Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1950)

WW ITS WS TO REDUCE This Common Sense Way Sylvia of Hollywood has no patience with those who say they can't reduce. She says, "A lot of women think the beauties of the screen and stage are the natural born favorites of the gods. Let me tell you they all have to be improved upon before they are presented to the public. Yes, I know, you are going to come back at me and say, 'But look at the money they have to spend on themselves. It's easy to do it with money.' "Let me tell you something else. I've been rubbing noses with money for a good many years now. Big money. Buckets of it. I've treated many moneyed women. But money has nothing to do with it. In most cases, money makes people soft. They get used to having things done for them and never do anything for themselves." Want to be convinced? Watch those scales. They will talk in pounds. And watch that tape measure. It will talk in inches. Here Sylvia explains what you can do for yourself to improve your figure. There is no magic about The Common Sense Way to a beautiful figure. But if you follow the suggestions Sylvia of Hollywood has for you in this book you may, perhaps, challenge the beauty of the loveliest movie star! Sylvia of Hollywood Names Names Sylvia of Hollywood has reduced scores of famous stage and screen stars — successfully. In this book Sylvia tells how she helped many of Hollywood's brightest stars with their figure problems. She names names — tells you how she developed this star's legs — how she reduced that star's waistline — how she helped another star to achieve a beautiful youthful figure. Perhaps your own figure problems are identical to those of your favorite screen star. NEW EDITION . . . NOW YOU GET BOTH FIGURE HELPS-PERSONALITY SECRETS Now we have just published a brand new edition of Sylvia's famous book, No More Alibis! This edition contains all the text matter of the original book, plus the greater part of her splen did book on personality development entitled Pull Yourself Together, Baby. Now get Sylvia's secrets of charm as well as beauty! The price of this new edition is only $1. Order today while supply is still available. Bartholomew House, Inc., Dept. RM-950 205 E. 42nd Street, New York 17. N. Y. Send rue postpaid ;i copy of Sylvia of Hollywood's NO M.II'.IS! COMBINED WITH PULL YOURSELF TOGETHEB, BABY) I enclose «l.UO. Name please Print R Address M City State.. 90 PARTIAL CONTENTS— NEW EDITION Too Much Hips, Reducing Abdomen. Reducing the Breasts, Firming the Breasts, Fat Pudgy Arms, Slenderizing the Legs and Ankles, Correcting Bow-legs, Slimming the Thighs and Upper Legs, Reducing Fat on the Back, Squeezing Off Fat. Enlarge Your Chest, Develop Your Legs— Off with That Double Chin! Slenderizing the Face and Jowls, Refining Your Nose. Advice For The Adolescent — The Woman Past Forty — The Personality Figure, Glamour Is Glandular, This Thing Called Love, Cure-For-The-Blues Department, Take a Chance! I could freeze to death in the street before I'd get any action. Another blight on career women is the Axe Grinder type, who is apt to be at any party. Just as you're waving your eyelashes at something tall and terrific, up comes Mr. A. Grinder and elbows your potential romance aside. Why? So he can give you a big heart-palpitating rush? Not at all — so he can sell you his new diaper service, or get you to plug his dog food on the air, free. You listen glassy-eyed to a twenty-minute speech on the virtues of the product he's selling; then when you escape from his monologue he snarls, "A-a-a-ah, another hard-boiled career dame!" Ilhen there's the Darling of the Tele. phone Company. This one telephones, at the very instant he's due at your door, to say: "I'm leaving the office right now and coming by fast pogo-stick. Sorry I'm late — but pin on your corsage and grab your gloves — I'm moving in your direction." So you wait . . . thirty minutes. Then there he is again — by telephone! "Sugar, I ran into the boys and stopped for a quick one. But I'm really on my way. . . ." And so on. You know the type. By the time he gets there your gardenia has turned a bilious brown and ditto your disposition. And let us not forget — or forgive — the old, tired Egomaniac. This bird bends your ear for hours talking about himself. Then he looks brightly at your sagging face and chirps, "Now let's talk about you. Tell me, what do you think — about me?" However, in spite of this speech about the Sad Sacks extant, I'd like to say rapidly that some day I would like to be married — and I even believe that somewhere, somehow, my Mr. Right really exists. I have a few wild hopes about him, I'll admit. I hope, for instance, that he wants to live in New York City; I was born here, went to school here, and I really love the place. Somehow I can't see myself writing, "Dear Mother, here I am in East Overcoat, Nebraska, and having a whirl." I'd rather be on East Eightyseventh Street. I also cherish a hope that he is employed; an unemployed man around the house would seem to go under the heading of excess baggage. I'd kind of like it if he were in the entertainment business — but it really doesn't matter to me. After all, I myself have been in both the business and show worlds; I was supervising a rationing board (of all things) when I vaulted into radio in 1945. It was all because I knew Martha Rountree, who produces Leave It to the Girls. Martha suddenly needed someone to pinch-hit on a program and said, "Eloise talks a lot — I'll get her!" Presto, I was on radio, and I've been on radio or TV ever since. My dream man doesn't have to be good-looking, and I don't care whether he's a blond or brunet, just so there's a brain-cell or two under his thatch. Also, I hope he has a sense of humor. And I hope he's sentimental enough to remember that my favorite color is blue — and to turn up on my birthday with something-or-other in blue! Furthermore, while I'm wishing, I hope he's the kind who actually notices a new dress, or the times when my hair is done a new way. Okay, I can hear your comment: "Poor Eloise is a bit touched — this man doesn't breathe!" Maybe he doesn't — but a girl's got to have something to look forward to, doesn't she, even if it's only an illusion?