Colleen Moore is intimately associated with the bob haircut but don’t forget that for the first years of her career, she was all curls all the time.
I found this little bit of poetry in a 1922 issue of Photoplay and since I know a lot of you, myself included, love our Colleen, I thought I would share it. So, here is the extremely bucolic Sonnet Impression of Colleen Moore:
Spring sunlight on a bed of daffodils,
Arbutus, hiding in a shady spot,
The haze-hung mystery of far-off hills.
The wide-eyed blue of the forget-me-not.
An Irish song, half-wistful, half-enticing,
A song that many weary souls have sung —
A wee child’s birthday cake, with colored icing. . .
Eve’s laughter — when the world was very young.
The shyness of an antelope that grazes,
Beside the crystal magic of a brook;
A mind that dares to penetrate, that gazes
Down vistas where some mortals dare not look.
The fine, elusive fragrance of old lace.
Held close beside a pansy’s roguish face.
I am dying to know what Ms. Sangster thought of Flaming Youth, released just one year later. Shyness of an antelope? Old lace? Yeah…
Incidentally, Moore herself found the curls to be an enormous pain and was delighted to chop them off. Her memoirs are a kick and highly recommended too.
You can look up lots of swell clippings like these at the Media History Digital Library.
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