This appears to be a trend, because in the September 14, 1929 issue of The New Yorker I've run across another Caviarette advertisement, and it's equally bad.
Calling it "The Third C Mystery" is already a bad idea, because the mundane meaning of the "three Cs" are not revealed until the final panel (Cocktails, Caviar, Caviarettes), giving you little reason to worry about whatever it is they're looking for. If the society lady can't even be bothered to explain her problem except by using an acronym -- and if she goes about her investigation with such a haughty, ignorant facial expression -- then we're inclined to hope that she never finds what she's looking for and that her party fails.
But thank goodness the Smart Grocer understands her richie-rich autistic lingo and puts in an order for the all-important "third C." The only bright spot of this entire ordeal is the grinning, bundled up airplane pilot in panel five, who must have gotten paid a lot of money just to fly a package of crackers to her society do'.
In the final writeup we find out that her guests are in fact "Major Bliss, Madame Ecstasy and Miss Delight," which implies to me that she's actually the madame for a high-class escort service. And we know those folks care about their caviar.
These advertisements are beginning to annoy me.
1 comment:
Well, I will admit that there is much faux-pretentiousness in the ad. Is it really snobishness - or are we supposed to make fun of such types (while secretly indulging our fantasy to be like them, by using products that they use)?
Or is it just a bad ad?
I wonder if the "Ritz" cracker was in existence then, and the Caviarette was a wanna-be (ever wonder just how many of the crackers actually saw a caviar topping?).
Of course, we should give these poor 1929 shnooks some latitude - in just a little more than a month, everyone - the caviar crowd included - will take a huge financial hit.
Now, Muffy dear, do pass the canapes...
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