Alain Delon and Jane Fonda in Antibes 1964
Credit: The Edward Quinn Archive
Cannes, Juan-les-Pins, Cap Ferrat. In the 1950s, the craggy coastline of the French Riviera was the most fashionable playground on earth, drawing the jet set to its sensuous pleasures like moths to a flame.
Among the dusty poplars and palm trees, Hollywood actors and directors, artists, faded aristocrats and playboys passed their days idling at one beach or another, driving the twisting, heat-soaked roads in a convoy of sleek, open-topped cars. (Once evening fell, a whirl of dancing and drinking saw them through til dawn.)
Cars were a big thing on the Côte d’Azur at the time: a potent symbol of freedom and mobility following the privations of the still recent war. Just as the acres of silk in Dior’s Bar skirt had signalled an end to “make-do and mend” fashion, so the shiny extravagance of a Cadillac or a Roller, even the cute Panhard Dyna, conveyed to the world that its owner was carefree and going places.