I don’t know if it’s my inner artist truly awakening or if it’s the Charleston or what exactly prompted this change but I’m starry-eyed over the roaring 20’s. I never allowed my fascination with the past to extend beyond the 30’s and creep up any further than 1949. That’s a shame.
I have another Woody Allen movie to thank. I’ve been watching Midnight in Paris over and over today because I just can’t get over the brilliance of the story. I loved The Great Gatsby but I somehow made it through high school without crossing paths with Hemmingway or Gertrude Stein or any of the other brilliant authors of that era.
What would it have been like to drink and smoke and discuss literature, beauty and art with a collection of some of the most intelligent, artistic people of the 20th century? And to be in the middle of that collection of minds?
I’m now lusting over the long string of pearls, the silk, satin and lace of the ultra-feminine clothing and low-waisted dresses and elegant, high-waisted palazzo pants.
There’s something wonderful about being able to Charleston to the sounds of a gramophone or dance to Cole Porter or sitting the next dance out to sip on a flute of champagne and smoke a cigarette in an elegant holder. I’m infatuated with feathers, rhinestones and satin high heels.