At least once a month, and twice a month in season, the magazine Vogue works itself into a well-bred frenzy over the American woman, clucking with dismay over her shortcomings, chirruping with alarm over her sluggishness, shrilly urging her on to greater & greater miracles of attenuated charm.
Sometimes, mourns Vogue in its early April issue, it seemed almost as if the U.S. woman just doesn't care enough. Take a Frenchwoman, going out for the evening. "She will have thought for hours about her entrance. If she is tired, she is simply 'not...
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