So, what made the poodle skirt so popular? The American 1950’s woman wanted fashions that were unique and feminine. The poodle skirt was born! With it’s full circle skirt it was perfect for showing off dance moves as you spun around. The poodle skirt provided the perfect style for the teenage girl. It became a way for teenagers to create a fashion of their own.

Felt was generally used for the skirts because it was inexpensive and quick and easy to sew. French poodles in various colors were appliqued to the skirts. Poodles were not the only items used on these skirts, they are just the best remembered. Various appliques from silvery telephones to black records surrounded by the words “See ya later, alligator” adorned these felt skirts.

Along with poodle skirts and ponytails of the 50’s were crinoline petticoats, chiffon scarves and cats eye glasses. The crinoline petticoats made from netting stiffly starched to provide the lift needed to flare out those poodle skirts. The petticoats, available in variety of colors and styles were a must under the felt poodle skirts to add femininity.

Saddle shoes, the black and white oxford that required frequent polishing, were the popular shoes for teenage girls. These popular black and white shoes were worn with white cotton socks.

The malt shops and sock hops of the 50’s were full of teenage girls in poodle skirts, crinoline petticoats, cats eye glasses and saddle shoes. They were definitely the cat’s meow!

Attend a 50’s theme party today and you will see many poodle skirts. It’s what everyone remembers the most about the 1950’s. Poodle skirts will be around as long as people recreate an era that has been impossible to forget. Back to the future with fun, fads & fashions of the fabulous fifties!

So, what made the poodle skirt so popular? The American 1950’s woman wanted fashions that were unique and feminine. The poodle skirt was born! With it’s full circle skirt it was perfect for showing off dance moves as you spun around. The poodle skirt provided the perfect style for the teenage girl. It became a way for teenagers to create a fashion of their own.

Felt was generally used for the skirts because it was inexpensive and quick and easy to sew. French poodles in various colors were appliqued to the skirts. Poodles were not the only items used on these skirts, they are just the best remembered. Various appliques from silvery telephones to black records surrounded by the words “See ya later, alligator” adorned these felt skirts.

Along with poodle skirts and ponytails of the 50’s were crinoline petticoats, chiffon scarves and cats eye glasses. The crinoline petticoats made from netting stiffly starched to provide the lift needed to flare out those poodle skirts. The petticoats, available in variety of colors and styles were a must under the felt poodle skirts to add femininity.

Saddle shoes, the black and white oxford that required frequent polishing, were the popular shoes for teenage girls. These popular black and white shoes were worn with white cotton socks.

The malt shops and sock hops of the 50’s were full of teenage girls in poodle skirts, crinoline petticoats, cats eye glasses and saddle shoes. They were definitely the cat’s meow!

Attend a 50’s theme party today and you will see many poodle skirts. It’s what everyone remembers the most about the 1950’s. Poodle skirts will be around as long as people recreate an era that has been impossible to forget. Back to the future with fun, fads & fashions of the fabulous fifties!

I vår strävan att bjuda kunderna på det där lilla extra så har vi lördagen 21:a november två dj’s som förgyller din shopping/fika/klippning med ljuva tongångar. Hela dagen, från 12 till 16!

Så här såg det ut för ganska precis ett år sedan, när Söderort jazz lovers sist spelade plattor hos oss. Notera de viftande armarna, kunderna var i extas!

Have you heard of “Fancy Nancy?”  Apparently, she’s a well-known character in a series of children’s books written by a woman named Jane O’Connor.  At first I was intrigued because I have a granddaughter, who while not yet old enough to appreciate the book series, I’m sure will be a “Fancy Nancy” once she’s old enough to dress herself.  I started reading an article about the author.  Turns out she’s 61 and the inspiration for her Leading Lady in her books is herself as a child.  She said “Six-year-old me definitely had a glittery side that the grown-up me had somehow lost.”

I got to thinking about the women I know who, like Ms. O’Connor, grew up in the 50s and 60s and came of age during the 70s.  We worked hard, some of us raised families, we competed with the men and along the way we “lost our glittery side.”  The thing is, it wasn’t just us.  Our entire culture has lost its glitter.  We are entranced by it among the Hollywood starlets who seem to come along in herds and period dramas like Mad Men.

But, when you think of everyday Americans, admit it, you see women in unisex oversized T-shirts, baggy shorts, crew socks and hefty sneakers every single day!

I bring this up because I know that many of us would love to be able to wear that chic new black pencil skirt and the sequined fitted T.  The question lingers though, where on earth would I wear it?  Our super casual American lifestyle has brought us comfortable clothes, but at what aesthetic cost?  Why does our lifestyle encourage casual and frumpy over  beautiful and sanguine, especially once we’ve reach 50?  I encourage you, whether you live in a small town in South Dakota or a large metropolis, do all you can to reinstate your “glitter.” A trip to the grocery store or a trip to Europe – it’s all the same, add beauty, womanliness, and grace in every activity – get dressed for the day with purpose. Who’d like to join my movement?

I can hear the uproar now:  “But I love being comfortable and not having to worry about how I look every time I leave the house.”  Think about the message you’re giving yourself, not to mention those you come in contact with — “No one really cares what I look like, I’m just an old lady. There’s no need for me to look fabulous anymore, I think I’ll just become invisible.”  You may not consciously think or say this, but you are subconsciously creating your own irrelevance. Fight back.

Today is the day you put on a little more lipstick and release your inner “Fancy Nancy.”

~Christine, TCW Style Expert and Glittery Goddess

Whistle Bait

1950s-set lesbian erotic romance from loveyoudivine author M. King

Blurb: When Betty’s drive-in movie date goes sour, help comes from an unexpected source. But, in the stifling Midwest of the 1950s, young ladies are not supposed to ditch their dates for other girls….

Betty Shaw’s best friend, Lois, is the type of girl Betty’s always envied—not that she wants to admit it. By turns flirtatious, controlling, and downright manipulative, when Lois drags her to a double date at the movies, Betty can’t say no, and she ends up in a whole world of humiliation. Yet, just as she thinks the night can’t get much worse, Betty meets Paula, and everything starts to change.

Excerpt:

Her shoes sank into the boggy ground, so much softer now than it had been when they arrived, and she knew Ricky must be getting out of his side, too, but she couldn’t see anything except the rain and the black-and-white ghosts of the movie flashing back off row after row of parked, wet cars. For a moment, Betty thought to go to where Hank’s Buick was parked and hammer on the window for Lois, but—like almost every other couple here tonight—she knew Lois probably wouldn’t even hear her, and besides, right now the thought couldn’t cut through Betty’s gut-deep fury. This was all Lois’ fault anyway, and she would never, ever forgive her.

Ricky was out of the car now, making his way toward her, his hand gliding along the hood as he used it to keep his balance. The rain slicked his skin, the silvered light of the screen flickering over him.
“Betty! Come here…don’t be stupid!”

A defiant, ragged noise—not quite a scream, not quite a cuss—broke from her mouth, and she ducked back between the rows of cars, running as fast as she could with the mud and puddles splashing up her legs, pulling her back down with every movement. Betty yelped at the feel of her garter belt snapping, one of the clasps giving way under the strain. She pushed on, past the oblivious shadows in the faceless cars, and she was vaguely aware of the blurred flash of neon that must have been the concessions stand, and that must mean she was close to the way out. Betty had no idea what she’d do or where she’d go once she did get out, but that didn’t seem to matter, because she was just running and running, and she barely noticed the figure she collided with until it was almost too late.

She hit at speed, and the other person cried out, and then before she knew what had happened, Betty had hit the ground, her ankle turning out awkwardly and her hand grazing painfully on a sharp stone. The shock of the impact winded her for a minute, and she sat there, dumb and blind, shallow breaths coming fast, high in her chest.

“Are you all right? Hello? Can you hear me?”

She looked up, blinking into the rain. Somewhere, a low rumble of thunder rolled, the yellow underbelly of steel-gray clouds painting the evening sky. A faintly familiar face frowned down at her in concern, and then the girl from the concessions stand was kneeling at Betty’s side. One warm, gentle hand came to smooth back the escaped tendrils of her hair, and Betty felt all the makeup Lois had so lovingly applied sliding in the rain. It stung her eyes, but all she could see was Paula, her mouth moving and odd, disjointed words coming out.

“Come on. You come with me. I’ll get you cleaned up. Can you stand? Oh, that’s right…there you go. It’s not so bad. Come along, honey, this way.”

Betty stood, wincing at the flare of pain in her ankle, wiping her palm on her borrowed dress before she realized she’d left a smear of blood behind. A torn garbage bag—Paula must have been carrying it when Betty cannoned into her—had disgorged its load of crumpled paper cups, soiled napkins and old food onto the muddy ground, and Betty thought for a moment she ought to stop and try to help tidy up.

Paula tugged at her hand. “Don’t be silly. Leave that. Come on…that’s right, you lean on me. We’ll take a look at that ankle, too.”

Obediently, Betty limped where Paula led her, around the back of the concessions stand. She pulled back the already dislodged chain link and ushered Betty through, into the alley that lay beyond.
“Go on, it’s all right.”

Betty ducked nervously beneath the wire and glanced around. Though a little glad she hadn’t had to walk past all the cars, she had no idea where this dank, dim place opened out to, nor how she was supposed to get back to the bus stop. Just follow the road, she guessed, though the thought of trying to walk anywhere right now made Betty feel sick.

A set of steps led up to a brick wall—the back of the diner they’d passed on the way in—and an old wooden door. Confused, Betty just stood there, hugging her arms to her cold, wet dress, her whole being useless and stupid.

Paula took a key from her pocket and unlocked the door. She glanced at Betty and smiled. The rain had flattened that glossy high ponytail considerably, damp rat-tails framing her face.

“It’s okay, I’m not kidnapping you. This is the diner I work at during the week…you might have seen it on your way in. I’m always telling Mr. Menkin he could make more money staying open on weekends, but he’s a stickler for Shabbat. Come on.”

Available direct from loveyoudivine

Also from AllRomanceEbooks.com

Fictionwise

Kindle

MyBookstoreandMore

1RomanceEbooks.com

Check out M. King’s loveyoudivine author shelf

About the author:

M. King lives and works in a damp, verdant corner of South West England, where she may usually be found behind a keyboard and a vat of coffee. Under various pseudonyms, she writes a wide array of vibrant, compelling fiction, ranging from hot erotica to mainstream and literary fiction, frequently with a strong GLBT focus.

You can find more about M. King and all the people she is at www.flippedfrogcollective.com – where authors, and worlds, collide.

More M. King links:

Website

Blog (hosts rambles and author-to-author interviews)

Twitter

Facebook

Whistle Bait is a 1950s-set lesbian erotic romance from my fellow loveyoudivine author M. King. I can highly recommend it.

Blurb: When Betty’s drive-in movie date goes sour, help comes from an unexpected source. But, in the stifling Midwest of the 1950s, young ladies are not supposed to ditch their dates for other girls….

Betty Shaw’s best friend, Lois, is the type of girl Betty’s always envied—not that she wants to admit it. By turns flirtatious, controlling, and downright manipulative, when Lois drags her to a double date at the movies, Betty can’t say no, and she ends up in a whole world of humiliation. Yet, just as she thinks the night can’t get much worse, Betty meets Paula, and everything starts to change.

Excerpt:
Her shoes sank into the boggy ground, so much softer now than it had been when they arrived, and she knew Ricky must be getting out of his side, too, but she couldn’t see anything except the rain and the black-and-white ghosts of the movie flashing back off row after row of parked, wet cars. For a moment, Betty thought to go to where Hank’s Buick was parked and hammer on the window for Lois, but—like almost every other couple here tonight—she knew Lois probably wouldn’t even hear her, and besides, right now the thought couldn’t cut through Betty’s gut-deep fury. This was all Lois’ fault anyway, and she would never, ever forgive her.

Ricky was out of the car now, making his way toward her, his hand gliding along the hood as he used it to keep his balance. The rain slicked his skin, the silvered light of the screen flickering over him.

“Betty! Come here…don’t be stupid!”

A defiant, ragged noise—not quite a scream, not quite a cuss—broke from her mouth, and she ducked back between the rows of cars, running as fast as she could with the mud and puddles splashing up her legs, pulling her back down with every movement. Betty yelped at the feel of her garter belt snapping, one of the clasps giving way under the strain. She pushed on, past the oblivious shadows in the faceless cars, and she was vaguely aware of the blurred flash of neon that must have been the concessions stand, and that must mean she was close to the way out. Betty had no idea what she’d do or where she’d go once she did get out, but that didn’t seem to matter, because she was just running and running, and she barely noticed the figure she collided with until it was almost too late.

She hit at speed, and the other person cried out, and then before she knew what had happened, Betty had hit the ground, her ankle turning out awkwardly and her hand grazing painfully on a sharp stone. The shock of the impact winded her for a minute, and she sat there, dumb and blind, shallow breaths coming fast, high in her chest.

“Are you all right? Hello? Can you hear me?”

She looked up, blinking into the rain. Somewhere, a low rumble of thunder rolled, the yellow underbelly of steel-gray clouds painting the evening sky. A faintly familiar face frowned down at her in concern, and then the girl from the concessions stand was kneeling at Betty’s side. One warm, gentle hand came to smooth back the escaped tendrils of her hair, and Betty felt all the makeup Lois had so lovingly applied sliding in the rain. It stung her eyes, but all she could see was Paula, her mouth moving and odd, disjointed words coming out.

“Come on. You come with me. I’ll get you cleaned up. Can you stand? Oh, that’s right…there you go. It’s not so bad. Come along, honey, this way.”

Betty stood, wincing at the flare of pain in her ankle, wiping her palm on her borrowed dress before she realized she’d left a smear of blood behind. A torn garbage bag—Paula must have been carrying it when Betty cannoned into her—had disgorged its load of crumpled paper cups, soiled napkins and old food onto the muddy ground, and Betty thought for a moment she ought to stop and try to help tidy up.

Paula tugged at her hand. “Don’t be silly. Leave that. Come on…that’s right, you lean on me. We’ll take a look at that ankle, too.”

Obediently, Betty limped where Paula led her, around the back of the concessions stand. She pulled back the already dislodged chain link and ushered Betty through, into the alley that lay beyond.

“Go on, it’s all right.”

Betty ducked nervously beneath the wire and glanced around. Though a little glad she hadn’t had to walk past all the cars, she had no idea where this dank, dim place opened out to, nor how she was supposed to get back to the bus stop. Just follow the road, she guessed, though the thought of trying to walk anywhere right now made Betty feel sick.

A set of steps led up to a brick wall—the back of the diner they’d passed on the way in—and an old wooden door. Confused, Betty just stood there, hugging her arms to her cold, wet dress, her whole being useless and stupid.

Paula took a key from her pocket and unlocked the door. She glanced at Betty and smiled. The rain had flattened that glossy high ponytail considerably, damp rat-tails framing her face.

“It’s okay, I’m not kidnapping you. This is the diner I work at during the week…you might have seen it on your way in. I’m always telling Mr. Menkin he could make more money staying open on weekends, but he’s a stickler for Shabbat. Come on.”

Available direct from loveyoudivine: http://www.loveyoudivine.com/index.php?main_page=document_product_info&cPath=6_56&products_id=558&zenid=d9dc82bb717f7ebd8385931d6f78c876

Also from AllRomanceEbooks.com: http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-whistlebait-82917-182.html

 Fictionwise: http://www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/b95403/?si=0

Kindle:  http://www.amazon.com/Whistle-Bait/dp/B002NGO42Y/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=digital-text&qid=1257510887&sr=1-1

 MyBookstoreandMore: http://mybookstoreandmore.com/shop/product.da/whistle-bait

 1RomanceEbooks.com: http://1romanceebooks.com/womanlove/whistle-bait/prod_638.html

 Check out M. King’s loveyoudivine author shelf: http://www.loveyoudivine.com/index.php?main_page=index&cPath=6_56

About the author:

M. King lives and works in a damp, verdant corner of South West England, where she may usually be found behind a keyboard and a vat of coffee. Under various pseudonyms, she writes a wide array of vibrant, compelling fiction, ranging from hot erotica to mainstream and literary fiction, frequently with a strong GLBT focus.

You can find more about M. King and all the people she is at www.flippedfrogcollective.com – where authors, and worlds, collide.

 More M. King links:

 Website: www.flippedfrogcollective.com

 Blog: http://lavengra.wordpress.com (hosts rambles and author-to-author interviews)

 Twitter: www.twitter.com/mkingauthor

 Facebook: www.facebook.com/originalcinnamon

Hey les geeks, si vous êtes dingue des sketchbooks comme nous et si vous aimez le “tikabilly style” (mélange de Tiki et Rockabilly) à la SHAG. Si vous êtes fan de Jim Flora, vous allez adorer le travail de Derek Yaniger.

SHAG

Jim Flora

Un pur délire à la jazzybeat 50’s et 60’s.

Derek Yaniger

Il ne vous reste plus qu’à vous armer d’un cocktail hawaïen de vos wayfarer et d’un bon cd (vinyle pour les puristes) et
cliquer au plus vite sur le lien qui suit afin de vous plonger dans un univers retro cool haut en couleurs. Un travail qui nous montre que cette culture est loin d’être dépassée ou obsolète, mais qui, bien au contraire reste encore bien vivante.

Et pour reprendre une expression chère à Yaniger  ”stay cool ghouls”.

Jicé