1920's Flapper Girls
What i learned from being a flapper
I got a proposal to be a flapper girl at a medical event.
I said: “Yes! Bring it on gig economy.”
This wasn’t just a “dress up as if” Halloween event.
My friend shared her research on 1920s slang with me.
The only word I recognized was “bimbo”, which was completely shapeshifted in its meaning.
There were a lot of fruit names in the slang list, which I liked.
“Banana oil!” = nonsense, insincere talk.
“Berries!” = attractive, pleasing.
So, when the food server offered me a tray of bites that looked so yummy,
I responded:
“Looks like berries!”
She said:
“Oh, these are tomatoes.”
I explained the slang and we had a running joke every time we saw each other throughout the event.
Animal names were also a big part of the 1920s slang in addition to fruits.
“Bearcat” = a woman who is fiery, energetic, high-spirited.
Cat’s meow, cat’s pajamas, dog’s soup, bee’s knees, snake charmer, horsefeathers, weasel, to name a few!
I can hear you asking for more 1920s slang with food metaphors too!
“Big cheese” = an important person
Bean picker, tomato (like bimbo), beef, caper, clam, egg, dough, hard-boiled, java (coffee), etc.
I was in a room with over 100 people selling folks “opportunity drawing” tickets, chit-chatting in 1920s slang with my non-American accent mixed in with a flapper accent.
It’s a miracle that they bought tickets!
I walked through the silent auction room many times, staring at giant cakes, bottles of wine, and all the nic nac - except they were not cheap trinkets!
I tell people to enjoy their dog’s soup.
Faces mystified, I explain:
“Oh, your water.”
I end my flapper girl duty and ankle to the car with my friend.
I drink a sip of my friend’s giggly water and smile.
I come home and write my 3-morning pages in the bathtub while stars shine through the foggy sky.
I ask a question to the Spirit:
“What can I learn from Flappers?”
Then on autopilot, I keep writing:
“Who cares? Who cares? Who cares?”
A full page passes by.
Ish Kabibble.
Who cares.
Who cares about what others think?
Who cares about what the ego projects onto the world?
Who cares about the stories ego comes up with?
Just have fun and dance!
That’s where the cat’s pajamas are at.