“He had dated all sorts, models and actresses and artists, you name it.” Bell was addressing Walton now, who was staring back at him, bored and suffering. “Then he met this one girl, working in her father’s grocery store. Nothing special looks-wise at all. Nothing special at all, except to Bertie Kahn. He used to say he’d have turned into a bum if Selma hadn’t come along. Remember him saying that, chance-man?”

“Buy her pretty dresses,” was one of Selma Kahn’s commandments to Bertie; divinely inspired, and obeyed to the letter. No example of her dresses made it into the text, though. So we have to guess what she wore. (I could say “Marimekko,” or “Pucci,” but that would be cheating.) (And borrowing Holly Golightly’s Givenchy would simply be wrong; Selma was more of a generic Irwin Shaw type, The Girls in Their Summer Dresses, ca. 1939.)

The other women can’t help. Tasha wore plaid skirts from the sale rack at Peck and Peck; she also possessed a red wool coat, a paisley scarf, and a fisherman’s knit. Paula favored sweater sets. Pooch’s wife was “mousy.”

First principles might be useful, and a strong Native American motif makes itself known in SPLIT THIRTY. Pooch gets called a half-breed; Bell labels himself a brave; Tasha shares a nickname with the second mate of the Pequod; and the city itself is alive with “fairies in buckskin” (see my discussion of John Ford’s The Searchers in an earlier entry, for more on that phenomenon).

We also know Selma had fun with her wardrobe; she stole hats from Bergdorf Goodman, at least.

And finally, go-go boots were still around in Times Square.

So I will combine those facts, to deliver this summer fashion report: fringe is in. And if you doubt it, just wait for Baz Luhrman’s The Great Gatsby to hit the screeen.

Where the Age of Aquarius and the Jazz Age overlap.