Hello friends!

  This is Academy Award-winning screen legend Joan Crawford.  You know, anyone who knew me when I was alive can tell you how much I adored writing and receiving letters.  Well, there's no reason why I should let a little thing like shuffling off this mortal coil interfere with my close relationship with my fans. 

  I am thrilled to use this forum to answer your questions about life, love, and of course, child rearing.  So remember, even when you have no one left to whom you can turn, you can turn to me, Joan Crawford, unquestioned Queen of Hollywood.

Address your every concern to joan@topherpayne.com!

Dearest One Who Knows,
  Your friend is obviously confusing "name" items, with "quality" items.  I am personally nonplussed by the habit of simply purchasing items because a certain "designer's" (and I use that term loosely) name is attached to it.
This, tragically, is a common mistake make by social climbers of uncertain tastes.  I recall Edith Head once noting that Norma Shearer would wear bloomers made of human hair if Adrian put his label on it.
  Mary Pickford set a fine example your friend would be wise to follow.  Half of her accessories were custom-made to her specifications, but she was richer than Nabob and could engage in such luxuries.  It was in her specially-made items that she made her grand gestures, with animal print or jewels.  The other half, I observed, were simple, elegant, and, well... cheap.  She informed me she saw no wisdom in paying twenty dollars for a
black clutch when she could buy the same one at the notions counter of Witherton's for a dollar and change.    I followed her advice, and pass it on to your friend (and to you):  If you cannot afford a wholly unique item,
save your pennies, buy serviceable accessories at a minimum cost, and wait until you can have something made to your specifications and needs.  This "in-between" class is ridiculous.  Paying a thousand dollars for a "limited edition" bag?  That still means hundreds of other women have it, and odds are at least one of them will bring it to her next luncheon.  And she will
be humiliated.
  The only items of true quality are those that are designed specifically for you.

Bless you,

Joan

ps-  Regarding Franchot's bedroom prowess:  Sex with Franchot was like taking a milk bath.  It sounds decadent and delicious, but in reality is very cold and not tolerable for any length of time.

Dearest Nameless,

  When determining your name, you must carefully establish what image you plan to cultivate.  "Marilyn Monroe" could never establish herself as a serious actress, despite having a modicum of talent, because her name sounded like you had a mouthful of peanut butter.  It was far too sensual and gutteral for an actress of standard.

  I did not care for my name, Crawford, when it was selected for me (I thought it brought to mind a crawfish!), but it was wise, because it is a strong name, a name for a woman with gumption and intellect.  

  Strong names are vowel-focused and open the mouth.  Sensual names are consonant heavy and close the mouth.  Think of the difference between "Oprah" and "Tiffany".  One is filled with nice, open vowel sounds and a good strong "P", the other is just a jumble of consonants with too many syllables.

  For you, I would consider NATE, if you wish to honor your former name, or CLIFF, which is due for a comeback and calls to mind images of a simpler time when men were men.  Last names run the gamut.  No one will be using your last name anyway.  You'll be CLIFF (or NATE), like WARREN or BRAD, or JOAN, if you're truly fortunate.  Don't go with anything ethnic, though.  The cultural climate dictates Americana these days.  Perhaps something presidential is called for?  CLIFF TRUMAN?  NATHAN PIERCE?  NATE RUSSELL is rather pleasant.  In fact, it has my vote.  Try it out.  Remember, it takes getting used to.  But picture, "The Oscar goes to... Nate Russell!"  You can see it, can't you?

Good luck, and bless you.

Joan

Dearest Struggling,
  You should be paying closer attention to those films.  Yes, after my shop girls had their ill-gotten minks, they inevitably suffered an attack of conscience and realized money couldn't buy happiness, which is true.

  But when they walked away with head held high, it was WITH the new hairdo, wardrobe, jewels, and usually with Clark Gable.  

  Don't think of it as compromising your morals.  Consider it giving them a momentary rest so you might rediscover and appreciate them more later.  

  My advice, one professional to another, is to realize you cannot find yourself in the right situation until you accept the possibility of spending some time in the wrong one.

Bless you,

Joan

Dearest Michael,

  Who on earth told you such a wicked thing?  Cindy was generously granted nearly eighty thousand dollars upon my departure for greener pastures.

  Cindy was raising my grandchildren at the time, so I am certain they insisted she purchase them goodies and sweets and things with the majority of that money.  It's a shame, but to be expected, I suppose.  My grandchildren were terribly spoiled, which is NOT how their mothers were raised.

  As for my apartment in Imperial House, I had grown so very weary of living in homes that attempted to be making some sort of statement.  I merely wanted something, clean, simple, and pleasant.  I allow my guests to be the focal point of a room, or, let's be honest, myself.

  I dearly love my uncluttered rooms and unencumbered views of my adopted hometown.  

  There are comfortable floor pillows for my precious dog, Princess, as well as for the grandchildren to "romp" upon.  There is a comfortable pile of newspapers in the hall closet, should Tina unexpectedly need a place to stay. 

  It really is a lovely home.

  And if you ever criticize my taste again, they will never find your body.

  I'm just joking!  In my way.

Bless you,

Joan

My dear Robin,

  How charmed I was to read your kind words!  I agree, this "internet" is truly a Godsend, although I must admit the technology behind it is a bit of a mystery to me.  We can thank my faithful New York maid, Mamacita, for her efforts in bringing my words to the "World Wide Web."  She provides me with printouts of your queries, and I reply as I always have, on my trademark robin's egg blue personal stationery, from the desk in my bedroom.  From there, Mamacita takes over.  She's been learning Microsoft applications while Princess and I have our nails done.

  As for the matter of Christina, I wish her nothing but the best, as any mother does for her child (although she is of course not my biological child, if one needs evidence of this, one need merely look at how she has aged).

  I'm quite certain Al and I visited your fair country during one of our whirlwind tours promoting PEPSI COLA, and while I cannot summon a specific memory of the experience, I think we can all safely assume it was a far more fulfilling holiday than that offered by Pittsburgh.  I suppose it's worthy of noting that Norma Shearer, when I worked as her stand-in and we were still on speaking terms, mentioned often that her father was from Scotland, and she spoke fondly of the rolling green meadows and fine country estates, although to my knowledge she had never actually been there.  Bless Norma, she lived quite contentedly in a world of her own creation.  While it lasted.

  My love and best wishes go out to you, and all of your dear friends.

Bless you,

Joan

Honestly, Tina.

  Why do you insist on airing your grievances with me in public?  Is it too much to ask that you employ some degree of the decorum you were instilled with from the moment you crossed my doorstep, an orphan, from poor, ugly parents, unwanted?

  Wire hangers indeed.  You and I are both fully aware that Mamacita would sooner have walked barefoot in the Sahara than allow wire hangers into our home.  She ran the house with efficiency and warmth, following my example.  Cindy and Cathy seem to have turned out fine, and while I recognize I was no mother-of-the-year with your brother, your troubles are entirely of your own creation.  

  You know, Tallulah Bankhead was at the apartment one afternoon, when you were "acting" on The Secret Storm, and she told me you should have been drowned at birth.

  I told her it's never too late to do the right thing.

  God, I miss Talloo.

  In any event, Christina, is it any wonder you've had all those strokes?  Your mind is warped, and obviously cannot function properly.  

  Well, it takes two to feud and I refuse, even now, even after your "book", to engage in such gutter wallowing.  In fact, I will leave you with a bit of motherly advice:  I saw your interview, regarding me of course, on Turner Classic Movies.  If you insist upon continuing to appear on camera, you might want to be a bit more attentive to staying at "picture weight".  You looked like Fatty Arbuckle.

  And we all know what happened to him.

Bless you,

"Mommie"

Dear Grateful,

  How fortunate you are to have such a dear friend.  It sounds as though this friend/boss provides you with the same sort of guidance and gentle directives that I once received from the late L.B. Mayer, in my days at Metro.  I only hope that your friend/boss does not cast you aside like yesterday's laundry when you've reached a certain age, and call you "box office poison", and turn all his attention to some pet project, like that fat pill-popping neurotic Judy Garland, while you are forced to reinvent yourself using only your own resources, cursing the fates for dealing you such a rotten hand in this damnable poker game of life...

  But I'm sure that won't happen.

  Gifts are always motivated by one of two emotions:  Gratitude, and revenge.  I am proficient in both.  Gifts of of gratitude are based upon the favor bestowed upon you.  For example, if my agent was particularly instrumental in getting me a part in a picture, I would get him tickets to the premiere.  If my cook did a good job preparing a fine cut of rare steak, I would arrange for her to have free butcher service for a year.  So you see, the gift is thematically related to the act of kindness.  

  Your friend/boss helped you find love.  Therefore, your gift should relate to that concept.  In my experience, there are three things bosses love:  naked starlets, liquor, and trips to South America with lots of naked starlets and liquor.  Therefore, my first thought is sending a young starlet to his home, wearing only a fur coat.  This was easier when there were contract players, and the whole thing was handled by the casting office.  Barring this, you could give him a trip to South America.  If this is not in your budget, I would suggest liquor.  Take him to drinks at whatever your local equivalent of Don the Beachcomber or 21 may be.  Bring along someone who can convincingly admire him, and make him feel like a "Big Man".  All men want to feel like a "Big Man".  So buy him some drinks, let a starlet make him feel like a "Big Man", and he will be quite inclined to provide you with advice and care in the future.  

  Good luck with your new-found love.  And if you'd like some ideas on how to deal with that little snit that tried to break up your relationship, write me back.  I've got a few "revenge" gifts that also work beautifully. 

Bless you,

Joan 

Dear Frazzled,

  Ah, children can be such a challenge.  I faced a similar situation with She Who Must Not Be Named.  My advice to you, dear Frazzled, is to immediately remove all of her clothing from the house and burn it.  Burn it all.  Do not have your household staff do this, you must do it yourself, or the impact will be significantly lessened.  Once your dear little one realizes her only option is that coat, she will learn to appreciate it.  I was a single mother myself, and I know how difficult it can be to teach our youngsters to give us we're the respect that we're entitled to.  Good luck!

Bless you,

Joan

Dear Nonplussed,

  I suppose my first advice is to leave Pittsburgh.  This has nothing to do with your ex, and more to do with my confusion as to why anyone would want to live there.  Pittsburgh is a dirty, dirty city where the women wear entirely too much eye shadow and the Pepsi Cola, in my limited experience, is flat and served with too much ice.  However, this was not the question you presented, so I'll move on.

  I suggest you call your ex and invite him to a drink, somewhere you do not normally frequent, but where proper decorum must be maintained.  I myself would choose the cocktail lounge of the Crowne Plaza Hotel by the airport.  It's about 13 miles from the Pepsi Cola Roadhouse, I know it well, and you're not likely to see anyone you know.  He will meet you at a hotel bar, because a small part of him will hope you're planning a romantic liaison.  

  You will arrive a half hour before you have instructed him to meet you.  Wear something casual, but intimidating.  If this is not your usual style, he may question your choice of wardrobe.  Smile confidently, and inform him that as a former suitor, such inquiries are no longer within his rights.  When he arrives, have a drink waiting for him, something he likes, but you will drink something new, something you've never imbibed in his presence.  This will indicate that you know him quite well, but he doesn't know you at all anymore.  You have changed.  This is key:  Pay for both drinks before he arrives, and instruct the server that you are not to be disturbed.

  Explain gently that you enjoyed the time the two of you shared, but it can be no more.  You want different things, your dreams travel different paths, and it is simply no longer possible to pursue a future together.  If he protests, laugh lightly, like you're dealing with a petulant child, and firmly reiterate the point.  This.  Is.  Over.  Tell him that because you travel in similar social circles, he may see you with a new suitor, and you expect him to maintain proper standards of adult social behavior.  If he persists in his attempts to disrupt your life, you will turn your attention to disrupting his.  Do not phrase this as a threat.  Simply toss it off as an unfortunate fact.  Explain to him that as of this conversation, you no longer know him.  He does not exist.  You will not comment on his life, his treatment of you, or others, and you only expect the same from him.  If he ignores your request, there will be consequences, his life will be a waking nightmare, you will tell stories, and people will believe them, because you can be very convincing.  Your social set will be abuzz with gossip about his impotence and bedwetting.  Do not allow him to respond.  Smile, tell him to enjoy his drink, and exit with your head held high.  If he follows you, simply say "Goodbye," and keep walking to your car.  

  He's going to think you have lost your mind.  This is fine.  When people report his rantings, say, "I am not going to honor his delusions with a response."  If there's one thing I learned from my eldest daughter, it's that there's no dealing with a crazy person.  If he approaches you when you are on a date, say to your companion, in front of him, "I apologize in advance for his behavior.  I think he's off his medication.  Shall we go elsewhere?"  As you're leaving with your date, tell him, "I suppose I'm quite a catch.  They all go crazy after I'm gone."  

  I assure you, this will peak his interest.

Bless you,

Joan