MODERNISM

Evening Star, Issue 19026, 22 August 1925, Page 21

MODERNISM

SHINGLING AMD DIET [By Helen Hope, in the * Daily Hews.’] You may be in two minds as to whether the finished appearance of the up-to-date woman achieves beauty or not, but if you have lived in close proximity to an ultra-modern girl as I have been doing for the past ten days, you cannot bo in two minds as to her earnestness. Elsa is wakened in the morning by the maid bringing her a glass of lemon juice and water, scarcely sweetened.' Her breakfast consists of dry toast and weak. tea. A couple of oranges comprises lunch, and the evening meal seems to bo a series of “ No, thank yous.” She has cut out soup, potatoes, sweets, and all but a little white meat. Savory odors ascending from the kitchen may assail us when we return from eighteen holes of golf, making me rejoice to feel healthy hunger, but some inner strength seems to be given Elsa, and she resists all gastronomic temptations.

As a reward sbo looks as though eke had been poured into her little garcon suits. Then she is shingled. Elsa _ had glorious hair, soft, wavy, and shining like flat gold leaf. But its very luxuriance was its death; “You cannot have a lot of hair and be smart,” said Elsa. So snip, snip went the hairdresser’s scissors, and Elsa came home one evening carrying her beautiful hair done up in a pathetic little parcel, feeling acutelv a draught at the back of her neck, but otherwise triumphant. And triumphant she has remained. Notliing can ruffle that complete assurance and self-satisfaction. She looks charming, I, admit; like a sleek hipless boy, with her scanty little skirt and tiny felt hat. And her attitude towards other women who are neither slim nor sldngled is one of tolerance, by turns amused, pitying, and contemptuous. WILL SHINGLING LAST?

You kno v, the Elsas are exerting an enormous influence upon their sisters at the moment. Their conversation may be limited to details about permanent waves “setting."’ and the latest ideas in shingle night caps. But their ideas as to what is beauty have come to bo accepted. They are set up as a pattern emulated, envied. Old-fashion women crowd the hairdressing salons and submit to being sheared like so many sheep. And bow dreadfully ruthless these barbers are. At one establishment the proprietor told me that he and his assistants cut off on an average forty to sixty heads of hair per day, had been doing that for months past, and were booked up to go on doing it. Will the vogue last? That is what a London reader asks. She dreadfully wants to be shingled, but her husband will not bear of it. “ You cut off your hair and I will shay* my head and grow a beard ” is his threat.

“ Hut I feel so dowdy, for all ray sisters and their friends are in the inshion and look so smart,” sho grumbles. “ But if I even try to go on short commons so as to got thin, my husband pets so angry. Ho likes mo to look comfortable. And when it comes to shingling, he sees absolutely rod. Ho seems to regard my hair as bis property, which I have no right to touch. Is this fair? Also, please say if you think this fashion will remain. If i thought it would, I would get it done, whatever ho said.” On the surface this seems rather a trivial letter, which could have been answered, as are hundreds of other letters from readers, by post, without making any comment upon them here. This question of cutting off the hair in defiance to a husband’s wishes is troubling quite a few women at the moment. HAIR AND TENDERNESS. And I must confess to sympathy with the male point of view. Women may not realise it ... _ but long, beautiful hair has a certain thrilling quality. It can arouse the most tender feelings, the most passionate emotions. When a man sees the wife he loves with her hair unbound, falling in lovely waves over her shoulders, he knows he sees her as no one else is privileged to do, and it gives him a fierce sweet joy. But a shaved neck leaves him cold.

Two nights ago I was visiting a young couple, and the girl laughingly nduced the little bundle of curls sho had out off that day. I saw the husband bite his lip and turn away. He told me afterwards that he could not bear to 100k —for it was with those sweet black curls he had first fallen in love when his wife was but a shy schoolgirl. . Mr correspondent’s husband is probably sentimental about his wife’s hair, and instead of being peeved she should take it as the highest compliment that he prefers her just as she is. I shall not presume to advise her either way, except to say that there is no necessity to be dowdy, eveu if her hair is not shorn . . . and that a wise wife, though she may not defer too much, tries to study her husband’s wishes. As to the second question: Yes, I think the vogue will last. For there is more hero than meets the eye._ Not merely a passing whim of fashion is this feeling for short hair, but a sign of the times, an expression of women’s need for greater freedom, fewer hampering restrictions. MUCH IMPROVED WOMEN.

Just think how far we have progressed this past forty years I Our mothers wore whalebone bodices, heavy starched petticoats, huge sleeves. These things have passed. Year by year dress becomes more sensible, more healthy. The tight corset has gone; the high collar, the pinched shoes, the long skirt; and they will never return. And women who have known the comfort and convenience of short hair declare that thev will never let it grow again. iEsthotically we may be all wrong, but curiously enough most of the girls and women who are shingled are enormously improved. A few years ago it was then the thing to be artistically untidy, but stray ends and loose locks now spoilthe appearance of the most beautiful. _ i One thing is certain; the hunt for beauty is now more intense than ever. Never was there a time when more care and attention was given to the appearance; never was there a time when more money was spent on beauty creams, skin foods, hair treatments. And so long as the mind is not neglected, and the quest remains a quest and not an obsession, this is all to the good.,