I dare you not to read.
Well, I know I couldn't help it. It turned out to be the fascinating
story of one "Tracey Norman"...
(by Jada Yuen and Aaron Wong)...and it made me late for work.
It was still worth it.
Here's the first paragraph:
"Tracey “Africa” Norman always knew that the question wasn’t if she’d be found out, but how long she could go undetected.
To be black and from Newark in the mid-1970s and get plucked from a model casting call for Italian Vogue by
Irving Penn — it was the kind of success story that was unheard of,
especially for someone like her. She was signed by a top agency,
photographed multiple times for the pages of Essence magazine.
She landed an exclusive contract for Avon skin care, and another for
Clairol’s Born Beautiful hair color boxes: No. 512, Dark Auburn, please.
She went to Paris and became a house model in the Balenciaga showroom,
wearing couture and walking the runway twice a day. Norman was never as
big as Iman, Beverly Johnson, Pat Cleveland, or the other models of color breaking barriers on international runways or on the cover of Vogue.
But she was riding that wave. It was more than she could have ever
hoped for when she was a kid in New Jersey. Back when she was a boy who
knew that, inside, he was a girl."
The other day, while perusing the library stacks,
I found myself intrigued by this lovely tome of the 80s.
(um...don't ask)
These were the first two photos I saw upon opening the book. Like an archaeologist, I took a photo and carefully replaced it for posterity's sake. I hope I didn't disturb the Reagan era layer of dust on top too badly.
(I wonder what he wore at his second marriage, to Tom?)
This is the book on my nightstand now,Bals. (courtesy of the library)
Actually, it's so big it's taken the place of my nightstand.
True to its name, it's a sort of pornography.
But no one is nude. (thank God)
It's kind fabulousity overload....I just may end up with a hangover.
But I'm not complaining.
Here's a short film from the publishers about it. (Books have trailers now? I didn't realize.
I guess books that cost $195.00 do. I better not spill any diet coke on it.)
(Oh, and not to namedrop, but that's Princess Radziwill at the Black and White Ball of 1966 on the cover, btw)
Here's the inner cover, with the Baron and Baronne de Rothschild at their Surrealist Ball of 1972
Now there's a phrase we don't hear nearly enough nowadays, do we? Well, I don't at least.
Brigitte Bardot at the Oriental Ball
Jacqueline de Ribes and her identical handmaidens at the Beistegui Ball in 1951.
(I just love this photo....so fabulous and creepy)
Leonor Fini looking like a figure in one of her paintings at the Beistequi Ball
The dashing John Jacob Astor IV.... before his death on the Titanic
The Grand Duke Alexandrovich at Czar Nicholas 2nd's Romanov Ball
Camel riders at the Cuevas Ball in 1953
Frank and Mia at Truman Capote's Black and White Ball in 1966
Warhol at the Black and White Ball
Marisa Berenson as Marchesa Luisa Casati for the Rothschild's Proust Ball in 1971. That, by the way, must be one the most fabulous sentences I've had the joy to type.
"I have always loathed the Burtons for their vulgarity, commonness and
crass bad taste, she combining the worst of US and English taste, he as
butch and coarse as only a Welshman can be. She wanted compliments. She
got none. I felt I must be professional and continued, but not without
loathing at this monster. Her breasts, hanging and huge, were like those
of a peasant woman suckling her young in Peru. They were seen in their
full shape, blotched and mauve, plum. Round her neck was a velvet ribbon
with the biggest diamond in the world pinned on it. On her fat, coarse
hands more of the biggest diamonds and emeralds, her head a ridiculous
mass of diamond necklaces, sewn together, with a snood of blue and black
pom-poms and black aisprey aigrettes. Sausage curls! Alexandre, the
hairdresser, had done his worst. And this was the world's biggest draw!
In comparison everyone else looked ladylike." - via The Unexpurgated Beaton Diaries, 1970-1980
What a bitch!
How I wish I had been there next to him.
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