Color Me Bad
Written By Brett Paesel
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Retro Beauty Book: The Masters Way to Beauty,/i>
Written in 1977 by famed beauty expert George Masters — the man who would turn Dustin Hoffman into Tootsie — this tome is half old-Hollywood dish, half plucky how-to. When I first pulled it from my mother's shelf as a kid, I couldn't believe how glamorous adult life was going to be: I'd feed my makeup man steamed clams while he sewed paillettes onto my jumpsuit, as Ann-Margret does on page 88. Now, I don't know how your adult life is going, but mine almost never requires a sparkling jumpsuit. Over the years, however, I have thought many times of George Masters and his tips; to wit, that one should rinse without squinting, and eat a youth-promoting daily clove of garlic as Merle Oberon did (swallow, don't chew). Recently I reread the book and was pleased to learn some things still ring true.
- "Men don't understand chic. They understand beauty and glamour." (Does your husband hate all your Japanese-peasant linen separates? Now you know why.)
- " I'm convinced that sugar ages you." (Years later, science would attest that sugars can damage collagen connections.)
- " Place the tip of the tongue on the roof of your mouth as far back as it will go." (An instant chin-lift; try it the next time someone takes your picture.)
Of course, not all the advice holds up. There are the facial exercises designed to be executed with a cigarette or a martini (really), and if you want a big fat laugh, read the advice on man-pleasing makeup that's appropriate for bedtime. (It's worth noting that though Masters dated a client on occasion, he was a bachelor and dedicated the book to his dog Bones.) But I still love The Masters Way to Beauty because the real stars aren't the bombshells but the self-styled dames, like "buck-toothed" socialite Cappy Badrutt, who bewitched moguls and maharajahs nonetheless. Masters, who died in 1998 at 62, loved women not for their faces (which were just canvases) but for the stories they told about themselves. "True feminine beauty peaks with worldly experience," he writes. Thus, the book's real lesson: that allure is not measured in paillettes.
