad Britneys and Christinas is enough to make one pine for the soothing subjection of a burka. My classic movie heroines can always be counted upon to do their livin’ and lovin’ without the alarming possibility of me glimpsing their hoohas dangling above my head like the Sword of Damocles. Amazingly, stars like Irene Dunne and Esther Williams always remained delectably dressed, with no danger of my ever having to see either squirm, writhe or crawl oily and half-naked.

But today, just when you thought the fashionistas had exhausted body parts to expose and espouse, it has uncovered yet another way for those with long legs and short attention spans to demonstrate their appeal. Take a walk through any suburban shopping mall, and you’ll notice “buttage” has become the new cleavage, as the behind leads the way in a relentless parade of cheeks peeking out over the top of their inadequate denim prisons. Forget hemlines rising or falling, the only thing dipping these days is waistlines.

Tsk, tsk, Tara. The leading ladies of Hollywood's Golden Era relied on talent, not tailbones.

Of course low-rise pants’ ubiquitous buttage also means miles of midriff. Has anyone ever seen Tara Reid in public without an expanse of precariously pubic flesh on display? This eternally disheveled four-minutes-twenty-seven-seconds-and-counting-on-the-fame-o-meter “It Girl” is clearly smitten with her belly and throws her midsection’s paunchlessness in our faces in a seemingly bottomless array of bottoms hovering mesmerizingly close to her starlet crotch. But then why shouldn’t lithe, little Tara celebrate this all too transient window of midriff-exposing opportunism? Since the brevity of her outfits is eclipsed only by her even briefer moment in the spotlight, why shouldn’t she take full advantage of this fortuitous convergence of scanty fame, scantier clothing,and the scantiest of all, the sweet waistline of youth.

If these grapes seem awfully sour, well, you’re probably right. The rise of low-rise pants is fine if you’re young, super-skinny, and not averse to having strangers picture placing a tiny cocktail umbrella in the crevice of your bum. (Okay, maybe that’s just me.) However, if you’re in the 99th percentile of females who don’t always feel lucky in their Lucky Brands, you’re likely to feel rear ended by the buttage juggernaut.

Irene Dunne kept her pants up and still managed to snag Cary Grant in The Awful Truth.

Nowadays, women whose hips are freakishly wider than their waists (imagine!) are somehow driven to wear clothing that is at best unflattering, and at worst, faintly obscene. I’m personally reluctant to wear my pants ultra-low. Not only will my legs put one in mind of a dachshund, these low-slung waistlines are designed to give one hips, and Mother Nature has already beaten them to it.

But thanks to Fashion’s torso totalitarianism, a woman without hip-huggers looks hopelessly un-hip. Thank goodness designers’ mercurial dictates have decreed the high waisted pant “in” for fall. (Why do they always say “pant” instead of pants?) While the hip and hipless will likely keep their crotch-hugging trousers, the rest of us fleshier females can now emerge from our closets with our dignity and our chic intact. We can once again look forward to a bright future behind us.

Dixie Feldman is a prolific writer and public speaker, popular television personality, and die-hard retrophile. She is currently working on a book about The Lost Art of Being a Dame.