Braniff International's rebranded 'Jelly Bean' fleet in 1965 makes today's low-cost liners look like the inside of a drab, spiritless insurance company. Man did they go all out when they launched their End of the Plain Plane campaign. It was an exercise in multi-coloured funk. And I'm in love it it. The Pucci-clad stewards were so achingly chic, if you'd shown up to fly without a thin cigarette at your fingertips, a shot of frosted colour on your lips and a fruity cocktail in mind, I like to think you'd have been expelled via the rear exit. Braniff was alluring. It was Andy Warhol's favourite airline. It marked the zenith of the sexy steward. It hinted that you might fleetingly lock eyes and fall in love with a glimpse of Co-pilot, over your Whiskey Sour. Yes please. Braniff was basically like the coolest kid at school. If cool kids had wings... (watch out for my as yet un-made high-school Sci-Fi thriller movie of the same name).
Retro-obsessives still hold Braniff's jazzy mile-high pomp dear to their hearts as it conjures an image of the expensively perfumed international jet-set elite; the heady days when cruising at 30,000 feet was an occasion to rival Christmas and it was de rigueur to look as lavish and nonchalant as possible. It makes me a little giddy. The next time I fly, no matter how much I am inwardly cursing the craziness of Bernoulli's Principle and lack of ground beneath my feet, I don't want to be in jeans. I want to look like a style-cocktail of Audrey Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor and Jackie O. This way, even if I have to clutch a sick sack with white knuckles, or even get sucked out of a faulty window (this sh*t happens, kids), I'll still look classy.
A trio of keen eyes were employed for Braniff's swank-over: designer Alexander Girard, the aforementioned fashion supremo Pucci and shoe designer Beth Levine. Old red, white and blue livery was binned in favour of seven jazzy upbeat colours, and the fleet's interiors were sloshed in equally vibrant shades. In fact, the colour palette seemed so broad, a rainbow would have felt inadequate.
The whole result was like a kaleidoscopic smoothie. A delicious, swirling head rush of hue. A bold, glamorous statement and a massive two fingers up to self-restraint and tradition. I'm so sad I genuinely can't experience this first hand.
And, most daringly, they clad their air hostesses (no male blood until the early 70s) in uniforms which consisted of space age style 'Rain Domes' to keep the breeze off perfectly coiffed Elnett 'hives and a series of mini skirt length shift dresses, layered so they could be (honestly) removed at various points during the flight. It sounds grubbier than it is - it was mostly a Russian doll-esque situation of a dress over a dress. Over some pants. But no one saw those.
However, it was racily dubbed the Air Strip. Take a look at the ad below...
Pucci's original designs also included a fur coat (slightly superfluous but very flirty and unfortunately very real) and a bunch of streamlined jumpsuits for the ground crew. I have a curious affection for an all-in-one. Although the white ones were a little misjudged (better boil it on a hot wash with some Lux).
And you know something's off the scale when Barbie gets involved (Doll reference NOT for sale, okay?)
It all seemed to shout fun and frivolity. Which there's never enough to feast on in life...
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