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Let’s Read Petticoat, April 1972!

Petticoat was a short lived (1966-1976) magazine for the swinging London woman!

This issue comes to us courtesy of fellow Avocado Ben, who was kind enough to send this and next week’s issue to me all the way from England! Thanks a million!

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Many of you were quite taken with this swarthy stud from the cover preview last week. Is he the most kissable man in Britain? Only you can stop him!

It seems to be a common British thing to encourage writing to the editors with a little cash reward. I think I’ve seen the same thing in other UK magazines from the past but not any American ones.

The Breach of Promise Act had been abolished in 1970. From what I’m reading on it, it was a centuries old law where a woman could sue a man for ending their engagement, and was particularly damning if they had engaged in premarital sex during their engagement period – hence, the woman was “ruined” and her future marriage prospects would dwindle in the wake of the breakup. Weirdly enough, this was considerable protection on the woman’s side of the fight even if it was also incredibly backhanded. So basically the BoP would keep unhappy couples together for way longer than they should have been, for fear of legal consequences should they break up. That ain’t healthy.

”The Bible is not a science textbook.” Could you say that a little louder for everyone in the room to hear, Ms. Chapman of York?

As for the ad on the side, there seems to be a popular belief that English women don’t bother to shave their legs or obsess over removing body hair in the same way that Americans do. Going from this ad, I don’t really believe that.

I love those Muppet “flapper” eyelashes. Would you eat that pork and pineapple curry? It doesn’t sound too repulsive. Next month’s cover girl is Sandy Ratcliff, who was big on EastEnders in the 80s and has a very, uh, interesting Wikipedia page.

Things that this horrible person is completely qualified to complain about in America:
– low quality tea
– impoliteness
– muggings
– 1970s levels of urban smog

Things that she is not qualified to complain about in America:
– fat people
– fat dogs (HOW DARE YOU)
– central heating
– grocery stores
– eggs sunny side up

And lastly to borrow from Dave Chappelle: if you don’t like waffles, something’s wrong with you man, there is something wrong with you.

“Oh darling, what beautiful roses! Did you do that in celebration of my new hair colour?”
”Err yes, darling, I absolutely did. In fact, if I could see your face in this murky pitch-black cave that we’re meeting in I could profess my awe over how well your hair compliments your complexion. How did you even know that I brought you roses, my love?”
”The thorns are puncturing my fingers!”

Girl where are your eyebrows! Did the Valderma burn them off?

Someone needs to bring back that rainbow packaging.

How to ace a job interview: “just go along looking good but not freaky”. You also need to make sure that you aren’t wearing a lot of makeup, because the fragile masculine mind of your boss-to-be will be overwhelmed with judgments about how much time you’ll spend putting makeup on at work. Yes, this is absolutely something that occupies men’s thoughts all day.

How to ace a date: completely throw out the notion that men don’t like it when women wear a lot of makeup. Ha ha! Men are so dumb. So fool them into thinking you’re only wearing a small amount of makeup by wearing an absolutely ludicrous amount of makeup. If you’ve done everything right, he may entertain the thought of touching your hair. Break his wrist if he tries. Spray on that Tigress, coat your lips in Donkey Pink and don’t forget the breath spray in case he takes you out for curry!

Be the life of the party: Wear eyelashes that match the color of your eyes. No this doesn’t sound absolutely insane, just take this pill and you’ll see in a few minutes what a good idea it is. Perpetuate many racial stereotypes and insensitivities to coordinate your makeup, hair, and dress. If you aren’t evoking a white man’s fantasy of a sex worker struggling to survive in a war-torn country with her body as the last asset she has left, keep working at it until you get it right. While this has nothing to do with a party, we’re going to remind you that you shouldn’t wear the same makeup every day. Change it. CHANGE IT. CHANGE. IT.

Your look for getting murdered in the boonies over the weekend: if smoking, pollution, the sexual revolution, and general public ignorance of sunscreen has managed to elude your flawless English rose complexion, draw some freckles on your face. This is something that hot women do. We recommend a moisturizer called Sheer Puffery for some reason, and if you can get your hair done by Jason of Jingles like our model did we certainly recommend him.

Come to think of it, we aren’t sure that Jason of Jingles actually exists and he may have been something that our editor saw when she was tripping on peyote.

This guy needs to hook up with the awful woman who hated waffles and buildings and maybe they now have shitty judgmental children together.

I WANT TO BE TOLD WHY I WILL ENJOY WORKING A DEAD END JOB AS A BANK TELLER, JUST LIKE POOR SANDRA.

Read this entire thing Stephen Fry’s voice for maximum enjoyment.

The suggestion for every Beatle except Ringo stings. No smooches for Ringo! And what’s that Chris Ward asshole doing there? Did he nominate himself?

I don’t know how to feel about this very 70s photography trend of the deep black background. On one hand, it sure is a dramatic and almost painterly effect. On the other hand, it makes everything rather murky and hard to see.

What is even happening with this layout? Yikes!

Before she married Prince Charles, Lady Diana Spencer spent her nights as moonlighting as Bonsai The Plant Ninja, kicking ass for English gardens everywhere!

If the intention of this photographer was “faceless plant-woman emerging from the darkness to eat your children”, they really nailed it. Shoot at the targets on her hips! KIDS GET BEHIND ME! RUN!

I thought the pants were polka dotted at first, but the pattern is actually cherries and strawberries in order to “match” the jacket. And the blouse is lime green. What in the acid tripping Strawberry Shortcake hell?

All the cool girls coordinate their sleeves to the trim of capri pants, don’t you know?

Well, at least contraception is now a “we” issue so that’s nice. I would love to know more about the “electronic testing” that goes into condom quality control.

I’m imagining a lot of women in 1972 pointing to the shoehorned in “when you get married” part and laughing hysterically.

A nice look into the very crazy and tragically short life of Marc Bolan, the lead singer of T. Rex. I don’t know much about T. Rex at all aside from their big commercial singles, so finding out that the band included a member named Steve Peregrine Took and played at a club called Middle Earth in their early days delights me.

“I am my own fantasy. I am the cosmic dancer who dances his way out of the womb and into the tomb.”

“Our heroes are becoming old men” is a really weird way to put it when the oldest member of the Beatles was barely 30 in 1972, but it does make sense if you consider that they had dominated the previous decade for so long. It was finally time to move on from the breakup.

Check out that illustration from my unofficial favorite style of commercial art, the Spaghetti Hair School of Woman Drawing.

Put the “glow” in glower with Angel Face by Pond’s. Tag yourself! Which beautiful pissed off woman are you today?

You were wearing In Love, which you thought covered up the gin on your breath but you really reeked of both, and Peter was kind enough to forgive you for breaking his antique figurine but he really had enough when you went into the garden and drunkenly peed on his roses in front of his mother while she was having tea with his boss. And you were.

This looks like a Gap ad from 2006.

I’m taking a rough stab at who these people are based on their names, but Alastair Cowin is a fashion photographer with some notoriety reaching back to the early 60s who works in English fashion photography to this day. Anyone else know who Marielle and Lee Cooper are? Lee Cooper is a brand of jeans? I am really confused as to whether or not Marielle and Lee Cooper are brands or people pictured, so let’s move on.

Take your venereal disease bingo card with you to Club Med in crisp cotton!

The smiley face pin!

…and the casual racism!

All part of your plan to win the heart of Mork. Nanoo nanoo baby!

Margaret Jones (Mrs.) wants you to maximize your potential as a secretary so you can marry your boss and quit faster! Send now for more details!

I have a theory that the water stain over the letter about the ten year old girl getting her period is from the spit-take that someone did when reading it for the first time.

If you want to look marginally less upset than the Pond’s girls, try Deep.

Jennifer Pulling, the author, now mostly writes about cats.

Can’t beat the illustrations, though.

A N I T A  Y O U  I N  D A N G E R  G I R L

I have no idea what any of this means, but I love it.

Your horoscopes:
Aries: the poison worked and now Nigel is yours for the taking
Taurus: throw wine glasses at the wall and scream inside your own head until you feel better
Gemini: dump him and sleep with his brother this weekend
Cancer: you should go home with your boss
Leo: you need new friends
Virgo: ask Sandra at the bank about how to put your hands in the air and empty the till right now or I swear I’ll kill everyone in this room
Libra: nothing is ever your fault
Scorpio: ditching your son’s ninth birthday party to snort coke in a disco will only make it more special when you make it up to him on his tenth birthday
Sagittarius: becoming a Mormon sister-wife is a very sound economic choice
Capricorn: he’s never going to accept you and the five interdimensional beings that you’re channeling at any given time, and you need to just deal with it
Aquarius: sleeping with your physics professor, your physics professor’s wife, and your physics professor’s son is a lot more complicated than you expected, isn’t it
Pisces: your name was written in blood on a bathroom wall in Blackpool and it’s not looking good for you this week luv

If your man can’t see your makeup from the far end of a dark and crowded roller disco, you aren’t wearing enough makeup.

That’s it for this week! Thank you for reading. Next time we’re going to linger a little longer in the swingin’ 70s with Lover from June 1971!

And one last thing – I now have an Instagram for posting little extra odds and ends that didn’t make it to the final blog for whatever reason. Be a clever kitten and check it out, won’t you?