Jacqueline Susann and her husband Irving Mansfield, Los Angeles, Cal., 1969
“It was seen all over the world,” Mansfield claimed. “We thought it was
undignified.”
Diane Arbus had been commissioned by Harper’s to photograph the author.
Susann was promoting her novel The Love Machine, which was high on the
best-seller list.
Between interviews (six a day) she was ensconced in a Beverly Hills hotel suite.
Arbus had been commissioned by Harper’s to photograph the author.
She flew to California from Chicago, where she’d photographed and interviewed
Tokyo Rose for Esquire.
Between interviews (six a day) Susann was ensconced in a Beverly Hills hotel
suite
overlooking banks of geraniums and a smoggy sky.
Arbus flew to California from Chicago, where she’d photographed and inter-
viewed Tokyo Rose for Esquire.
When she arrived, Susann began patting her jet-black hair fall and adjusting her
bubble glasses,
overlooking banks of geraniums and a smoggy sky.
Diane asked her to take them off.
When Arbus arrived, Susann began patting her jet-black hair fall and adjusting
her bubble glasses
and straightening her geometric turquoise, purple, and black Pucci blouse and
slacks.
Diane asked her to take them off.
“This Diane Arbus character was bossy,” Mansfield remembered.
Jackie’s geometric turquoise, purple, and black Pucci blouse and slacks
were out. She wanted them to pose in their bathing suits next to the TV set.
“This Diane Arbus character was bossy,” Mansfield remembered.
“I didn’t get it, so I said no to the idea, but Jackie, who was always cooperative
with the press, said of course.”
Arbus wanted them to pose in their bathing suits next to the TV set.
When they were in their suits, the photographer asked Jackie to plunk down in
Irving’s lap.
Jackie, who was always cooperative with the press, said of course.
“We held the pose for what seemed like hours—until my kneecaps went numb.”
When they were in their suits, the photographer asked Jackie to plunk down in
Irving’s lap.
“The flashbulbs kept blinding us, she kept assuring us we looked terrific.
We held the pose for what seemed like hours—until my kneecaps went numb.”
The result was a classic portrait of tacky tastelessness.
The flashbulbs kept blinding them, she kept assuring them they looked terrific.
Irving wore an ankh on his bare chest; Jackie, wearing a matching ankh, stared
intently at the camera.
The result was a classic portrait of tacky tastelessness:
a couple in extremis, middle-aged, paunchy, oily in bathing suits, presented in
sweetly prosaic terms.
Irving wore an ankh on his bare chest; Jackie, wearing a matching ankh, stared
intently at the camera.
She later blamed Irving. He should have known Arbus had a reputation for
photographing freaks:
couples in extremis, middle-aged, paunchy, oily in bathing suits, presented in
sweetly prosaic terms.
It was the legs that upset Jackie most: she thought Arbus had made her thighs
look too scrawny.
Jackie later blamed Irving. He should have known Arbus had a reputation for
photographing freaks.
Arbus did not accept all her subjects with grace; if she couldn’t respond, her
reaction was often severe.
It was the legs that upset Jackie most: she thought Arbus had made her thighs
look too scrawny.
The picture appeared in the October 1969 issue of Harper’s and Arbus sold it to
other publications.
Arbus did not accept all her subjects with grace; if she couldn’t respond, her
reaction was often severe.
Susann was promoting her novel The Love Machine, which was high on the
best-seller list.
The picture appeared in the October 1969 issue of Harper’s and Arbus sold it to
other publications.
“It was seen all over the world,” Mansfield claimed. “We thought it was
undignified.”
