The New Movie Magazine (Jan-Sep 1935)

Shopping with Joan (Continued from page 25) "It was in 'Forsaking All Others,' that I began wearing a ribbon to hold the long locks on the left side of my head in place because of camera angles. I've found it such a becoming style and so comfortable that I'm surprised I didn't think of it before." With two new frocks, the next half hour was spent in selecting accessories to wear with them. Among these was a lovely shallow jeweled evening bag with an emerald clasp. Suddenly she spied some cunningly contrived hair clips of brilliants and pounced on them with glee, exclaiming, as she selected the design, "Look, this will take the place of my velvet bow for evening wear!" Delighted with her discovery, Joan however, flatly refused to listen to the argument that she should have two clips, insisting that one suited her better. I was discovering that Joan is a good shopper. She knows what she wants, is definite in her tastes and not influenced into buying what she doesn't like. I don't think Joan is especially clothes-conscious. I'm sure the subject doesn't absorb her as it does many stars. She enjoys being well dressed because it is part of the nicer aspects of life and her career demands it. She likes to wear beautiful costumes on the screen when they belong to her role. Otherwise, she feels she is being presented as a clothes model rather than an actress and this doesn't please her. She's an individualist but not an extremist. While she likes new, unusual things and can wear them with a distinctive flair, she avoids all eccentricities. The gayest laugh of our tour came when she mischievously tried on one of the new shiny straw hats with a grotesque crown for she became hilariously amused at the picture of herself reflected in the long mirror. Which also shows she can laugh at herself. "Hats are so important for they frame the face," said Joan. "I consider a hat the keynote of my entire ensemble. The first consideration is becomingness. If it doesn't accentuate my best features, in other words 'do' something for me, I pass it by. It is very important to learn what not to wear." And speaking of lingerie! Or wasn't I? But I must rave over Joan's! She has it made especially for her out of the loveliest satin — white, too, mind you, not pink or blue, and they are strictly tailored with an occasional bit of very fine embroidery worked on them. Her little short panties, her slips and her nightgowns, which always have long sleeves because she says her arms get cold, haven't a lacy ruffle in sight. Her negligees and pajamas, which she wears at home are usually white and they, too, favor tailored lines. She adores mules and declares her bill for these comfy foot frivolities is greater than for her shoes. She has monograms on her linens, her bags and handkerchiefs but they must be small, graceful letters. She likes to dress for dinner and has a number of simple white dinner gowns, with an ocasional blue one for a change. She never wears pink, purples or lavenders for she thinks they do not suit her. Joan looks forward all week to Saturday afternoon for it is then she dons a blue and white gingham dress and arranges the flowers for every room in her big house in Brentwood Heights. She gets peevish if anyone tries to assist her. When she has a few free days she delights in rearranging her dresser drawers and looking through her closets. She has no personal maid except at the studio for she likes to wait on herself. She confesses she's a bit fussy about her own things and has old-maidish ideas. Her bill at the cleaners must be huge for she insists on having her frocks, coats and sports clothes cleaned after only a few wearings. Joan is five feet, four inches tall, and weighs one hundred and thirty-one pounds. She uses blood-red nail polish and a deep lip rouge but otherwise uses no make-up and her skin is marvelously smooth and lovely. Her hair is its natural light brown. She is really prettier off the screen than on and for some reason, the camera has never captured her full quota of charm. She is more girlish, more spontaneous and softer, than in her picture roles. During our shopping there were always people hovering around us watching Joan and there was no more privacy for her than the proverbial goldfish. I asked her how she kept her poise. "It isn't easy but I've grown a little used to it," she confessed. "I think we of the screen should never forget that we depend on the public's favor for our success and we should never be discourteous nor rude. One thoughtless act may have far reaching effects." At last, wearying of clothes, we stopped to admire some novel tomato and orange juice glasses. Next, she was attracted to a French blue coffee set but with a sigh, she turned resolutely away. "Let's have luncheon," she suddenly exclaimed. "I'm starved, aren't you?" So we made our way to the French dining-room at the Ambassador, where the headwaiter had Joan's favorite table overlooking the patio gardens, ready for her. After ordering we spent the time admiring Dolores Costello Barrymore, who with her little girl, was sitting at the next table. We agreed she never looked lovelier. Our waiter came with a tray of relishes and within the next few minutes I witnessed a bit of drama that was a visible explanation of why Joan Crawford is so popular with everyone whose life she touches. Accidentally, as he placed the relishes on the table, the waiter touched her glass, turning it over, the water filling her plate and splashing down onto her skirt. Miserable, he stood rooted with embarrassment. Quick as a flash, Joan's laugh rang out. "WTe don't mind a little thing like that," she said, cheerily. "Why such things happen to all of us. Anyway, I was out in the rain yesterday and that was much, much worse." Then, as I began wiping the water from her skirt, she said, with a merry grin, "Napkins, bring us a bunch of napkins." "I'll change the cloth," ventured the waiter, but Joan gaily interrupted, "Nonsense, that isn't necessary. A few napkins and we'll be as good as new." As the man, still agitated, started to remove her plate and glass, Joan picked up a small creamer and with utter nonchalance, tipped it over. "Oh look what I've done!" came her surprised exclamation. "Now, that's a lot worse than spilling water." For a full second the waiter looked at her. His face held comprehension, with several emotions racing over it. Then he said quietly, "I'll bring some cream," and walked away. Neither Joan nor I spoke. I couldn't. I had been given a quick flash of an understanding soul. I Miss Helen Mitchell Stedman, of New York, of exquisitely fragile blonde beauty, says: "Pond's Rose Brunette Powder gives my skin the loveliest glow!" 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