ABSTRACT
The Flapper’s face, high cheekbones, clear-blue, wide-set eyes and full, lipsticked mouth fill the magazine’s front cover. She stares straight at us with an indifferent and introspective gaze. Perhaps the curl of her lips is about to break into a laugh; perhaps the poise and firm set of her jaw suggest contempt. A blue felt cloche clasps her head tightly, and just visible beneath its rim are the short edges of her gold hair. An extravagant white fur wrap about her shoulders matches a string of pearls carelessly knotted about her strong neck. Behind her the lights of a modern skyscraper city-doubtless New York-stretch away in darkness. The lights of offices, movie houses, electric signs and streetlamps create a shimmering backdrop to her startling, disturbing presence. She is very much there, young, chic, sophisticated, a woman of her time.
