Word: dior
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...Look at Ethel go! Where does she get the energy?" "Look, McCone is actually smiling!" "I would love to see Allen Dulles twist." Floating among the crowd of 300 smartly-dressed people was the hostess, a tawny blonde, her hair bouffant, her gown a new Cardin, her perfume by Dior. At 1:30 a.m. her husband, Hervé Alphand, 56, the French Ambassador to the U.S., disappeared into an elevator on his way to bed. By 3:30 a.m. the last guests had departed, and Nicole Alphand, surveying all the bereft buffet trays and empty champagne bottles, smiled...
Costume exhibits are rare (the last here was in 1952), and this one was three years in the making; it's worth going to see. Unfortunately, present-day items are not included. A floor-length, beaded evening dress by Dior (or an American designer like Norman Norell) would have provided an interesting contrast to the older costumes on display...
...Hounds of Spring. The modern compulsion "to expose structure to view" is so well demonstrated in the fashions for spring now being shown on Manhattan's Seventh Avenue that next spring had better be a warm one. Versions of Dior's diving neckline (TIME, Sept. 13) abound. Girls who, for one reason or another, cannot get away with that vertiginous plunge have the option to swoop the skin in back. By day, fashion follows the mid-century's other architectural foible-concealing the awkward infrastructure with artificially streamlined simplicity. The result: straight-up-and-down suits with...
...decide which is which. In it, Paul Newman gamely plays an oversexed newspaperman exiled to the Champs Elysées after meeting too many deadlines with his boss's wife. Joanne Woodward is a department store buyer who treks abroad to pinch designs from Dior, Lanvin-Castillo and Pierre Cardin. Naturellement, she herself wears mannish styles and spectacles-she's a sort of hemidemisemivirgin, "a girl who tried love once but didn't like...
When the two meet, crrraaaaazy things happen: Dior, Lanvin-Castillo and Cardin trot out their hautest couture; Maurice Chevalier sings a medley of old favorites; Thelma Ritter spouts excerpts from her treatise on contemporary mating habits. Soon all the 25-year-old virgins of Paris, apparently some 50 or 60 strong, go parading in homage to Catherine, patron saint of maidenhood. Woodward tags along, and St. Catherine tells her she'd better stop in at Elizabeth Arden's on the way home. Off go the glasses. On come the yawns...