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the abbreviated reign of “neon” leon spinks

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CONVENIENCE ISN’T ALWAYS ENOUGH 107<br />

America excitedly donned similarly flimsy, poorly fitting, and not partic-<br />

ularly comfortable disposable paper attire in an ill- conceived effort to be<br />

stylishly modern. One paper-dress maker alone, West Asheville, North<br />

Carolina–based Mars Manufacturing, reportedly churned out one hundred<br />

thousand dresses each week. Department stores set up boutiques<br />

devoted to paper fashion, and Manhattan trendsetters and small-town society<br />

matrons alike flocked to paper-dress balls. Designers such as Dior<br />

and Halston created haute couture for <strong>the</strong> upper-crustiest <strong>of</strong> clients, while<br />

<strong>the</strong> less affluent could make do with <strong>the</strong> paper dress <strong>of</strong>fered by General<br />

Mills for $1 plus a box top from Betty Crocker instant au gratin potatoes.<br />

Life magazine, <strong>the</strong>n a definitive voice in popu lar tastes, ran a photo spread<br />

on disposable fashion, and happily announced that “this is <strong>the</strong> year <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong><br />

paper dress that can be worn and <strong>the</strong>n just tossed in <strong>the</strong> wastebasket.”<br />

Only a worried wool merchant, perhaps, would have disputed <strong>the</strong> conclusion<br />

that paper dresses were <strong>the</strong> first wave <strong>of</strong> a wonderful new disposable<br />

future, in which humans would enter <strong>the</strong> world swa<strong>the</strong>d in paper and ultimately<br />

leave it <strong>the</strong> same way.<br />

But <strong>the</strong>n, with <strong>the</strong> same spectacular suddenness with which it had<br />

emerged, <strong>the</strong> paper dress fad fizzled and vanished. Today, <strong>the</strong> last few<br />

remaining specimens <strong>of</strong> 1960s paper dresses linger in eBay advertisements,<br />

thrift-store inventories, and museum collections, and we are left to<br />

ponder a massive, paradigm-shifting trend that, as it turned out, never<br />

actually happened. Never<strong>the</strong>less, paper dresses were also something more<br />

than just ano<strong>the</strong>r deluded bit <strong>of</strong> 1960s silliness, like Day-Glo vinyl go-go<br />

boots or Nehru jackets. They became an extreme symbol <strong>of</strong> a massconsumption<br />

culture tied inexorably to planned obsolescence, in which<br />

prosperity depended upon people’s continual willingness to toss aside<br />

yesterday’s prized possessions and acquire new ones. And although paper<br />

dresses ultimately flopped, <strong>the</strong> notion <strong>of</strong> inexpensive, ephemeral fashion<br />

eventually resurfaced—albeit in somewhat less fragile form—and became<br />

a staple at shopping malls across <strong>the</strong> land.

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