#modernist ring

[boylerpf]

Modernist 18K Gold Green Chalcedony Ring, Euro Shank

Found on Boylerpf.com

[mmgem]

[alohamemorabiliacompany]

Vintage Estate Modernist 14K Square Cut Red Orange Jade with Diamond Accents Ring @alohamemorabiliaco #instaview #instajewelry #ring #showmeyourrings #modernist #jade #redjade #estatejewelry #vintagejewelry https://www.instagram.com/p/ColbM9ppnoT/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[darkveracity]

Homura day one checklist

Wake up. Cry a little about how things went last time. Tell yourself this is the loop you'll save Madoka. Force yourself to get out of bed

Fix eyes with magic. Remove glasses

Fix heart condition with magic. Let down your hair

Get dressed. Your school uniform is appropriate everywhere so there's no need to bother with other clothes. Check out of hospital

Break into yakuza hideout and steal guns while time is stopped

Break into second yakuza hideout and steal more guns

Break into military base and steal more guns

Break into second military base and steal more guns

Break into third military base and steal more guns

Visit your favorite apartment complex and submit an application to rent the ultra-modernist white box apartment you've decided on after dozens of loops. Who cares if you can afford rent, the building will be destroyed in a hurricane in a month anyway

Visit a furniture store and acquire your favorite couch, a large circular arrangement made of several concentric rings in the shape of a clock

Visit an electronic goods store and acquire thirty televisions to assemble the wall of screens you like to use to lay out your research

Visit a home goods store and acquire various miscellaneous items - pots and pans, utensils, a futon to sleep in, etc

Capture Amy the cat and take her to a shelter to prevent Madoka from making a wish to heal her

Kill particularly easy witch whose location is consistent on the first day. You'll need the grief seed in the coming weeks

Wait for night to fall and break into a certain art gallery with an exhibit of an enormous free swinging knife pendulum. Steal it for your own use

Break into Mikuni Oriko's house and murder her to prevent her from making a contract and trying to kill Madoka

Break into Kure Kirika's house and murder her to prevent her from doing anything drastic in response to Oriko's death

Return to your newly rented apartment and assemble all of the new decor stored in your convenient magic shield. It's good to be home

It's time to go to sleep. Time travel is a lot of work but you get to see Madoka again soon. You can't wait for morning 😌

[eriebasin]

An unusual Modernist or Brutalist ring, organically formed of 18K yellow gold. Appears to have a maker's mark but hasn't been identified. Dates to c1960. Weighs 7.7 grams.

eriebasin.com

[kimyoonmiauthor]

How to Break Elmore Leonard's Ten Rules of Writing

which is mostly secretly hating on women given the bisection of the time period he was writing...

Prologue: Avoid prologues like in Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkein

Like a dark and stormy night, never open a book with the weather like Sir Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton’s Paul Clifford

“Never use a verb other than ‘said’ to carry dialogue” he announced gravely and then added but Virginia Woolf does it in Mrs. Dalloway: “Kreemo,” murmured Mrs. Bletchley, like a sleep-walker.

“Never use an adverb to modify the verb said!” like Emily Bronte “Sit down,” said the young man, gruffly. “He’ll be in soon.”—Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights.

Keep your exclamation points under control! You are never allowed more than two! Two! Per 100,000- words of prose. Don’t be like poor Ms. Jane Austen in Pride and Prejudice, then: “Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!”

Suddenly all hell broke loose under the admonishment of Elmore Leonard who was very gravely hating on 19th century writers (particularly women) and their predecessors when he said one can’t use suddenly not all hell broke loose. Don’t be like Ms. Jane Austen then? “He was then, he said, on his way to Longbourn on purpose to inquire after her. Mr. Darcy corroborated it with a bow, and was beginning to determine not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth, when they were suddenly arrested by the sight of the stranger, and Elizabeth happening to see the countenance of both as they looked at each other, was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting.”—Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice uses “Suddenly” 16 times.

He askingeu as whiteu person to not be speakingeu in diarect. “Now she had got a start, and she went on and told me all about the good place. She said all a body would have to do there was to go around all day long with a harp and sing, forever and ever. So I didn’t think much of it. But I never said so. I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer would go there, and she said not by a considerable sight. I was glad about that, because I wanted him and me to be together.” - Mark Twain, Huckleberry Finn

One should not describe the long paragraph on “Thomas Gradgrind, sir. A man of realities. A man of facts and calculations. A man who proceeds upon the principle that two and two are four, and nothing over, and who is not to be talked into allowing for anything over. Thomas Gradgrind, sir—peremptorily Thomas—Thomas Gradgrind. With a rule and a pair of scales, and the multiplication table always in his pocket, sir, ready to weigh and measure any parcel of human nature, and tell you exactly what it comes to. It is a mere question of figures, a case of simple arithmetic. You might hope to get some other nonsensical belief into the head of George Gradgrind, or Augustus Gradgrind, or John Gradgrind, or Joseph Gradgrind (all supposititious, non-existent persons), but into the head of Thomas Gradgrind—no, sir!”—Hard Times by Charles Dickens

As he is hating on 19th century writers, talking about the long winding brook that passed behind Mrs. Lynde’s house that suddenly was disciplined by her very manner would be too much like naturalism, and thus poor Anne Shirley could not talk about the The White Way of Delight in L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables.

Oops I skipped this part.

Context

Elmore Leonard lived roughly from the Modernist era to the Post Modernist era which looked at parring back prose, though often to extremes, often blaming probably unfairly the likes of Mark Twain. When he wrote these rules this was in full swing. This is not in the era where women finally got some rep in the writing section of the shelves.

For context, it's more likely women in the 19th century were likely to use adverbs and were more into the naturalist movement. The later Modernist movements, especially as genre solidified and took shape (as argued by Lucy Worsley), there was a huge backlash against the Naturalist movements which encompassed, you guessed it, a large swath of women and more "look to the future" types. As men won the discourse a bit on story, story structure and "proper story" (cue my eyeroll here), a lot of the rules written were specifically to lock out earlier sets of "backwards ways of writing" and also targeting women a lot. So there were a lot, lot, of treaties up through the 2000's on "precision, cut the fat, no adverbs" which honestly, if you know the range of literature is pretty much aimed squarely on hating how women were taught to write.

BTW, it's a lie, though, that Mark Twain was the King of Precision as many tried to argue about him and retcon into his history, which the Mark Twain Foundation often has to fight with false quotes attributed to him. While we're talking about men, there were naturalists that survived, like Tolkien who spends a fair amount of time on English countryside descriptions (Yes, descriptions, not detail), and the laughable Pre-Raphaelites, whom even LM Montgomery took a few swings at, though at the same time she admired them.

The rule is if it works for your story, helps build your tone and theme, emotion, etc do it. That's it. The quotes and references in context, you can see WHY they did as they did, and it's not a great master that can only do it, which is the usual retort. Nope. You can do it too, you just have to know why you're doing it and effectively communicate that to the reader. Though I do wish the patience of a Victorian reader sometimes as a reader and also with readers...

[tanadrin]

today was the whole-trilogy extended editions we-die-like-riders-of-rohan-in-a-26-degree-movie-theater marathon of lord of the rings, and i gotta say watching these movies two decades later,

they're still delightful

it's funny how they seem more and more an artifact of the period they were produced in (not in a bad way, mind)

it is annoying how little peter jackson trusts his audience. like. all major landmarks have to be within line of sight of each other. voice overs have to unambiguously lampshade every plot beat that was foreshadowed earlier in the movie. gandalf all but literally says at the end of the two towers "see you next time in... return of the king!" moments in the books that are already hella cinematic like the paths of the dead have to punched up just a little extra, like with an indiana jones skull slide. and it's just not necessary! trust your audience!

you can really tell what dialogue is from the books, and what dialogue is original attempts at tolkien pastiche, because even if you don't know the books encyclopedically, the walsh-boyens-jackson team is just. not at all up to doing the pastiche well. this isn't counting the lines that are absolutely cringe, like "let's hunt some orcs." or all of gimli's dialogue. god they do gimli so dirty turning a prince of the dwarves into the drunken comic relief.

when did we decide all dwarves were scottish, and they all used the same vaguely modernist angular architecture? i think it was before lord of the rings. was it in the 90s? the 80s?

was the Tomato Incident a spontaneous choice by john noble or a directorial decision? did they have to do multiple takes?

it's so fun watching these movies in theaters now because the bits that gets everyone to laugh or cheer are the ones that have seeped into pop culture in weird ways. "they're taking the hobbits to isengard," of course. "po-ta-toes." but also just aragorn kicking the helmet got a big giggle from the audience, because everyone was Thinking The Thing.

some extremely committed soul came in cosplay, with a thick elven-style cloak and everything, despite the fact it was unusually hot today and the Babylon's ac was not coping well. i don't know how they survived. i hope they survived?

[the-perfect-wagnerite-again]

follow up to my previous ask:

do you have a specific performance of act iii that you think is best?

also throwing in that i am partial to Das Rheingold…any other 18th/19th century German (or otherwise) composers you recommend?

The Karajan recording with the Berliner Philharmoniker is my absolute favorite Ring Cycle. People call it the "chamber" version because it's a studio recording with a more intimate feel to it, and the interpretations and vocal cast are just fantastic. I have a particular affection for the soprano Gundala Janowitz (Sieglinde) and the unique tenor Gerhard Stolze (Loge/Mime).

As for other composers, you'd probably appreciate Bruckner, who was a dedicated Wagnerite. His Symphony No.4 (Romantic) is simply majestic and has one of my favorite finales of any symphony. He was also a devoted Catholic and composed a healthy collection of masses and choral settings.

The anti-modernist Hans Pfitzner composed an opera (he called it a Musical Legend) based loosely on Palestrina, and it follows the general formula of the late Wagnerian style (people like to meme on it by saying it's Parsifal without the laughs). As a drama, it is rather mediocre (the climax is at the end of the first act), but as a musical work I think it's incredibly enjoyable.

Mahler took the Wagnerian idiom and applied it to the symphony as well. His gargantuan Symphony No.2 (Resurrection) explores the challenges of the meaning of death and hope in everlasting life, and it strikes me as a work that you cannot listen to and walk away unchanged. (I've heard a running joke that while we might not know what Heaven looks like, if Mahler was even close then it's tuned to E-flat.) This recording is certainly not the best, but it's my favorite (movement timestamps in the comments).

And of course there's the Schubert, who I probably relate to most closely of any other composer. He has a sensitivity and intimacy that I think is hard to match, especially in his piano sonatas. The B-flat major continues to be my favorite. The work shifts harmonically all over the place, and it's a beautiful fusion of the late classical style with the romanticism of the 1800s.

I'll stop there or I'll end up listing all the hundreds of composers I regularly listen to from Bach to Pärt, but these are at least in the general periphery of Wagner.

[joannasteez]

crying, laughing, loving, lying - being comfortable is no good

pairing: roman reigns x angel (black oc) warning: this little chapter is all angst and unfortunately barely features angel. but i'm giving backstory!! no other warning besides swearing and talks of divorce. authors note: i love imperfect characters. so yummy. first chapter found here. word count: 1700

roman loves his job. he loves the campus. and he loves his office —which to him, despite seth's modernistic sneering, is wholly traditional—outfitted tirelessly to suit a timeless sense of taste. dark wood furnishings and overly warm lamp lights. deep shelf walls and old brass ceiling fans. the neat clutter of sports paraphernalia surrounding unread midterm papers —which detailed in their own ways and intellectual fashions, the steady rise of sociopolitical tensions of pre-world war-two society through a 1936 olympic games lens — and once looked over defensive plays meant for forthcoming football games. and this here was his little heaven, his peace, but said peace was being tainted. squandered and spat on. because of all the days he'd chosen to settle in at the office on campus versus doing work from home, she, had stopped by to see him this day. to parade around that pitiful frowning in her lips and the beautiful, un-useable ring she'd never bothered to just get rid of.

and he was very specific about not getting it back. about not wanting it back. about her even selling it, if thats what she wanted. since she'd always done what she wanted anyways. what difference would it make if she sold the eighteen karat in exchange for whatever dress or lamp or table caught her eye? roman really couldn't give less than a shit what she exchanged it for, just as long as he'd never have to see it again. because all the memory is stored there, in the all those beautiful cuts of diamond. but then again, as he said to himself, 'amina does what she wants', including showing face when showing face was exactly what he didn't need. 

he seems to be the only tired one in all this. the only struggling survivor, hell the only survivor really. amina's face feening to look written in a perpetual state of guilt which was complete, utter bullshit. but then again disingenuous was her forte. and roman was sure that the divorce lawyer was the happiest they'd ever been. maybe even eating off the money they'd made at the expense of his failed marriage. but who knew. at this point, who fucking knew. 

his glasses give the ring clarity. a shine. making his jaw twitch and his foot shift till his knee jumps. all of which are involuntary. and this burns his core, the very base of his belly, because why does the discomfort take him so wholly?   unsullied and lacking compassion as it travels his skin. 

he can feel her eyes fixing into him. screwing hot over every line and detail of his freckled face as she waits. and oh does roman make her wait. letting the silence drown the room till theres nothing but the whipping spin of the ceiling fan and the warm lamps singing with a buzz.

"are you gonna say something?"

and all he can remember is his bed. the distress of the sheets and the boiling heat in his body. her moaning and then the absolute fright. the guilt as she forced her body away into the wall, the sheets surrounding her, drowning her up to her neck. his fingers cold from the breeze. 

the ring still on her finger. why even keep it on?

something in roman's skin flares. a burning irritation. an anger bought on by the existence of anger itself. because why should he be reduced to something this wild and ill-controlled? why should he be the one suffering, feeining stability. why should a simple ring bother him so much. he was, is, better than this, better than the pity written in her eyes. he hated this. why didn't she just fucking sell the damn ring. 

"hows terry doing?", that name like poison on his tongue. the whole memory of it coming up to dry his throat till he's tasting bits of bile. his fingers flexing as he takes to fingering over the stacks of papers at his desk. "still enjoying my headboard?" 

"don't do that...", amina's eyes averting. guilt, guilt and more guilt. "...don't, don't bring him up like it's on him". 

"oh?". a scoff but a laugh too. disgust and amazement. but he's irritated too. surprised. "is this accountability? are we in the end times finally?" 

she sighs exhausted. "roman". 

"amina", exhausted too but wryly so. to dig into her skin in any way he could. 

and when she takes her beat, which he finds annoyingly dramatic, staring into his eyes with all the sincerity drawn up from her gut to say "i'm sorry", he still can't find the will to care. 

and he tells her as much.

"i. don't. care", pushing the ring with his finger over toward the edge of his desk. the fast motion threatening to knock it off the surface if not for amina snatching it mid drop. "take the ring back. pawn it. sell it. shove it in an envelop and burn it", rising from his seat to take a stack of book at the side of his desk to the deep shelf wall. his body tall and wide and rife with anger. "i don't give a shit. i don't want it". 

he can hear her shifting to get up too. her heels clicking small. cautioned steps. not so far but not too close. and now he's sees that's just been the regular state of affairs for everything concerning them. an arms distance of romance. 

"it belongs to you". 

one of the books tighten in his hand. a hard cover stress ball. "the simple fact, that i keep saying i don't wan't it, and you keep shovin' it in my face, really just lets me know you’re here to twist the knife". he shelves the books impatiently, the slotting of them ending, each, with a thud into the wood. "just give me this one thing. listen to me this one time". 

amina takes her turn to bristle. to advance at him and laugh. mirthless and mocking. 

"you wanted the wedding in the summer, so we planned it for july. you wanted to move back home, so i followed you", each click of her heel harsh against his office floors. straining to creak till it's edging into his skin. "you wanted the bigger house and you didn't want me to work and you didn't want me to hang around certain men. i always listened to you". 

'no', roman thinks. whipping away from the shelf. his ears scorching. "wrong", his pointing finger toughing into his chest. "i didn't want you around terry because he was a dog in fucking heat every time you were near him. and everything was always negotiable. i never forced anything". his blood pumping sharp and wild. "you liked me making decisions. you liked being taken care of. i made shit a playground for you, and you ran it to hell till you got caught". 

"negotiable? really?", amina's voice shrill and wavering. "like its a fucking business deal? well so much for a fucking merger of equals”. the ring clutched in her fist, her balled fingers pushing into his chest as she clicks up to him. no longer an arms length away. "you just knew that you knew what was best all the time". 

and when he refuses to accept her forcibly pushing against his chest, the ring falls. 

"and the one thing i didn't know?", his face a breath away from hers. the warmth of vanilla filling his nose. making his screen cringe and his jaw tighten. "that my wife was getting fucked cervix deep in my bed by terry, every other weekend since the night of our wedding". 

"it wasn't every other weekend". 

he laughs. from his belly and with a soft trembling in his nerves. his body uncomfortable still. bothered by the shake of his own anger. "but it was in my bed, in the sheets i bought".

she sneers. her eyes rolling harsh.

"everything with you is always, i and me". 

"yes amina", his tone patronizing. "because you cheated on me. you never even tried", his head shaking. "im not the villain in this". 

her eyes glisten. welling to threaten the breaking out of tears. 

"i had no voice. no say. no room to make mistakes with you. everything was always handled. i couldn't breathe". 

"why not say something?"

"you wouldn't have listened". 

he scoffs. "you don't know that", walking briskly to his desk. collecting the stacked papers to shuffle them inside the thick leather of a messenger bag. he needs desperately to leave. to come from under the thick air of the room. "because you never considered trying. and thats the one thing you can never say i didn't do. i always tried to make you happy. making things comfortable". 

"being comfortable isn't this good thing you keep making it out to be". 

he was over it. over the heat boiling his skin. over the aching in his chest. the lumping in his throat. the sharp pricks in his eyes. the mindless way his jaw twitched to tighten. and he was over seeing amina. he needed something liquid, strong and relieving. and he had papers to grade, he didn't need this. not now. not ever again. 

"if no one has ever told you before, i need you to know that you are filled with a concerning amount of bullshit". 

amina snatches up the things she came to his office with. being sure to leave the ring. "well look at us being two peas in a pod". 

her heels click out of his office. the silence enveloping him again. his shoulders heavy and his eyes tired, from the lateness of the day and the threat of tears. 

and the ring is still there. still and unmoving. his fingers curling to fist but lacking the heart to pluck it from the floor. 

his phone buzzes. angel's name popping up against the screen. a warmth fighting greatly to overtake him as he opens up an image she's sent, but it fails to do anything worthwhile. the chill in his bones icing over so easily that his nerves feel beholden to deaden with a cooling. 

text message | angel : ready when you are

and the heart to reply is void in him. more piqued that amina had destroyed his mood so much that it'd left him hollow enough to leave you unanswered. and God was the urge there, just not great enough to overcome the anger pushing deep in his skin. 

[boylerpf]

Fine Diamond Pear Cut Tanzanite Modernist Ring in 14K Gold

Source - Boylerpf.com

[alohamemorabiliacompany]

Vintage Estate 14K Modernist Organic Pink Coral Ring @alohamemorabiliaco #instaview #instajewelry #ring #showmeyourrings #coral #coralring #organic #vintagejewelry #estatejewelry #modernist https://www.instagram.com/p/CoHAt94uPQ0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[aylen-san]

The Image of Sauron Through the Ages: From Couture of Darkness to Corporate Tyrant

Ah, my dear reader, time and space are curious concepts, aren’t they? They constantly shift, giving each moment new shades of fear, reverence, or dread. And what remains unchanged? I, Sauron, Lord of Darkness and incurable devotee of “big and wicked” ambitions. Yet even I have had to change my image because ruling must always be done with style. So, let’s delve into the depths of history and discover how I evolved—from a youthful mischief-maker in gleaming armor to the renowned master of all realms of darkness, now exuding a "modern corporate" aesthetic.

---

The First Age: Conqueror’s Style in Bronze Hues

Ah, the days when the world was still young, and blood ran in rivers. Back then, as a loyal servant of my master Morgoth, I was a pioneer in the image of destruction. What was in fashion? Massive armor adorned with sharp spikes and a helmet so menacingly gleaming that its mere reflection could send any mortal into a faint.

My appearance in the First Age was quite traditional: rugged black metal armor, chains, and fearsome symbols conveying one simple message—“I’m coming for your soul, so you better start running.” And how grand those sandals looked (yes, metal was only for ceremonial appearances) as I strode over the flaming ruins of yet another fallen kingdom!

---

The Second Age: The Seductive “Annatar” Look

How I transformed by the start of the Second Age! Friends, in the art of deception, style is crucial. I decided it was time to shed the dark chains of the past and don the guise of “Annatar, the Lord of Gifts.” This was an elegant transformation requiring not only wisdom but a refined fashion sense.

What did Annatar wear? Golden-white garments, flowing fabrics adorned with filigree and patterns that could dazzle anyone daring to look too closely. My image was refined and sophisticated, as if magic and light were embodied in one form. All the elves in Eregion were taken aback by my taste. I charmed them with exquisite jewelry and rings, giving the impression that no darkness could ever accompany me. And I? I laughed quietly, for within that brilliance I hid a dark void, waiting for its moment.

---

Late Second Age: The Classic Dark Lord in Black Armor

After the creation of the One Ring, the era of kind Annatar was over. It was time to don the familiar black armor again, adorned with runes and dread symbols. Now, I was not just a commander but the monster of the age. My image became even darker: massive gauntlets, blades fused into the armor plates, and a spiked helmet that seemed capable of crushing my enemies’ skulls with a mere glance.

The aesthetic of the Lord of the Dark Lands: heavy chains on my cloak, trails of black smoke at every step, and a wicked grin hidden in the shadow of my mask. It was a time of fierce conquests and grand schemes. Yes, I looked terrifying, as befits the Lord of Mordor.

---

The Third Age: The Eye in Modernist Abstraction

Ah, the Third Age, where my image took on the form of a true modernist masterpiece. I became the Great Eye, as bright as the fire at the heart of the universe. No more armor, no physical body! Just an all-seeing, all-knowing gaze that was always on you.

The image of the Great Eye symbolized absolute control and total domination. The towering Barad-dûr, adorned with black steel and banners of living darkness, became my main “office.” The burning Eye at its peak served as my calling card. Abstract art? No, my dear friends, this was my true power, dragging dreams into the abyss of horror.

---

The Present Day: The Corporate Tyrant Look

And now we come to the most intriguing part: my image in the modern world. Naturally, I adapted. Now, I am Sauron, Dark Lord of the Corporation. My top-floor office in a skyscraper is minimalism personified. Black glass walls, mirrored floors, and a command center where each screen tracks your weaknesses. My wardrobe consists of sharp suits, black ties, and shoes as cutting as my malice.

Today’s style: the corporate tyrant who knows how to negotiate (and obliterate competition). I hold meetings in conference rooms filled with cold light, where even the tea is served chilled. And if someone asks, “Lord Sauron, shouldn’t we soften the image?” I smile. My answer is simple: “Softness is weakness. My fashion is always in vogue: black, timeless, and terrifying.”

---

Conclusion

You see, my dears, an image is not just an appearance. It is the embodiment of power, control, and fear. I have changed over time to always stay at the top of this game. Today I embody modernity, but my dark heart still beats to the rhythm of destruction.

And remember: fashion comes and goes, but Sauron remains eternal.

[bitter69uk]

“On January 4, Jayne (wearing a leopard-skin cape, hat and muff) told Louella Parsons, “We are going to have a very quiet wedding and then we’ll fly to Dallas where my mother plans to give a reception for our friends there.” Then everyone had a good laugh and went to work on the real plans. The happy couple held another press event, showing off her ring and trousseau. They sent out one hundred invitations (on pink paper, of course). “This is one time I don’t want a lot of publicity,” Jayne unconvincingly told the assembled reporters and cameramen. (“It just happens that most of her friends are newspapermen,” said Jim Byron). Jayne and Mickey chose January 13 for the wedding date, “because Mickey and I met on the 13th. He won the Mr. Universe contest on the 13th and got his American citizenship on the 13th. I just love that number.” Jayne added, “I’m so happy. We’re both on a pink cloud.” Jayne picked the Wayfarer’s Chapel in Palos Verdes for the wedding – designed by Lloyd Wright (son of Frank Lloyd Wright) in the 1940s, it was a modernistic glass and wood building that looked like the skeleton of a church. Glass was the key factor here: people who couldn’t get into the wedding could still see it – and photograph it. The only concern being would they crash through the walls in a disaster of blood and shards? “I want the ceremony to be serious and serene,” Jayne reiterated. “It’s going to be entirely free of photographers. Except maybe just one, from the studio. Well, I don’t suppose I can keep the photographers away if they want to come.” Andrew Carthew of the Daily Herald wrote that Jayne described the wedding, “with some slight irreverence, as the Greatest Publicity Stunt in History.”

/ From the 2021 biography Jayne Mansfield: The Girl Couldn’t Help It by Eve Golden /

On this day 66 years ago (13 January 1958), quintessential show business couple Jayne Mansfield and Miklós "Mickey" Hargitay married. Their tumultuous on-and-off relationship would play out within the flashbulbs of international paparazzi. They would have three children together, perform together on film and onstage in Las Vegas, ultimately divorcing in 1964. (Mansfield would die in 1967, Hargitay in 2006).