Kathleen Marple Kalb's Blog, page 17

MORE THAN A PRETTY...DRESS

A lovely woman in a thin, fluffy white dress with a big straw hat.
It’s a signature image of turn of the 20th century romance…but it’s also an extremely practical hot-weather outfit in the time before reliable air conditioning.
Just as women now dig out their “AC sweaters” and tank tops when the temperature spikes, so did ladies get their lingerie dresses ready. A women’s magazine of the time reminds readers to get to work on the embroidery early, because the time to make the dress, and to wear it, is short.
The name “lingerie dress,” isn’t a reference to boudoir wear, but to the thinness and sheerness of the fabric. Basically, the sheerer the better. White cotton lawn is the one most of us imagine for these dresses – a thin, super-soft fabric, still tightly woven enough to stand up to both embroidery and frequent washing.
Surprisingly, though, many lingerie dresses were made of silk, or linen, and often in pastel colors. Brights and darks, of course, were out because they defeated the purpose. But silk and linen both have the same, or possibly better, breathability as cotton.
Women called them lingerie dresses, and so do we, but they were frequently two pieces, a bodice and a skirt. Many Victorian and Edwardian dresses were, especially as you went further down the social scale. It’s far easier for a woman without a ladies’ maid to button a blouse and fasten a skirt, than to fuss with a long placket of buttons.
The two-piece dress, and especially a very sheer lingerie dress, had other advantages, too. They were easier to wash or maintain, the pieces could be mixed and matched, and women could achieve all kinds of different looks depending on what they wore under the dresses.
Most of the time, what women wore under them was pretty simple: more layers of cotton lawn or cambric. A lingerie dress was the thinnest piece of outer clothing you could get away with, and that was undoubtedly an upgrade over a heavy wool suit. But it wasn’t an escape from appropriate attire.
Even on the hottest day, a decent woman would be wearing several layers. By 1900, many women started with “combinations,” a thin knit undergarment that looks a lot like a unitard, but some still preferred the older chemise and pantalets.
Fun fact: pantalets were usually open in the middle – not for any nefarious purpose but because of the sheer difficulty of managing all of that linen in the restroom!
Then came the corset (a post of its own!) followed by at least a corset cover on top. Now we start with petticoats, bunches of them. Matrons in several 19th century novels observed that a proper lady must have at least three, one of them flannel…but that was probably the low end. In the summer, too, none would have been flannel; whether cotton or wool, it was just too thick.
So our lady was pretty properly covered by the time she reached for that dress. Probably the only part of her anatomy that didn’t have at least a layer or two over it was her arms – and these dresses always covered them. Sleeveless was for evening.
Now, as long as her corset wasn’t too tight, she’s as comfortable as she can be. With her hat and long sleeves, she’s protected too. Before modern sunscreen, the big hats and long sleeves provided at least a little shade – and the required parasol added more.
All of which added up to a lovely and graceful getup…and the most comfort and protection a lady could decently manage. Not bad for a few yards of lawn!
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A PLEASING SCENT

Perfume, like many classic cosmetics, has been around pretty much forever. Somewhere back in the mists of time a cave-person rubbed some flowers or leaves on themselves and discovered that they liked it…and that it had a good effect on other cave people, too.
By Ancient Egypt, perfume-making had become an elaborate art, with bottles of unguents on every dressing table. You’ve probably seen the tomb paintings of people eating dinner with cones of solid perfume melting on their heads. Honestly, it seems pretty icky, even if you allow that the stuff was oozing into a wig.
Over the following centuries, perfume settled into most of the forms we still see today: heavy essential oils extracted from botanicals, lighter floral or herbal waters, and dried flowers used in sachets or potpourri. Until the invention of modern deodorants (a whole different post!) much of the goal was simply to overpower unpleasant odors, whether on the wearer or their surroundings.
Beyond the flowers, herbs, and spices, some more exotic ingredients crept into the perfumers’ kit, including animal musks and spermaceti, a secretion of sperm whales that washed up onshore. Contemporary accounts claim it was a wonderful scent…which makes me wonder about what these folks smelled every day!
Well into the 19th century, most scent was made at home. Every decent-sized household had a still room for making rose and lavender water, and other concoctions for cosmetic, or medicinal purposes. Ladies – and many gentlemen – often considered a sprinkle of floral water quite enough.
Perfumers and apothecaries, though, were starting to come up with more elaborate blends. Various herbal waters had been available for centuries – the women at the Tudor Courts liked Hungary Water, a lemon and rosemary concoction that’s rather medicinal to the modern nose. And the famous Caswell-Massey store in New York had a blend that was favored by George Washington – and is still sold today for people who want to smell like the Father of Our Country.
Cologne water, based on bitter-orange blossoms, was the favorite of Early Victorian women – and men, too.
Probably the biggest “water” was Florida Water, an orange-based preparation sold by a bunch of different makers, each with slightly different formulas. By the mid- to late-19th century, it was everywhere, and versions of it are still around today. It was even on the very short list of acceptable gifts for a gentleman caller to give a young lady.
Speaking of ladies and gentlemen, women and men did not differentiate much between perfume until the 19th century, when the heady florals like violet and rose became strongly associated with females. But there were still a lot of scents that crossed the spectrum – particularly the combination of bergamot and lemon oil, a citrusy herbal blend that historians say was pretty much everywhere.
Like many other products that began as bespoke luxuries for the aristocracy, by the late 19th century, perfume was well within the reach of anyone who was even reasonably comfortable. Whether made by an elegant perfume house, an apothecary, or one of the new cosmetic companies, a pretty bottle of a pleasing scent became an affordable treat – and one we still enjoy today.

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MAKE ME BLUSH

As hard as it is to imagine for those of us who flush naturally (and embarrassingly!) rouge or blush was one of the original cosmetics.
No one’s sure exactly when or where it started, so, just like lipstick, it probably began with a cavewoman and some berries. The ancient Egyptians and Greeks certainly had sophisticated preparations on their vanity tables, usually either plant-based, with things like berries and alkanet root, or minerals like iron oxide. Some of those minerals still show up in our modern makeup.
While the whole “fair maiden” obsession of the medieval period led to more subtle efforts, a delicate flush was still a sign of good health and marriageability, so women took whatever help they could find. By the Renaissance, thanks to Elizabeth I, makeup was back to cheerful artifice, and a lady wasn’t fully dressed for court without a generous coating of white lead foundation and two little circles of vermilion red on her cheeks.
Things got a bit less rigid from there, but rouge never left the cosmetic kit until the Victorian Era, when the whole box went under the bed because nice ladies didn’t need artificial enhancements. Right, they didn’t.
Makeup just went underground. Once you got sick of pinching your cheeks and biting your lips, it made a whole lot of sense to keep a pot of some “medicinal” or “protective” salve on the vanity. If it happened to be colored with rose petals, or the newly fashionable carmine (derived from bug shells, and still in use!) so much the better.
That little pot of rouge, with few variations, did very nicely for lip and cheek color right into the late 19th century. It was only in the 1910s that lipstick really became a thing, and women began using two separate products.
Blush, whether cream or powder, was part of the makeup kit for Hollywood stars and stage actresses first, but eventually, the idea of a different color on the cheeks and lips became standard. (Until the multi-use sticks brought it back, at least!)
Just like the trends in lipstick, blush went through trends, too.
In the 1970s, women tried for a natural glow with peachy or pink blush…or went wild with disco shimmer at night. By the 1980s, contouring was in, sometimes combined – or confused – with blush, so that women looked like real-life versions of those stark artsy pictures on new-wave albums.
Rosy cheeks weren’t part of the grunge look of the 1990s, and so far, our new century has been all about highlighter and contouring. While a certain Ms. Kardashian may like to take credit for the contouring craze, it’s been a part of stage makeup for centuries, and standard in Hollywood since Max Factor.
Now, some makeup bloggers are starting to suggest that blush may be coming back, as people unmask and the whole face returns to view.
And speaking of those multi-sticks, which have become a favorite among busy women. It’s really just a return to one of the oldest forms of makeup around: back in ancient times, women would grab a beet or alkanet root, and rub it on their lips or cheeks. Instant glow…though I don’t think I’m going out into the garden to try it!


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POWDER DOWN

Face powder doesn’t seem like much – in fact, modern makeup mavens barely bother with it – but there’s an awful lot going in that little compact.
Starting with the color. In the beginning, there was flour, wheat or rice. Powdered minerals of varying description, some of them poisonous. And it was all white. You don’t need a course in racial stereotyping to know why.
Let’s just say that until Coco Chanel made suntanning fashionable in the 20s, the prevailing thought was “the paler the better.” Hogwash, of course, but that’s how people thought.
Pale skin was the big deal – some women even took tiny doses of arsenic in hopes of cultivating a fashionable pallor – but it wasn’t the only part of the equation. Women were also trying for a smooth and silky complexion.
Any imperfections – whether birthmarks, freckles, or just a standard zit – were a major problem when perfect skin was considered an essential sign of good health, and sometimes good character. No wonder women ran around putting lemon juice on their freckles and scrubbing with all sorts of strong chemicals or abrasives!
This also goes a long way toward explaining the late 17th fondness for patches. It started out as little black-silk fake beauty marks and took off from there. While it lasted, it was a great way to hide something – or even several somethings.
By the Victorian Era, women were cultivating a much more natural look…which is why face powder was such a big deal. Women quickly learned that a thin coating of powder can blur a multitude of issues…and probably that a thick coating makes matters worse.
It was (usually) a lot safer than the weird white minerals of the Renaissance, too: rice powder was extremely popular and cornstarch was around. By the late 19th century, it was also starting to come in colors, though nothing like the rainbows we welcome now.
White was still the default color, but light pink was coming in, with the idea of giving a fetching, maidenly glow. It probably didn’t work out that way, as anyone who’s ever mismatched their shade can tell you – but it was a try.
Foundation makeup as we know it didn’t really exist; actresses wore greasepaint, but most women were stuck with powder. Which has a big drawback: it doesn’t last. The natural moisture or oil in the skin absorbs the powder and whatever you were trying to blur is right back out there.
So ladies needed to touch up.
Enter the compact.
For a long time, wearing and maintaining makeup wasn’t something a “nice woman” would admit to. But eventually, nice women decided that looking good was more important than moralizing and started bringing their cosmetics along. At the turn of the century, what was called a necessaire or a dance compact was a major part of a lady’s evening gear. Usually metal, often beautifully decorated, it held pressed squares of powder and rouge, a mirror, and sometimes a few other little goodies.
Well into the 20th century, a compact was an essential accessory for any well-dressed lady. And often, a perfect gift for one. My grandmother – and I bet many of yours – had a couple of lovely pieces. They’re still useful as a mirror…and a reminder of a different time.

WHAT BIG EYES...

The Ancient Egyptians did eye makeup so well they ruined it for everyone else for the next several thousand years.
A bit of an exaggeration, but not much.
From Cleopatra’s time until Theda Bara’s, most of the Western world considered major eyeliner an exotic and sexy outlier. Even in times when heavy makeup was the norm, visible eyeliner wasn’t part of the kit.
Heavy liner was so clearly identified with the ancients, and later, with the Middle Eastern cultures along the trade routes, that it just never made it into daily makeup.
That doesn’t mean women didn’t enhance their eyes.
While they didn’t have pots of ground lapis-lazuli or malachite on their vanities, ladies definitely had subtler – if not necessarily safe – means. Soot was always popular, whether from a burning twig, or later, inside a lamp. Even later, women would burn down a match, creating a primitive liner pencil.
All always carefully and subtly smudged, especially in the Victorian Era, where the most innocent pink lip-salve might mark one as no lady in some circles. Smudgy eyes weren’t fashionable anyhow, and usually not worth the risk.
Dark lashes, however, were worth a good deal of effort. Think of all those lovely melodramatic scenes where heroine gazes up at the hero through her fringe.
Soot came into play again there, along with various salves and brushes to make the lashes stand out. No curlers, though. While hair curlers and irons had been around for centuries, the eyelash curler wasn’t invented until 1931…not that I don’t suspect an enterprising lady might have tried something very careful with a heated brush handle long before that.
Even with the influence of stage greasepaint, burned matchsticks and a little pomade on the lashes were about as far as eye makeup went until the early 20th century…when the Vamp arrived.
The Vamp, the evil sexy woman who lures men to their (exceedingly pleasurable) doom, was a huge silent movie favorite. And she rocked that eyeliner. Sometimes almost raccoon-like circles around her dangerous eyes. Theda Bara, the stage name of one Theodosia Goodman, set the trend playing exotic roles like Cleopatra, and maybe that’s where she got the idea for the liner. Soon, though, heavy liner was showing up in modern movies – and the street – as a sign of wicked sexiness.
Women quickly realized that there was something between Theda Bara’s smudges and nothing at all…and subtle eye makeup became an accepted part of many looks until another Cleopatra drew the heavy lines in the 1960s. Of course, Elizabeth Taylor.
Liner colors would change – and styles would go from the architectural New Wave looks of the 1980s to grunge smudges in the late 90s -- but liner has never really gone away since. And I bet I’m not the only one who has a few really crazy-bright crayons from the height of the mask mandates.
Then, of course, there’s guy-liner. Men wore it loud and proud in Ancient Egypt, but the fellas didn’t put much effort into eye makeup again until the 1980s rock stars. Even now, visible eyeliner on a man is a statement. Honestly, probably a statement most guys who aren’t legendary frontmen can’t pull off – but it’s not my call!

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PICK YOUR SHADE

Whether you associate it with Grace Kelly, Taylor Swift or your stylish aunt, simple bright-red lipstick has been a classic since at least Ancient Egypt. It’s a statement look and always has been: I’m here. I’m a woman. And I’m not apologizing for that.
Lip color, whether bright or neutral, has always been a way for women to make a statement.
It’s a choice.
Before we went down to the drugstore to buy our lippies, women made lip salves at home, and it was up to them (or their servants) to decide whether to add color – and how much. Often, that was determined by the fashions of the time.
Women (and plenty of men!) have always tried to enhance their appearance, but what they were emphasizing, and how, depended on the time. Really bright lips were sometimes associated with courtesans or other “bad women,” and respectable wives would redden their mouths without going too far.
Not always, though. At the court of Elizabeth I, flaming vermilion-red lip color was practically a requirement. Queen Gloriana never went out without a full face of artifice, and her ladies followed suit.
Red lips usually tracked with makeup trends: if the heavy, stylized look was in, bright rouge was a part of it.
The 19th century, though, was a bit of a makeup desert. It started with the light, natural look of the Regency, a definite reaction to the stiff, powdered 18th century style…and then the Victorians got involved. They were very much from the “good women don’t wear makeup” school, and it wasn’t until the nice ladies realized how much fun actresses were having with greasepaint that things changed.
Lipstick (as it became in the 1910s – see last week’s post!) got redder and more noticeable as the new 20th century continued. By the 1920s, it was the redder the better if you were a flapper, and a good bright shade even if you weren’t. Cosmetic companies made some other shades, like coral or orange, but lipstick stayed primarily red for decades.
The classic red lip really evolved over the middle of the 20th century. By the 1960s, it was associated with both the elegance of Grace Kelly – and the sexiness of Marilyn Monroe. Probably meeting somewhere in the middle around Elizabeth Taylor.
And then came the 1960s.
For the first – but not the last – time, people flirted with all kinds of exotic shades, from white to green to blinding purple. You can see the whole natural brownish 1970s lipstick as a reaction to that, and I won’t argue.
A lot of millennials may have started their lipstick career with black – or near-black – lipstick…or the second run through the wild brights that followed around Y2K. And then, no surprise, we hung up our velour sweatsuits and went back to the classics.
There’s no doubt that lip colors follow the fashion cycle. And a lot of us who’d never bother re-doing our wardrobes every year will happily buy the new lip color of the moment, just for a fun little change.
So what next? My theory: as we take off our masks, we’re going to go nuts for the crazy colors again. I know I’m drawn to them…so don’t be surprised if you see me in bright blue one of these days!

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BLAME IT ON BERNHARDT

Women have been looking for ways to redden their lips since the first cave woman realized her berry snack had a side benefit. Ancient ladies from Greece to Egypt always had a pot of some kind of lip-salve, and it often had a red coloring, whether from fruit, flowers – or even crushed minerals.
The recipes didn’t really change much over the next couple of millennia. It was usually a heavy oil or tallow preparation – or maybe beeswax and some kind of flower water, but the idea remained the same: a schmear of something to soften the lips and add a bit of color.
During the Renaissance, it was more than a bit of color. With the flamboyant makeup styles of the time (white-lead and egg-white foundation – no kidding!) a vermilion lip was part of the look. And sometimes it really WAS a vermilion lip – colored with the same dangerous mercury-sulfide used in paint!
Heavy makeup was definitely out by the nineteenth century, first thanks to the light and natural styles after the French Revolution, and then tangled up with the Victorians’ ideas of artless maidenly purity. By the late 19th century, a “good woman” would definitely have a pot of tinted lip salve on her vanity…but it would be a light tint, and she’d never put it on in public.
Well, until Sarah Bernhardt, anyhow.
The great actress, like all performers, wore greasepaint onstage. But she liked the look of a red lip and started wearing it offstage. Since she wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet, she soon decided that she’d touch it up wherever and whenever she liked.
It would take a few decades for ordinary women to get comfortable with the idea of public touch-ups, but by the turn of the 20th century, most ladies had no problem with going out with a noticeably reddened lip. And many would have rouge in their bags for a private fix.
That rouge, by the way, was usually in a pot or vial.
Chemists certainly knew how to make a lipstick by then; pomades, perfumes and other things were sold in stick form from the mid-1800s. And there definitely were colored lip-salves available as sticks by the 1890s, though it seems they were being sold as theatrical makeup.
A lady’s rouge, though, was usually a little pot on her dressing table, or packed into a fancy “vanity case,” in her purse, often with rice powder for her face, a mirror, and maybe other small implements. Lipstick may seem more useful to us – it’s what we’re used to -- but cream rouge was very practical, an easily portable way to have lip and cheek color in one little pot.
Lipstick as such didn’t really catch on until the 1910s…and then with a vengeance! Makeup cases were redesigned to include lipsticks – sometimes in the hinge, a style we sometimes still see today, and lipstick became the main form of lip color. So much so that “lipstick” replaced “rouge” as the generic word for lip color.
Ella Shane, by the way, has a nice little pot of rosepetal lip-salve on her vanity. And as much as she admires Miss Bernhardt, she’s far too much of an old-fashioned lady to take it outside!
Next week – part two of our look at lipstick – with a deep dive into color trends from Queen Elizabeth I to Taylor Swift.

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WHAT'S IN A NAME?

A woman’s name, even now, isn’t just about her. In the 19th century, when women were legally their men’s property, it was more an announcement of who she belonged to, than who she was.
Not Ella Shane, though.
The name she was given – and the one she chose – are very much about her, her time…and how I built her character. She was born Ellen O’Shaughnessy, to Frank and Malka “Molly” Steinmetz O’Shaughnessy on the Lower East Side on July 23rd, 1865, and took the stage name Ella Shane in her late teens when she made her debut as a mezzo-soprano specializing in trouser roles. That’s the easy part.
What’s behind those names is a bit more complicated.
From the time my swashbuckling opera singer main character came to me, I thought of her as Ella, which was weird. While it’s a classic Gilded Age woman’s name, it’s not one of my favorites. And it just didn’t feel like a real name.
But Ellen, that’s somebody you might know. It was my grandfather’s mother’s name (and my own original middle name), so I knew it was just fine for an Irish woman in the late 19th century. People were also much more likely to choose family names for children back then, so it made sense for Ella to be named for her father’s favorite sister, the aunt who later takes in the orphaned girl.
It also set up a perfect nickname from her beloved cousin Tommy: “Heller”
What about a last name, though?
I actually got the Shane before the O’Shaughnessy. I liked the idea that eventually the Duke would call her by her last name, as if she were a male friend. A great way to show that he thinks of her as an equal…and that she’s special to him.
All that was left was finding a very Irish name that could be shortened to Shane. Not much more obviously Irish than O’Shaughnessy! While the worst of the anti-Irish prejudice had eased by the time Ella started her career, it was still a bad idea for a performer to carry an identifiably ethnic name, especially in an elevated field like opera. In the late 1800s, we’re still most of a century before people start taking pride and joy in their diversity, and Ella would not have seen changing her name as turning her back on her family. It was just part of the job.
It was also a family tradition. We learn more of the details in Ella’s second adventure, A FATAL FIRST NIGHT. Her mother, Malka Steinmetz, left Immigration with a new name for her new life: Molly. And she was far from the first.
Officials often had a hard time pronouncing or spelling any names that sounded “foreign” to them, and didn’t much care about respecting the people they were processing. There are plenty of families who will tell you that first, and often last names were one thing before Ellis Island, and something else entirely after.
So Ella carries a lot of history with her, whatever she’s calling herself at a given moment. In the climactic duel on the catwalk in A FATAL FINALE (it’s not a spoiler to say she’s squaring off against the killer), there’s a “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” moment: she meets her opponent’s gaze, draws herself up, and says “I’m Malka O’Shaughnessy’s daughter, and proud of it.”
Better fighting words never spoken by Miss Ella Shane.

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WITH WHAT RING?

Engagement rings really HAVE been around forever.
Men have probably been offering a woman a ring in exchange for a promise to marry for thousands of years (we know the Ancient Egyptians did a version of it) but historians agree that the first documented engagement ring was given in 850.
By the Renaissance, a big sparkly jewel was an expected part of a betrothal in the upper classes, and like other trends, the idea slowly filtered down through the social strata. Couples who couldn’t afford the rocks and minerals often went with simple “posy rings” with a poetic inscription, or interlocking “gimmel rings.”
Those rings, though, did not have to be engagement rings.
A man and woman could wear them as simple love tokens, rather than a sign of any impending nuptials.
Remember, until at least the nineteenth century, an engagement was essentially a property matter. A father (or other male protector) was exchanging a valuable asset – a daughter – in exchange for something. Property rights, diplomatic or military ties, consideration in some kind of dispute – any and all of these things might be the motive for a marriage.
And much of the time, the daughter wasn’t nearly as important as the property – or her own dowry. Marriage was far more a matter of property and practicality than of love and feeling…and an engagement ring was a formal sign of a contract.
Well, until the Romantics and Victorians came along, anyhow!
By the Victorian Era, a love marriage was no longer a wanton mistake but an ideal. So the signs to mark and celebrate it reflected that hope and happiness.
It was still the man giving the woman a ring as a sign that she would soon be his – but now with at least a coating of real feeling and respect, as opposed to an exchange of livestock. Rings became romantic and fanciful – spelling out various feelings in the names or colors of the stones.
And of course, the snakes.
Queen Victoria’s adored Albert gave her a snake ring for their engagement, and that set the trend. Snake rings don’t sound like much of a compliment to a modern observer, but serpents were seen as symbols of wisdom and commitment – not a comment that you expected your beloved to turn into a cheating snake.
Times change!
Diamonds, by the way, were a possibility, but not the only stone. They were popular by the Edwardian Era, but didn’t become THE jewel until the late 1930s and beyond. A Victorian groom was just as likely to give his bride her birthstone, or several different stones in some meaningful combination.
With all of that in the air, you’d think the Duke might have something at the ready when he proposes to Ella Shane in A FATAL OVERTURE. (It’s no spoiler – they spend most of the book engaged and arguing over the marriage contract!)
But no.
The proposal is a bit of a surprise, and the ring is definitely one.
Ella ends up with a beautiful ring that actually fits very well in the Victorian tradition of a lovely piece with colored stones and high sentimental value…entirely by accident. No snake, though!
You’ll have to read the book to find out how that happens!

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BONNETS ON!

Whatever spring holiday you’re observing (if any!), they mean different things to different people. But there’s one thing New Yorkers can agree on: Easter also means the Parade on Fifth Avenue.
No one seems to have an exact date for the first time some fashionable lady New Yorkers put on pretty hats and went for a promenade outside their church, but it apparently grew out of an earlier tradition. Many of the biggest and most socially prominent churches in town would put up extravagant floral decorations for Easter, and eventually, folks would walk from their own building to the next, to see what the other faithful had done.
It’s only a short step (sorry!) from there to an official promenade.
By the 1890s, it wasn’t just for fun or showing off. It was a big economic engine for the City’s fashion industry too. Even as the ladies strolled through the finer areas of town, department stores, milliners and more would show off their nicest spring wares.
If you’re getting a Fashion Week vibe, I won’t argue!
In the early 19th century, Easter was primarily a religious holiday, marked with joyful – but relatively quiet – family and church celebrations. (So was Passover – a whole different post!) But with the help of the New York Easter Parade and similar events, it became a key date on the shopping calendar, as the point where everyone wanted to show off their spring fashions. Shopkeepers and the new, growing department stores were more than happy to oblige.
While we associate the Irving Berlin song with the event, it was very much a late add: the song was part of a 1933 Broadway revue, and was later used in the famous scene in the movie Meet Me in Saint Louis featuring Judy Garland and Fred Astaire. If you’ve seen the film, it’s no accident that they’re wearing 1890s clothes; yes, the film is set in that time period, but that never stopped a Hollywood costumer who wanted to make a point. The Easter Parade outfits are a deliberate celebration of the event’s heyday.
Even today, the parade is very similar to the earlier versions. It’s not an organized march like many other New York celebrations, but rather just a chance for people to put on their goofy hats and wander around on Fifth Avenue, which is closed near St. Patrick’s Cathedral. For a lot of New Yorkers, it’s just fun to come out and watch the scene.
Of course, during Covid, the scene was online. The Easter Parade, like so many other big New York traditions, kept the party going virtually.
As for Ella Shane, even though she’s a proud New Yorker, and generally throws herself into every City celebration with glee, she’s probably not going to be found wandering down Fifth Avenue in a fancy bonnet. She and her cousin Tommy might well go out to have a look – and Ella would definitely enjoy seeing all the new fashions for spring. But Ella gets quite enough attention onstage, and has no need to seek out any more.
Besides, her reporter friend Hetty MacNaughten would never forgive her for celebrating hats!

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