Made from paper, I call Gordon an optimist because in the '60's, all women used hairspray and most of the population smoked. Paper, fire, and combustible fluids. That, my dear, is optimism.
Originally, the dresses sold for $3 each and were meant to be worn a few times before being discarded.
Did you ever see the Benny Hill Show? If not, I'll tell you now, a typical sketch went like this:
A fast-paced, zippy, kazoo heavy romp.
EXTERIOR - HYDE PARK
It's a dreary, London day. A hapless, middle-aged banker in a pinstripe suit and bowler hat sits on a bench. He reads the Financial Times, a long black umbrella dangles from his arm.
Up strolls a pretty young lass, mod and leggy in gogo boots and a Harry Gordon paper dress. She sits beside the man revealing...even...more...thigh! The banker can't help himself. He sneaks a peek from around his newspaper. Upon getting a good look at those gams, left eye twitches uncontrollably.
Boom! Thunder! Rain pours from the sky!
The girl leaps off the bench. The man starts to offer his umbrella until he realizes that as it gets wet, the paper dress turns to mush. Pieces of the dress fall off of her body, exposing her psychedelic bra, garter belt, and panties. Soon, those will be wet, too!
Crack! Flash! Lightening zigs through the sky and hits the banker right in the bowler hat!
Electrocuted and smoking, he keels over. Not at all bothered by the dying man, the nearly naked girl spots the umbrella beside him, plucks it off the grass, and, merrily twirling it over her head, strolls off in the rain.
And that's a Benny Hill sketch. Like, all of them.
Even though the series of dresses was called The London Collection, one features a Ginsberg poem about New York. It was the '60's. Continuity was of no import.
All images from First Dibs where one can purchase a whole set of these dresses. That's all. I have no ending to this blog entry. It's the 2000's. Endings are of no import.