What I'd like to say about Slim Keith, as a person, has already been said too well by someone else for me to bother, so if you'd like to know a little bit about a woman who used everything she had to get (almost) everything she wanted, may I direct you to this very good article written for the New York Times back in 1990, when her memoir "Memories of a rich and imperfect life" was published. While I'm not entirely comfortable with it, there's something kind of democratic (in the American sense) about her rise to fame and fortune, when viewed as a result of her noted intelligence, wit, taste, and style (rather than solely her looks, or the fact that, while still at the disadvantage of being a woman in the '30s, she had the distinct and usually overlooked advantages of being a white, heterosexual woman in the '30s).
What I'd like to say about Slim Keith, as a style icon, is this. Lady had it up the wazoo. Her style was defined by its simplicity and California sensibility; middle-partings and pony-tails, practicality, and length. Like that of Lauren Bacall, the "discovery" of whom Slim is credited, Slim's style makes you wonder what's going on in her head, and assume that it's something worth knowing. Trousers never looked so good.
''It was about good looks, brains, taste, and style. . . . The only ingredient I brought to this recipe was the recognition that, while you have to be natural, you also have to be different. . . . In my day, different meant not having your hair done in a pompadour and adorning it with a snood, or not trying to hide your intelligence behind a sea of frills. I somehow knew there was a glut in that market. I opted for a scrubbed-clean, polished look. I thought it was more important to have an intelligence that showed, a humor that never failed, and a healthy interest in men.''
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