Monday, August 17, 2009

The hard-scrabble existence of My People, B.I. (Before Internets)

I've been thinking about technology this weekend, the stuff that was "always there" when we grew up and the stuff we remember when it was first introduced. I don't have any kids, but some of my nieces and nephews are parents, and their kids, two generations separated from me, and not going to remember a time when there weren't cell phones and there wasn't the internets. More than just the internet of bulletin boards and user groups, they are going to always know about Google, Facebook and YouTube. Even though those specific websites may fade away, something like them is going to be with us forever, barring some apocalyptic nightmare that throws us into the world of Mad Max or the Terminator.

Let us consider what life was like B.I. (Before Internets) for My People, the men and women who like the idea of giant women and/or shrunken men.

A lot.

It was a lonely existence. One of us might very well wonder if there was anyone else in the world that felt the way we felt. Finding images or stories was relatively rare, and movies or TV shows rarer still. In the era before videotape and DVDs, stories and images were superior to TV and films, because you could actually keep a collection of magazines and books.

I wrote a post about the illustrator Charles Dana Gibson about a year ago, with a few pictures from the turn of the 20th Century showing women in the stage of courtship as having the upper hand by portraying them as giantesses. My friend The Curator, one of My People who is about my age, has made some remarkable finds in old books and magazines published long before we were born. The photo above is from Vogue in 1948, celebrating the 75th birthday of Gibson's widow, who was also the original model for the Gibson Girl. Society women in New York were going to dress in costume and get their hair made up to look like Gibson Girls well after the fashion had changed. The woman with the hatpin is Mrs. William Paley, wife of the president of CBS and over her shoulder is Mrs. George Abbott, wife of the legendary Broadway icon and also known as the actress Mary Sinclair. On the left is Miss Wendy Burden and on the right is Mrs. Philip Isles.

The little guy begging for his life is not named. He's probably toast anyway, so the name isn't important. The photographer is the stalwart of Vogue from this era, Horst P. Horst, known simply as Horst.

This image has been around for as long as I've been alive, but I hadn't seen it until last week. Nowadays, it only takes one person to find something like this, scan it, put it up on the web and everybody can find it. The Curator does a great job of cataloging his finds over at the Giantess Shrine. His work isn't the complete list of all mentions of giantesses in the media, it never can be, but it's a good place to start any search for such stuff.

While I have often questioned the wisdom of being the semi-public face of My People and Our Agenda, keeping the smutty thotz down to a PG or maybe PG-13 level of explicitness so the blog stays Almost Suitable For Work, I have been rewarded with several blog buddies sharing images they have found that would interest My People, whether they have any inclinations in that regard or not. For example, Dr. Zaius put up a post with this picture from the back cover of a MAD Magazine from the late 1960's.

Technically, Dr. Zaius can't be one of My People since he is a super-intelligent ape from the future, but given his detailed knowledge of the career of starlet Joy Harmon, he may have some of My People's tendencies in latent form.

Also sharing an image of interest to the hearty band of weirdos I hang out with is the author of Cat In The Bag, a really nice photo blog I check out on a regular basis. Thanks to the human half of Zoey & Me for finding this and posting it.


dguzman said...

I can only imagine your pain and torment B.I.

Dark times.

Matty Boy said...

You have no idea.

Dr. Zaius said...

Thanks for the link, Matty Boy! ;o)

namastenancy said...

For your sake, I'm glad that those dark days are a thing of the past.