Been buried in academic work, but I needed to throw out a quick, sad retread of Ms. Myers’ “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” post. Beautiful, adventurous Cynthia passed away yesterday of undisclosed causes, per Hef.
R.I.P., Ms. Myers (9/12/50-11/4/11).
Photographed by Pompeo Posar.
“Wholly Toledo!” is the name of the article that accompanies the pictorial for the lovely and talented Cynthia Myers, Playboy’s Miss December 1968. Her wildly popular centerfold shot her to stardom among the troops in Vietnam, and a pinup of her is featured in the film Hamburger Hill. She has been a teen model, a television personality, played a lesbian songstress in one of the most famous camp films out there, and become an unwitting space cowgirl in her 60 years on this planet. Buckle up, because here we go!
Cynthia wrote to Playboy a few years ago, informing us that she’d like to be considered as a centerfold beauty. Assistant Picture Editor Marilyn Grabowski answered with a reminder that our Playmates must be of legal age but that Cynthia should keep in touch. She did just that.
Well, kind of.
The shoot was in June of ’68, and Ms. Meyers was born in September of ’50, but Playboy waited until Cynthia was comfortably 18 to publish her pictorial. It had become common practice for the magazine after the scandal with Elizabeth Ann Roberts.
In fact, the most recently featured “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” playmate, the fantastic Susan Bernard, was also 17 at her photoshoot and saw her spread published after she turned 18.
Posing underage for Playboy is not the only common ground between Ms. Bernard and Ms. Myers. While Ms. Bernard was featured in Russ Meyers’ cult classic Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!, today’s special gal starred in his 1970 film Beyond the Valley of the Dolls.
I promise to have a full-out Movie Moment for Beyond the Valley of the Dolls one of these days. For my friend’s recent 31st birthday, I sent him a picture of the cast of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls with him tagged as Dolly Read and me as Cynthia Myers. I explained that I originally had me as Dolly and him as Cynthia, but I switched it because it was his birthday.
You know Roger Ebert wrote it? I don’t think he ever gets to criticize a movie again.
Cynthia is pictured reading a five-year-old palmistry pamphlet about what the following year once held for her because she placed a large credulity in psychic phenomenon.
“I’ve known since I was 15 that I’d be a Playmate. It’s almost as if this had been fated to happen.” Cynthia’s penchant for precognition can be traced to her early teens.
(Ibid.)
“A junior high school friend of mine in Toledo,” she says, “was a nut on palmistry, astrology and even reading tea leaves and crystal balls. Like most people, I thought is was just a bunch of baloney. But when I began reading about prophets like Edgar Cayce, I began to realize that there are strange spiritual forces in the world undreamed of even in The Playboy Philosophy.”
(Ibid.)
Ms. Myers, I think you’d be surprised by what the Playboy philosophy can dream of.
In 1994, it was revealed that a picture from Ms. Myers’ centerfold pictorial was among several that crafty NASA jokesters have launched in to space over the years. Ms. Myers, together with Leslie Bianchini, Angela Dorian, and Reagan Wilson, was snuck in to the checklist for the Apollo 12 mission that was placed in astronauts’ suit cuff on their trip to the moon in November of 1969. Ms. Myers specifically took her space journey with astronaut Al Bean.
Don’t forget: Describe the protruberances.
Boobs : Geeks :: Horse : Carriage. I think it’s kind of funny and sweet.
And the gals didn’t just go up in the lunar landing module: they straight moon walked. The astronauts found their pictures while fulfilling their extravehicular (read: outside the module on the lunar surface) mission duties on the moon itself.
Pete Conrad got Miss September 1967, Angela Dorian, (“Seen any interesting hills and valleys?”) and Miss October 1967, Reagan Wilson (“Preferred tether partner”). Al Bean got Miss December 1968, Cynthia Myers (“Don’t forget — Describe the protuberances”), and Miss January 1969, Leslie Bianchini (“Survey — her activity”).
Conrad told us in 1994: “I had no idea they were with us. It wasn’t until we actually got out on the lunar surface and were well into our first moon walk that I found them.” Bean recalled: “It was about two and a half hours into the extravehicular activity. I flipped the page over and there she was. I hopped over to where Pete was and showed him mine, and he showed me his.”
(Ibid.)
A large, color version of the shot of Cynthia that was smuggled up to the moon in the Apollo 12.
Lest we forget, the lovely and talented DeDe Lind, Miss August 1967 and, like Cynthia, one of the most popular Playmates in the magazine’s history, also rode shotgun on the Apollo 12 mission. She was in the control console, her picture labelled, “Map of a heavenly body.”
I always feel compelled when talking about the Playmate pictures and NASA to bring up the fact that my sorority’s badge is on the moon. Neil Armstrong put it there for his wife. It’s my sorority’s badge and it is on the moon. The moon that is in space. Sorry, but I get pretty cocky and excited by that. Tell a friend.
This much more recent picture of Ms. Myers just might get her kicked out of the Red Hat Society.
Can our prescient Playmate predict anything about her future? “I’m going to be an actress,” she says simply. “Notice I didn’t say ‘I’d like to be,’ but ‘I’m going to be.’ I don’t know how good I’ll be as an actress, but I’ll be one.”
(“Wholly Toledo!” Playboy. December 1968.)
Judging from her track record as a prophetess — and from her already abundant attributes — we’d like to venture a prediction of our own: Playmatehood should be just the beginning for the remarkable Miss Myers.
(Ibid.)
“Wholly Toledo!” is the name of the article that accompanies the pictorial for the lovely and talented Cynthia Myers, Playboy’s Miss December 1968. Her wildly popular centerfold shot her to stardom among the troops in Vietnam, and a pinup of her is featured in the film Hamburger Hill. She has been a teen model, a television personality, played a lesbian songstress in one of the most famous camp films out there, and become an unwitting space cowgirl in her 60 years on this planet. Buckle up, because here we go!
Cynthia wrote to Playboy a few years ago, informing us that she’d like to be considered as a centerfold beauty. Assistant Picture Editor Marilyn Grabowski answered with a reminder that our Playmates must be of legal age but that Cynthia should keep in touch. She did just that.
Well, kind of.
The shot was in June of ’68, and Ms. Meyers was born in September of ’50, but Playboy waited until Cynthia was comfortably 18 to publish her pictorial. It had become common practice for the magazine after the scandal with Elizabeth Ann Roberts.
In fact, the most recently featured “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” playmate, the fantastic Susan Bernard, was also 17 at her photoshoot and saw her spread published after she turned 18.
Posing underage for Playboy is not the only common ground between Ms. Bernard and Ms. Myers. While Ms. Bernard was featured in Russ Meyers’ cult classic Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!, today’s special gal starred in his 1970 film Beyond the Valley of the Dolls.
I promise to have a full-out Movie Moment for Beyond the Valley of the Dolls one of these days. For my friend’s recent 31st birthday, I sent him a picture of the cast of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls with him tagged as Dolly Read and me as Cynthia Myers. I explained that I originally had me as Dolly and him as Cynthia, but I switched it because it was his birthday.
You know Roger Ebert wrote it? I don’t think he ever gets to criticize a movie again.
Cynthia is pictured reading a five-year-old palmistry pamphlet about what the following year once held for her because she placed a large credulity in psychic phenomenon.
“I’ve known since I was 15 that I’d be a Playmate. It’s almost as if this had been fated to happen.” Cynthia’s penchant for precognition can be traced to her early teens.
(Ibid.)
“A junior high school friend of mine in Toledo,” she says, “was a nut on palmistry, astrology and even reading tea leaves and crystal balls. Like most people, I thought is was just a bunch of baloney. But when I began reading about prophets like Edgar Cayce, I began to realize that there are strange spiritual forces in the world undreamed of even in The Playboy Philosophy.”
(Ibid.)
Ms. Myers, I think you’d be surprised by what the Playboy philosophy can dream of.
In 1994, it was revealed that a picture from Ms. Myers’ centerfold pictorial was among several that crafty NASA jokesters have launched in to space over the years. Ms. Myers, together with Leslie Bianchini, Angela Dorian, and Reagan Wilson, was snuck in to the checklist for the Apollo 12 mission that was placed in astronauts’ suit cuff on their trip to the moon in November of 1969. Ms. Myers specifically took her space journey with astronaut Al Bean.
Don’t forget: Describe the protruberances.
Boobs : Geeks :: Horse : Carriage. I think it’s kind of funny and sweet.
And the gals didn’t just go up in the lunar landing module: they straight moon walked. The astronauts found their pictures while fulfilling their extravehicular (read: outside the module on the lunar surface) mission duties on the moon itself.
Pete Conrad got Miss September 1967, Angela Dorian, (“Seen any interesting hills and valleys?”) and Miss October 1967, Reagan Wilson (“Preferred tether partner”). Al Bean got Miss December 1968, Cynthia Myers (“Don’t forget — Describe the protuberances”), and Miss January 1969, Leslie Bianchini (“Survey — her activity”).
Conrad told us in 1994: “I had no idea they were with us. It wasn’t until we actually got out on the lunar surface and were well into our first moon walk that I found them.” Bean recalled: “It was about two and a half hours into the extravehicular activity. I flipped the page over and there she was. I hopped over to where Pete was and showed him mine, and he showed me his.”
(Ibid.)
A large, color version of the shot of Cynthia that was smuggled up to the moon in the Apollo 12.
Lest we forget, the lovely and talented DeDe Lind, Miss August 1967 and, like Cynthia, one of the most popular Playmates in the magazine’s history, also rode shotgun on the Apollo 12 mission. She was in the control console, her picture labelled, “Map of a heavenly body.”
I always feel compelled when talking about the Playmate pictures and NASA to bring up the fact that my sorority’s badge is on the moon. Neil Armstrong put it there for his wife. It’s my sorority’s badge and it is on the moon. The moon that is in space. Sorry, but I get pretty cocky and excited by that. Tell a friend.
This much more recent picture of Ms. Myers just might get her kicked out of the Red Hat Society.
Can our prescient Playmate predict anything about her future? “I’m going to be an actress,” she says simply. “Notice I didn’t say ‘I’d like to be,’ but ‘I’m going to be.’ I don’t know how good I’ll be as an actress, but I’ll be one.”
(“Wholly Toledo!” Playboy. December 1968.)
Judging from her track record as a prophetess — and from her already abundant attributes — we’d like to venture a prediction of our own: Playmatehood should be just the beginning for the remarkable Miss Myers.
(Ibid.)
Topless Claudia Schiffer in Catwoman mask by Mario Testino for German Vogue (June, 2008).
Winner winner, chicken dinner! I said goddamn, Claudia Schiffer. Haters to the left.
Internet, I am going to let you knock off early and go home for the rest of the day, because you have truly outdone yourself. Great hustle.
Several days later:
Wow, guys. Monica Bellucci and my fave photographer, Ellen Von Unwerth, are seriously giving the topless Claudia Schiffer Catwoman by Mario Testino of several days’ ago a real run for its money for the internet’s Best [Batman] Picture Ever contest.
Monica Bellucci, photographed in Catwoman mask and leather bodysuit by the stellar and magnificent Ellen Von Unwerth for “Bella Bellucci,” a feature in Vogue España, June 2006.
While Monica’s cleavage is always impressive and, of course, her face is basically the most beautiful on Earth, I’m still giving the advantage to the Mario-Claudia collaboration for toplessness. Better luck next time, Team Monica-EVU!
TODAY:
I’ve brought them both back for this very special Flashback Friday because it’s a tiime for a bat couture Showdown!: Model Citizens as Catwoman edition.
Top: Monica Bellucci photographed by Ellen von Unwerth ; Bottom: Claudia Schiffer photographed by Mario Testino.
And ladies, please remember that in my mind, you are both winners. Pick your feline femme fatale poison below!
Photographed by one-of-a-kind supafly sweetie pie Mr. Peter Gowland!
The lovely and talented Miss July 1957 was Jean Jani, from Dayton, Ohio.
Although Playboy implies in her write-up (emphasis on the lies half of that word) that Ms. Jani was a stewardess, she was actually a reservations clerk for United Airlines. Will explain shortly.
We were winging our way to a busy week of conferences with authors and agents, and our mind was filled with thoughts of the loftiest literary calibre. So lofty were they that we scarcely heard the dulcet voice of the stewardess requesting us to fasten our seat belt. She repeated the request, and we looked up into the brown eyes of petite (5’3″) Jean Jani of Dayton, Ohio.
(“Cloud Nine.” Playboy, July 1957.)
Barf to blarney and banana splits. Yay to little lookers.
Texture and busy-ness combine in contrast with Ms. Jani’s crisp features throughout the compositions in this spread. Top-notch, complex, and beautiful eye-catching work.
She told us she is saving money to buy a T-bird, her favorite drink is a Vodka Gimlet and she is the proud possessor of a pile of Frank Sinatra, Harry Belafonte and Jackie Gleason platters
(Ibid.)
Excellent musical tastes if that part is true. As for the Vodka Gimlet part, I have never had a gimlet of any stripe, but I think one of my friends, I am almost positive Mr. Kite, was recently deciding that Gimlet was the new retro drink of choice. I have strong faith in his trendspotting abilities, so I wager this will come to pass.
You know, like the way Singapore Slings sort of swept last year, at least in my tiny knowledge of central California circles — understand these are things I merely overhear up at the bar while ordering myself a beer.
My friends are really creative with mixed drinks, especially Christo and Gorgeous George, and Paolo and Miss D, either of which pair can find themself spontaneously hosting a party and expertly assess what they have on hand to come up with cramazing cocktails suited to the meal, occasion, and weather, but I am afraid I’m all thumbs at reckoning anything like that — I am also not so great at drinking hard alcohol, period.
For me, beer does the trick and almost never throws me any ugly curveballs. It is usually reasonably priced and you never have to worry about the bartender not knowing how to make it or mixing it too strong.
Beer puts me on familiar footing in what is usually an admittedly uncomfortable situation for me: public socializing. If I have safe, friendly, non-judgmental beer as my co-pilot, I know at least one part of the night will go well.
Like me, beer is a “what you see is what you get” kind of a thing. I feel a kinship and loyalty to beer unmatched by my feelings about any other type of alcohol. When I find something I like, I stick with it.
I like the case of her disappearing, reappearing mole. Like, “Disappearing, reappearing nuclear physicist husband” — Clue. The weird thing about that recurring line is that the nuclear physicist husband was the one Mrs. White beheaded and then cut off his dick; the one who disappeared was actually her first husband.
Without googling the script, I can tell you the conversation between Mrs. White and Wadsworth goes exactly like this (believe me, I watch this movie in my head all the time and I audio recorded it when I was a kid and listened to it on tape while walking around town — don’t you judge me):
“But he was your second husband. Your first husband also disappeared under, shall we say, ‘mysterious’ circumstances.”
“That was his job. He was an illusionist.”
“But he never re-appeared.”
(Spreads her hands and smiles) “He wasn’t a very good illusionist.”
Favorite shot of the spread. Peter and Alice are such wonderful and fun photographers. Man, they’re cool.
I’ve always wondered why those lines about “disappearing, reappearing nuclear physicist husband” were kept in despite being inaccurate. I think Clue might’ve gone through some rewrites and shit got forgotten. Anyway.
Back to marvelous Ms. Jani and the case of her on-again, off-again beauty mark!
“I’m sorry, Sire. It’s just … your mole. Wasn’t it on the other side?”
“I have a mole?!”
(Robin Hood: Men In Tights.)
Full of movie references today, jes.
If being a brunette knockout wasn’t enough for her, every so often Jani would put on a blonde wig [above] and do photo shoots under the name “Joan Brennan.” She retired from modeling in the mid-1960’s in favor of a more domesticated existence.
was portrayed as a sexy stewardess for United Airlines in the pages of Playboy, but in actuality she was a reservations clerk. Regardless, her appearance in Playboy cost her her job.
(Ibid.)
After more photoshoots with the Gowlands and with Ron Vogel, whose name you may remember seeing in the credits for many of the playmates highlighted on this journal, Ms. Jani embarked on a successful full-time career as a pin-up model which spanned the decade of mid-50’s to 60’s.
Jani appeared in several issues of Adam and Modern Man as well as other titles in the late 50’s and early 60’s.
She was also responsible for the jaw-dropping cover of Adam Bedside Reader #2 where she is wearing nothing but a red ribbon. This was a gal who was not afraid to show off her assets.
(Ibid.)
According to The Playmate Book, Jani forgot about her Playboy experience until her grown daughter gave her a copy in recent years. She has since embraced her pin-up past and become involved in the convention circuit.
(Ibid.)
Once more, enormous, immeasurably phat big-ups to Java’s Bachelor Pad for the credited shots and info above and for the hot tip about Jeanohs’ wigohs — her blonde alter ego, Ms. Joan Brennan. Your site is awesomesauce! Muah. Thanks a mil. ♥
The lovely and talented Gay Collier was Playboy’s Miss July, 1965.
Centerfold photographed by Mario Casilli.
Going contrary to the cogent advice of Horace Greeley, July Playmate Gay Collier — a pleasingly proportioned (36-23-35) Californian with keen hazel eyes for a dancing career — plans to go as far East as her talented footwork will take her.
(“Clown Princess.” Playboy, July 1965.)
The Greeley “advice” to which the write-up refers is “Go West, Young Man.” Remember when people caught references like that because our nation did not yet see fit to require public schoolteachers, who specifically went to school to do their jobs and work hard every day for other people’s children, to give up their dreams of changing lives with knowledge and instead teach developing minds to shoot for the mean score on a shitty test, so they can grow up and go and do the same while working as a faceless shell at some corporate conglomerate?
Oh, such a fine and impassioned little moment of soap box pedaling for my personal agenda amidst pictures of vintage cheesecake which is surely not the right venue in which to begin a discussion of education and values! but here’s the catch: Horace Greeley has always been wrongly credited with that quote. Greeley was a newspaperman in New York City, specifically the New York Trib — you might remember his portrayal by Michael Byrne in 2002’s Gangs of New York, visiting the Five Points with some other wealthy reformers (Mr. Greeley was all about social reform–ish. Scorsese does a good job exploring his philanthropical ambiguities due to his position of wealth and influence).
Did your brain not just ASPLODE from the cuteness?
Though Mr. Greeley had plenty of wit and wisdom that he shared with the world, he never exhorted anyone to go West or elsewhere unless it was an urchin badgering him on a street corner. The quote in fact originates with another newspaper publisher named John. B. L. Soule, who edited and produced the Terre-Haute, Indiana Express. In full, he said, “Go West, Young Man! And grow up with the country.” Greeley adapted the quote for an editorial of his own.
I think of the mid-60’s as Playboy’s heyday. For some reason, though I love my seventies Power Bush, it kind of felt sleezy by then — whoa, you don’t think it was actually the pubes, do you? Now I’m honestly wondering… Anyway.
This is one of the magazine’s golden era issues that proves how much good shit that you literally could not find anywhere else was packed in each of these pages — besides Ms. Collier’s lovely gatefold shoot, the issue also featured an interview with famed Italian actor-director Marcello Mastroianni and the conclusion of a four-part excerpt from Ian Fleming’s Bond novel The Man With the Golden Gun. Um, HELL yes?!
Consummately portraying such tortured contemporary types as a world-weary author (in La Notte), a cuckolded husband (in Divorce—Italian Style) and a cynical, soul-searching movie director (in 8 1/2), he has come to epitomize for many “the plight of modern man himself,” in the words of one critic, “loveless, faithless, rudderless, spiritually anesthetized and immobilized, whirled along in the swift and shifting crosscurrents and powerless to influence or arrest the order of events; incapable either of disciplining his desires or of satisfying his needs, let alone those of his fellow man.” Despite—or perhaps because of—his ambivalent image of inward impotence and predatory potency, Mastroianni exudes a charismatic magnetism …
(Excerpt from the Mastroianni piece.)
Yeah, I’d love to say that the current articles are up to that caliber of prose, but I think they have lowered the reading-level bar. Bummer, because they still snag great interviews.
Oh, cheez-its, what about Gay? Back to the gal at hand.
“My first objective is to land a dancing role in a Broadway musical. After all the years I’ve put in on toe shoes, I figure it’s time I started making the rounds of New York agents’ offices and tried putting some of that practice to work. Eventually, I hope to go to Europe and try out for one of the finer ballet companies, like the Ballet Russe or the Royal Ballet, and I’ve already put my Playmate-photo prize money in a special oversees ‘ballerina-or-bust’ savings account.”
(Ibid.)
She also likes Cantonese and mentions she is a big Peter Sellers fan. Sold!
Cover — Joey Thorpe.
No word on if Ms. Collier made it to Broadway or out even further East beneath the Iron Curtain, as she either continued her career under a new or married name, or the magazine used a different surname for her in this piece. Either way, adorable girl, great and dazzlingly fun photoshoot, and we are officially off and running with the Girls of Summer! I’m hittin’ the hay so I can tutor my Scamp tomorrow. Catch you guys on the flip!
At a superficial blush, I think her paintings deal with imagery and conventional styles that are popular right now in the commercial world of art: lissome nymphs interacting with the natural world, an almost photo-realistic style, like a photograph or illustration recreated with oil paints, but I feel like that is, like I said a superficial comparison. The truth is that she really finds the darkness at the heart even of the popularity of those images, and more nakedly and skillfully tells the story behind them.
“Isabel’s Secret.”
The work has authority. I suppose maybe if you were to just striaghtforwardly describe her painting next to another, similar product on Etsy or something, telling only what you literally see vis-a-vis the subject matter and depiction, it could be accidentally mistaken for one of this genre of lesser and more wanly committed artistic storytellers, trendy but sort of twee, but that is not the case for me with Brooks.
“Wanderingbel.”
Besides her obvious superiority even of strictly mechanical talent — which gives her paintings a sophisticated weight lacking in some illustrations that deal with similar subjects and imagery — for me, there is more going on thematically in her compositions.
“The Gaze.”
I feel like if you look at her work, Brooks digs much deeper, like her work is a more authentic prototype than a lighter imitation, a more complete interpretation of an older and overarching theme.
“Reverent and revered.”
I am fascinated by the legends and tales that have been passed down through the rise and fall of empires and how they are weathered by oral tradition and cultural change.
“A Promise to Return.”
I work with my own personal mythology to reflect ideas on love, memory, and the inexplicable human talent for anthropomorphizing the cycles of life and all its manifestations. (via)
“Isabel and the Life Web.”
Adjusting to being Single and Living in Richmond is a bit of a roller coaster ride, but I’m pretty sure its more Tank Girl and less Hope Floats so it ain’t all bad. (blog)
Love Tank Girl. Sold.
“Driving Into the Sun.”
To discuss commissions or wholesale orders (or just to say howdy!) please drop me a line at: Robotroadkill [!at] gmail.com. (etsy)
“Half a second,” my favorite one.
I should first mention that all my analogies of life tend to be nature based, I was raised in an all female landscape business that was founded and run by my mother, for years we shared generations of stories over the tops of the flowers we cared for. Those ecosystems provided a framework and context to talk about the more complicated parts of life. That is where my imagery comes from. (interview)
When I originally conceived of this highly-planned project approximately 30 seconds ago, I knew right off the bat I’d have to start with the first one I always think of, the exclusive and presitigious gold standard of the glamour-girl calendar genre: Pirelli.
Pirelli Tyre Co.: “Power Is Nothing Without Control.”
The Pirelli calendar has a long and storied history, where autos, art, and advertising intersect with a dash of sexy-times on top; it’s actually really amazing, but I’ll go in to the bulk of that and its noteworthy issues of yore another day (that may have to become a regular feature, come to think of it — lord knows I have about a hundred pictures from its issues over the years saved on my computer). Today I’m trying to sell you on super-cool 2010 calendars, so I’ll stick with the current issue. Click on any image to see it large!
Behind the scenes at the production of this year’s Pirelli calendar.
The 2010 Pirelli calendar was shot by esteemed photographer and personal patron saint, mad rad Terry Richardson, on location in Brazil. It features a pantheon of awesome supermodels, including Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, Ana Beatriz Barros, Daisy Lowe, and Lily Cole (just to name ones who have appeared on this blog before), as well as Gracie Carvalho, Enikő Mihalik, Miranda Kerr, Marloes Horst, Catherine McNeil, Georgina Stojiljković, and Abbey Lee Kershaw.
Group hug! Left to right: Eniko Mihalik, Rosie Huntington Whiteley, Catherine McNeil, Abbey Lee Kershaw, Daisy Lowe, Gracie Carvalho, Marloes Horst, Lily Cole, Ana Beatriz Barros, Miranda Kerr, and Georgina Stojiljkovic.
Daisy(, Daisy give me your answer true) Lowe inside a tire with Catherine McNeil; Marloes Horst in suspenders; Marloes goes on like a blister in the sun, which is to say toplessly; and baby doll Lily Cole looking like the rophynol has worn off and she’s just woke up in a cabin in the foothills (that one makes me uneasy).
Georgina Stojiljkovic likes a lover with a slow hand (it’s a sloth: get it?); and Rosie H-W with same, although hers looks more like it was cross-bred with a Wookiee.
Miranda Kerr, adorable as always, rocking a hat; Marloes Horst can’t seem to keep a top on to save her life; and Catherine McNeil proves to the naysayers that yes, she has got milk. In your face!
Ana Beatriz Barros looking imperious — she is clearly queen of the jungle, and one of you bitches best bring her some peeled grapes; “Look, ma, no gag reflex!” photographer Terry Richardson and Abbey Lee have the banana situation all nailed down.
One more of Catherine MacNeil. Topless on a bull because, um, it’s for science. Science!
I am sorry to say that you cannot buy the Pirelli calendar. It is only distributed in-company, or given by the executives of Pirelli Tyre Co. as a corporate gift. So unless you are a Grand Prix driver or a rubber tree plantation owner, your chances of seeing these girls other than right in front of you on this-here blog are Slim to None, and Slim just left town. So I hope you enjoyed, and give the Pirelli calendars of the past a good googly moogly!
Spark up the candles (or, you know, whatever you spark on birthdays) and get ready to sing a happy 34th go-round on this earth with lots of good wishes and eskimo kisses to the lovely and talented Milla Jovovich! One of my favorite Model Citizens, mothers, and all-around good-time gals. Keep on rocking in the free world, kiddo.
High Times, October 1994.
It’s your birthday; do what feels right!
lost credit please help
And we should really all say thank you to Milla for the memories. I mean, you do not even know how grateful I am for the huge folder on my computer, chock-full of amazing pictures of the girl. It took me ages to pick the right ones for this post.
by Ellen Von Unwerth for Vogue Italia, July 2009.
Besides screencaps from films like Dazed and Confused, the Fifth Element, Joan of Arc, and the Resident Evil flicks, I had to decide between photographs from devil-horned shoots with Ellen von Unwerth, topless shenanigans by David La Chapelle, that phatty spread in High Times, even … it was truly a challenge.
Paper magazine, 1994.
Man, this girl has given me some smiles over the years. Do your thing, chicken wing. Haters to the left! You keep on keepin’ on.
Inspirato dal film capolavoro di Georges Franju. (Erra’s description on the flickr)
Very well done and confidently credited. What a great kid this guy is! And again, really, really easy on the eyes. He does self-portraits, so check ’em out. You can hit the Manhattan-and-Milan-based Italian hottie up on the myspace (current mood: “vexed!” — maybe wait ’til tomorrow to add him as a friend) or catch more of his work on the carbonmade.
I actually think the picture looks more like Dr. Génessier’s assistant Louise, the unbelivably beautiful Alida Valli, than Edith Scob, who portrays the daughter whose face he destroyed in a car wreck outside Paris. In case you’re curious, the plot is that the doctor, played by Pierre Brasseur, and his assistant Louise go around kidnapping women and trying to graft their faces on to Christiane’s, because that is the logical solution when you are a famous plastic surgeon and you’ve disfigured your own child driving drunk. That was Christiane up there, here is Alida Valli as Louise in the film so you can judge for yourself.
And here’s my favorite picture of Alida, taken about fifteen years earlier, because why not? She’s so rad. That’s all for this edition of Art Imitating Art, and again, I highly recommend you further check out Italian hottie and all-around talented guy, the currently-vexed Signor Erra.
Lou Doillon by Max Vadukul for Vogue Italia, August 2009
“Crescendo ho ocupato l’unico spazio rimasto libero in famiglia; quello dell’eccentrica, del giullare che strappa un sorriso. c’era talmente tanta perfezione che solo comportandomi in modo diverso sono ruiscita a trovare me stessa.”
If you are not lucky enough to speak Italian (I am mainly not, either, no worries!), then here is a very rough translation pieced together via babelfish (don’t you love that it’s named for a Douglas Adams invention), Conversational Italian in college — which I spent most of my time ditching to fuma (smoke) and hang out with various uomi (men!), in my defense, I was being hella Italian — and a couple online dictionaries:
“Growing up, I occupied the only space which remained free in my family: that of the eccentric, that of the jester who snags a smile. There was so much perfection that being involved in various ways has helped me to find the same [in life].”
“Lou Doillon Intime,” Playboy France, March 2008
A bit of background. Her father is director Jacques Doillon, and her mother is international superstar, ye-ye idol, and reknowned vintage beauty (a personal patron saint) Jane Birkin. Oh, and Jane’s previous husband was probably the most famous and successful male French musician of all time, (a personal devil) Serge Gainsbourg.
Beautiful, marvelous, multi-talented Jane Birkin during her marriage to That Creepy Soul-Reaper (Gainsbourg).
Birkin’s relationship with Lou’s father, film director Jacques Doillon, ended her marriage to Gainsbourg, and because of that the French press have a love-hate relationship with Lou: on the one hand, she is a daughter of cultural aristocracy; on the other, her very existence symbolises the end of one of France’s great love affairs.
Lou’s various step and half-sisters are famously beautiful models, actresses, and musicians such as Charlotte Gainsbourg, Kate Barry, and Lily Doillon.
“Destiny’s Daughter: Lou Doillon et Jane Birkin,” Getty Images
After a deliberately outre ugly duckling phase and some raw turns in cool indie flicks, Lou has been slowly transitioning in to a model citizen herself. So … yes, I can see where she is coming from with that quote. She’s a really cool chick, and as you can see from this small smattering from my collection of pics, she has taken it off, so she gets to be billed as lovely and talented, to boot!
Lou Doillon by Max Vadukul for Vogue Italia, August 2009
I’ll get to more about her another day, I guarantee, because I think she is a smashing girl! but right now I need to go put on my Square Face (read: look freshly-made-up, decently-dressed, and reliable and maternal) for my kidlet’s first parent-teacher conference. I don’t want my appearance or attitude or nuttiness or any grain of reality about myself to seep through to her teacher and influence said teacher’s attitude toward her. I know that’s crazy, but it’s a fear. Wish me luck!
Forgot that I’m going to run out of time and need to squeeze in some quadruple plays for the playmates lest we miss a Miss November. This one is super-special, so enjoy!
When the lovely and talented Monica Tidwell was born, the second issue of Playboy was fresh on the newsstands. This means that when she posed for the magazine in 1973 at age 19, she was the very first playmate to be younger than the magazine itself.
Photographed by Dwight Hooker and Bill Frantz.
This is a great spread. The photographers captured something very vulnerable and real in Ms. Tidwell (for my money the most beautiful Miss November yet), a sensitivity and gentle eroticism that lacks in many of the other shoots we’ve seen this month.
This is further carried through by the ambient lighting, the natural styling of her hair, and the focus on handmade, organically fashioned articles and materials like wood frames and wool blankets.
The whole shoot just has this really airy, sunlit, authentic, natural feel to it. It’s special.
Though she was discovered in Chicago (seems like they really had an active scouting scene there, doesn’t it? maybe because that’s where Hef is from? I guess one of these days I should look up the actual history of the magazine, huh), Ms. Tidwell was born in Shreveport, Louisiana and grew up in Georgia.
Like almost every other Southerner I have met or heard of, she had literary leanings when questioned about her ambitions. I don’t know what it is about the South that makes every person from there drip with this deeply poetic appreciation of nature and a playful love of language, but it seems to be a Thing.
I have met and loved so many great friendohs from the South, and they all have a beautiful, expressive outlook on life. (Dik and the LBC, I am looking at you two poetic ginger geniuses in particular!)
“One of my great ambitions in life is to write a novel as good as [Wolfe’s] Look Homeward, Angel. My second great ambition is to make a movie with Ken Russell and Oliver Reed.” (“Ubiquitous Miss,”Playboy, November 1973)
According to the wiki, that dream of making a movie with Ken Russell (visionary director of The Who’s Tommy) is half coming true.
Tidwell is currently the primary producer of the off-Broadway play Mind Game in New York City. Ken Russell will direct the play and Keith Carradine will star.
Hands down my favorite picture from this pictorial.
Good on her! An ethereal, Autumnal little beauty (I told you redheaded Miss Novembers are I’m pretty sure a Thing), she reminds me of Sissy Spacek or Bridget Fonda and Jodie Foster. All peaches and cream and spattery freckles with strawberry blonde hair, but then there is something rabbity and tough about them, like biting on tinfoil, something driven and hardscrabble, determined when it comes to their quiet goals. Sorry to project emotive qualities and wax poetic. I just love country girls.
Sk8 or die, y’all, and go see Whip It! Adorable Drew Barrymore would like it if you did, because it is her new movie, and she directed it and stuff like that. You do not say “no” to adorable Drew Barrymore. Do not make me laugh!
“I regard myself as bisexual. If you’re with a woman, it is like if you’re exploring your own body, only through someone else.” — Drew Barrymore, Vs magazine, AW09 issue.
Pretty sure that quote is actually all kinds of oversimplifying and in fact insulting to women who are legitimately attracted to other women and not just because hey-we-both-got-boobs-and-like-a-pussycat-I-am-a-pretty-little-narcissist. But you know what? I’m’a let it slide. Because Drew Barrymore said it.
“There are so many pressures that are put upon young women. Whatever we can do to alleviate that and help women feel beautiful about who we are inside, which is the only beauty there truly is, is so nice.” — Drew Barrymore
I swar to gar she is the sweetest thing to ever walk this planet. Not even kidding. Okay, last one for today:
“Let’s get down and dirty. Let’s be a real girl!” –Drew Barrymore.
Ah, then, I must have it all backward; do I, Anna Karina?
This is how antisocial I am, and this is the price I pay: just a bit ago, I called Thai House on Tully (best. I am sorry, best. — no, stop talking. best.) to see if they were open, and when someone picked up the phone, I simply hung up, because I felt my question had been adequately answered by the mere fact of a voice on the other end. Are there people at Thai House working? Yes, I deduced. And did not bother to speak, just hit “end.” That’s right, I wordlessly disconnected a call with the business I was planning to patronize purely for the purpose of limiting my level of interaction with other people. I enjoy this restaurant and bear its employees nothing but good will, but did my actions remotely reflect this? No. I admit they did not.
So then. THEN. I go to Thai House, my mind teeming with satay and moo yang daydreams, and, as I likely deserved, it wound up they are closed until 4:30. Whoever answered the phone would probably happily have told me that, had I not hung up to avoid talking to a fellow human being.
I deserve the wait. To make up for what I’d done, when Gorgeous George hopped on to the yahoo chat and asked me to look over a recent draft of his toast for Paolo and Miss D’s wedding, I suggested that he join me at Thai House later. It is good to have a reason to comb your hair and act human. It’s important to do these things and not hole up in my cave. I’m sure of it. Otherwise I will fall out of practice at being talked to and I will lose whatever magic I might still have, and then how will I ever interact again, as I am striving to do because I have good reasons?
“I’ve always said that one night, I’m going to find myself in some field somewhere, I’m standing on grass, and it’s raining, and I’m with the person I love, and I know I’m at the very point I’ve been dreaming of getting to.” –the beautiful and talented Drew Barrymore
Whatever is going on, it too shall pass. Pray for the night and the rain and the grass of your own with that special unknown someone, and keep that vision in your mind, and it will come before you know it. It has to.
The Thought Experiment 