The Dow was tumbling. The humidity was over 90 percent. My already frizzy hair defied gravity. Jeffrey Epstein conspiracies abounded. Only one thing to do (besides vote!) – Step out of 52nd Street and into the long ago past of B. Altman, Steiner Mountain Resort, and a corner apartment in Paris. It is all part of the The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel exhibit at the Paley Center for Media in New York City. Alarmingly close to 57th and 5th, it is a world away. A world of cinched waist dresses with matching hats and gloves.
It shouldn’t surprise you that I was first in line waiting for the doors to open at noon. Behind me were women from uptown, downtown, Brooklyn, Connecticut and New Jersey. Many (like me) were obviously suburban; a few were hipster; some were dressed in 1950’s vintage, hoping to be cast as extras. There were even a few long-suffering husbands (the same ones I see outside the dressing room at Saks dutifully holding purses). While we were standing in line we speculated whether Midge would – or should- get back together with Joel. (NO!) Who dated men that looked like Benjamin? (NONE!) Or Abe. (MOST!) And who had the best recipe for brisket. (EVERYONE!)