I understand only one thing about cultural phenomena: I don't understand them.
After I saw the movie
Love Story, I got the book from the library.
Not only that, I read it. It's famous in literary circles as
kitsch, it's famous in some circles as the first time the word
preppy appeared in print, it's famous in other circles as a precursor to chick-lit although the author was male. The names of buildings and streets were spelled correctly. But the implicit characterization of the schools with which I was familiar (full disclosure: I did not attend the schools named in the story, but friends and bygone romances did, so I visited) didn't ring true. The schools I knew were populated by people who somehow found time to attend the classes, read the readings, write the papers, think the thinking. Their wardrobes were afterthoughts. Their haircuts were either automatic or afterthoughts, depending on era. Frankly, I always thought the best way to dress was to look as if you had better things on your mind but were raised by people who drummed "clean and neat," "it's still good," "quality will always tell," and "where did you say you were going, dear?" into your infant brain. Here the focus was on Luuuuurrrrv and cute clothes. The clothes looked like they
tried. Wrong.
I watched the movie with some friends, who were astounded by the clothing. In fairness: Ali MacGraw's outfits fit her perfectly, showed no cleavage (butt or upper), were appropriate to the scene that was taking place, and yet drew gasps of admiration. That this should be unusual and admirable is a sad state of affairs, but the movie is meant to make you sad, so... on some level it works.
 |
(coff, coff)
Spoiler alert: the plot ranges from the implausible to the insipid.
At the end, Ali McGraw dies from Nonspecific But Inevitably Fatal Movie Disease.
She is said to grow pallid and weak, but this is stated, not shown.
Love Story is part of a genre of movies where a girl who tries to speak plainly,
move up in life, and think for herself, meets a bad end,
although it's not as dramatic as Looking for Mr. Goodbar.
The boy who was born to succeed, succeeds. The girl who strives, dies. Sniff, sniff. |
 |
| well-behaved horse behaving well |
 |
| frightening to equine population |
So what was the way of life that the Boy rejected because he wanted to reach for individuality, independence, and True Love? Not for me to define . But let's look at one teeny facet of "Prepdom as it is shown in films and literature."
Recently an ill-considered e-mail ventured into my Inbox, into several inboxes, in fact. The author, clearly an intergalactic tourist, suggested that the Girl in the movie might have considered
these boots to be riding boots. Actually, I don't think the Girl rode. If she did, even if she didn't know better, someone else would have prevented her from getting on a horse in those boots. Riding boots have to have a defined heel, but it should be no higher than 1½ inches, and it should be broad, not pointy. Otherwise, you will hurt the horse. Havoc will occur in the region of the stirrups. Preppies may be dangerous to women in movies, but they are kind to animals across the board. And tassels on shoes were not generally accepted on the East Coast at the time of the movie, although I understand that many nice people wear them now. I don't know about tassels on boots in general, but for riding, you don't want anything on your feet/legs that could interfere with the stirrups or tickle the horse at an inopportune moment.
I wish to give Jennifer Cavilleri (Ali MacGraw's character) the benefit of the doubt, because, after all, she died, she was made to wear teeny skirts out of doors on snowy days, and she was said to be smart,
and she died, so if she were a real person and learned that she had to get on a horse, she would have found one of the many books about what to wear on a horse that were available in one of the libraries with which Boston and Cambridge
teem, and then she would have found a kindly suite-mate from whom to borrow boots, pants and shirt.
Accordingly, I have concluded that these awkward emails are the product of a mind that is studying Planet Earth, but has not yet learned to distinguish the human species from the equine. Or tee-shirts from T-paper (both disposable, no?)
Dorothy Parker was asked to identify her favorite of the four sisters in
Little Women, which is a story about how four girls with no visible means of support are deserted by their neer-do-well father, who is kind of a Civil War hippie-chaplain. The girls and their dear mother spend a lot of time hoping he will come home and worrying if he will be proud of them. Meanwhile, they do menial jobs, scrounge for food, mend clothing, and suck up to wealthy friends and relatives. Parker's favorite sister: "Beth, because she died."
I would love to have heard what Dorothy Parker would have said of
Love Story. And as for her opinions on the Copywriter From Space:
she might have said this
Michael Kors once had a distinctive look.
This morning's email from the folks at Kors, and its links, suggest that the distinction may now emanate from J.Crew. Oh, well, at least they aren't borrowing from the boys. Yet. The Copywriter from Space may have more interplanetary cousins in search of paychecks. These days, who doesn't?
