Showcasing vintage male photography, mostly nude. You must be 18 years of age or older to visit this blog! If you hold a copyright on any material shown on this blog, notify me, and it will be removed immediately.
The decor reminds me of a family story that my poor sister was never, ever allowed to forget. In the very early 1960s, my father's firm won the contract to do the interior design of the public spaces of the (hideous) Bull Ring shopping centre in Birmingham. Now, Birmingham was the product of the Industrial Revolution and was very much a "where there's muck, there's brass" sort of place which only really appeared in Victorian times and was populated by people who made their living making nuts and bolts and who would repair to huge, vulgar mansions in over-manicured Worcestershire villages where they pretended they were lawyers or anything else several rungs up the social ladder. My mother attended the opening with my sister and me in tow and took my sister into a powder room to do her hair, only to find it was decked out with hideous purple decor with dozens of little round gilt mirrors at which sat the ageing wives of said nuts and bolts manufacturers who were applying appropriately industrial quantities of slap. All of a sudden in a very loud, pert little voice over the Muzak, my sister said, "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of us all?" Apparently, you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.
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True of all these pictures...we all look below the waist. And why not?
ReplyDeleteThe decor reminds me of a family story that my poor sister was never, ever allowed to forget. In the very early 1960s, my father's firm won the contract to do the interior design of the public spaces of the (hideous) Bull Ring shopping centre in Birmingham. Now, Birmingham was the product of the Industrial Revolution and was very much a "where there's muck, there's brass" sort of place which only really appeared in Victorian times and was populated by people who made their living making nuts and bolts and who would repair to huge, vulgar mansions in over-manicured Worcestershire villages where they pretended they were lawyers or anything else several rungs up the social ladder. My mother attended the opening with my sister and me in tow and took my sister into a powder room to do her hair, only to find it was decked out with hideous purple decor with dozens of little round gilt mirrors at which sat the ageing wives of said nuts and bolts manufacturers who were applying appropriately industrial quantities of slap. All of a sudden in a very loud, pert little voice over the Muzak, my sister said, "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of us all?" Apparently, you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.
ReplyDeleteLOL!
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