6 Most Paranoia-Inducing Quotes from a 1948 Guide to Beauty and Charm

If you’re like me, there’s always room in your life for one more worry. Right? This one comes to you courtesy of The Encyclopedia of Beauty and Charm, penned in 1948 by “feminology” expert and professional paranoia trafficker Alma Archer. (I found it at The Book Thing in Baltimore last weekend, along with an authorized biography of Carson Daly. Which is a post for another day.)

Here’s the book cover, which communicates “beauty and charm” with the archetypal signifiers: hot-pink smooch, doodle-haired bowling-pin lady, and twelve pieces of Scotch tape that are older than you.

I pretty much read this book all in one night. Because I am ridiculously susceptible to obnoxious inquiries that call my entire way of being into question, I found myself speed-picking lint off my plaid pajama pants and asking “crap. . .what have I done today that’s charming?”

Alma Archer does that to a person.

ALMA IS JUDGING YOU.

There are 443 pages in this book, all of them radiating from the central premise that you are in all likelihood a.) a fundamentally disgusting and charmless human being, and b.) tragically unaware of your own charmlessness and thus doomed to pine outside the “Charming Circle” while your betters nibble aspic loaf in their finest baby-sealskin stoles.

Because your worry wardrobe needs a few more kicky accessories, here are 6 things Alma Archer wants you to start agonizing over TODAY, this minute, before it’s too late.

(Which it probably already is.)

1. Your sickbed style

If you totally procrastinated about getting your flu shot until Rite-Aid ran out (a primary hallmark of a charmless person), listen up. You’ll need to know these sickbed beauty tips in about two weeks, after someone coughs on you in the DMV line:

Trust me, you’ll regret it if you don’t follow this advice. I’m still mourning the opportunity I squandered back in December, when I was horizontal for two days straight. Granted, what I had wasn’t nearly as romantic as ptomaine poisoning, but still: I allowed my husband to see me in giant flannel sickpants that clashed with the sheets, and the bucket I kept next to the bed could have been greatly improved with a quick coat of paint and some whimsical butterfly stencils.

Ladies, don’t be like me. “I can’t walk upright” is no excuse; if you’re well enough to crouch on the bathroom floor and whisper pleas to unseen deities into the tiles, you’re well enough to tie a silly ribbon in your hair.

2. The state of your elbows

Think back to when you were ten. How many hours did you waste riding your bike, reading books, and cultivating lifelong friendships, when you could have been lubricating your elbows? We need to get this message to our daughters NOW. It doesn’t matter how many goats and fine laces are in her trousseau; if her elbows lack charm, she’ll be bringing Jello molds to other people’s bridal showers until her ladyparts are well past their expiration date.

Don’t let this happen to someone you love.

3. Your gross laughing mouth

If laugh rehearsals aren’t already a part of your daily beauty routine, start today. Do it right after you watch Downton Abbey, and imagine how awesome it would be if Lord Grantham and Carson got in the basket of a giant balloon together, puffed it up with their own hot air, and spent the rest of their days bobbing through clouds while huffing about Catholics and oyster forks and new toasters that do not work like the old toasters once did.

“What IS ‘slash fiction,’ Carson?” “It’s best you not know, my lord.”

I’m laughing right now, and you guys, it’s so gross. My upper lip looks totally short and tight just like Alma said, and I don’t even know what’s going on with my teeth but it’s not going to get me into the Charming Circle anytime soon.

Try it yourself. I’ll be over here, learning to laugh with my eyes.

4. Hats and their consequences

Does your hat exude smartness and spirit? As a self-test, put on your favorite chapeau and appraise yourself honestly in the mirror. I personally am relieved to report that my winter hat does not resemble a pie plate, though I’m not sure Alma Archer would consider “giant Q-tip” much of an improvement.

Upon reflection, I was forced to conclude that although the hat is roomy enough to be a sleeping bag for a decent-sized stuffed monkey (we checked), it doesn’t hold much intrigue. Every time I put it on, my five-year-old stifles a giggle, and I think I see a touch of genuine pity in her eyes.

5. The way you sit

Do you know how to sit charmingly? It’s okay if you don’t. I always assumed I did, but then I read page 46 and realized I was mistaken:

Basically, if your ass is in a chair and your hands are moving at all, you’re doing it wrong. You may raise a hand only to cough into your monogrammed handkerchief or gut-punch someone who suggests that otter is a suitable evening fur.

(Side note: Alma Archer clearly believes it isn’t charming to have best friends, because asking them to inventory your annoying mannerisms is a fairly efficient way to deep-freeze the warmest of alliances. It makes sense, because best friends make you smile all the time, and you know what happens then.)

ZOMG GUMS

6. Worry itself

Dear Alma Archer: WTF?

Since this ix-nay on the orry-way business comes just pages from the end, I’ll assume you suffered a massive head injury while writing the book’s final chapters, because what about elbows, salad forks, percale sheets, panty seams, and the other 3,451 things you just instructed us to worry about?

Are you punking us?

Or maybe we’re supposed to worry without actually using our worry muscles, the way we’re supposed to laugh with our eyes if our teeth aren’t up to snuff. I’m sorry to report that Alma is unable to clarify this passage, having passed away in 1988 at the charming age of 89. She may be gone, but you can honor her legacy by tracking down your own yellowed, meticulously Scotch-taped edition of The Encyclopedia of Beauty and Charm and putting her timeless advice into practice. Your morning routine will take three hours and you’ll find yourself spending a great deal of money on gloves and cocktail pumps, but remember:

DON’T SAY I DIDN’T WARN YOU.

***

So am I alone in collecting antiquated etiquette guides? Any gems on your own bookshelf? Leave a comment below with your favorite outmoded beauty tips, and I promise I’ll give you instant admission to the Charming Circle.