Gary Cooper's Cufflinks

At first glance, I thought these Bakelite buttons were a pair of old cufflinks. As it turns out, they are actually buttons—though hardly your everyday shirt trinkets. Strangely angular and sliced twice at one side for an art deco effect, they have the look of stylized hammer heads. Somehow handsome in their abstract slants and curves, these would've trimmed a suit with dashing aplomb. Circa 1925.

Gary Cooper was a movie star of the highest ranking and a debonair knight of the early Hollywood film scene. I was recently watching TV during the wee hours when one of his biggest movies, Morocco, came on (also starring Marlene Dietrich). Inspired by the picture, I did a little research on the film's chief hero. Starting with silent films in the 1920's and then into a steady stream of talkies, Cooper famously played men of action: unruffled cowboys, soldiers, sailors, adventurers and gallant husbands. Owing to his on-screen charisma, he's widely considered a "God" of classic American cinema (though not quite to the extent of Valentino). So there's a little bit of history for you. The Tom Cruise of yesteryear, Gary Cooper was one of the original Dapper Dan's of the highfalutin Jazz Age. His death in 1961 caused a national lament and a fathomless pileup of broken hearts.

-Sherbert McGee  

Abalone Mahoney

If I wasn't so into Bakelite, I could easily see myself collecting buttons made out of abalone. Iridescent and fishy, the stuff's caught my eye ever since I was a kid—back when I got hypnotized looking at one of my grandmother's mother-of-pearl brooches. At any rate, here's a unique button that delivers up both of the coveted riches: Bakelite and abalone. The Bakelite is a prime example of faux tortoise, or rootbeer, with six clefts cut into the border for a design that really gets this button popping. The abalone centerpiece is a five-petaled daffodil that shimmers in a supernatural tone of perfectly perplexing purplish silver. From the 1920's and very much a rare wonder.

-Sherbert McGee    

Mister Imperfection

It's cracked in the middle. It bears ugly splotches. It's a little misshaped and it gives off a jaundiced vibe. But for all that's wrong with this poor unsightly button, there's plenty of good to appreciate as well: It's tried and true Bakelite. It's a sturdy keepsake from the 1920's (marked with all the ancient scuffs of a reckless flapper). It's an art deco button, evidenced by the way the three leaves curl up the sides like stylized tendrils. It's a one-of-a-kind treasure. Moreover, this button reminds me of a poem I wrote many years ago, titled Mister Imperfection. And here's how it goes...

Mister Imperfection

I’m the dud of misdirection.

Call me Mister Imperfection.

See the crack on my pagoda.

There’s no bubble in my soda.

Look at me, another dent—

Like rhino-prints on wet cement.

Now every failure seems as though

I’m drowning in the undertow.

Perfect men are nicely painted.

I am faulty, chipped and tainted.

See the scratch on my toboggan.

There’s no logic in my noggin.

On the fritz and out of whack,

If nature ever sends me back

I’ll raise my voice and question God:

Are you the one who made me flawed?

Look at me, another scar—

Like fractures on a Mason jar.

Now every failure seems as if

I’m falling off a higher cliff.

I’m a Greek with no Apollo.

My piñata must be hollow.

See me wallow through correction.

Call me Mister Imperfection.

-Sherbert McGee

Jewel in the Crown

You don't find buttons like this one every day. Apple juice Bakelite provides a glistening foundation for this doozy—beautified with an order of carved lines that catch the light this way and that way like a stylized collection of attractive gills. See them glisten over a patchwork of shadows. I fancy this button's expensive countenance. Punctuated with a green mini-button, which also tested positive for Bakelite. This major charmer boasts a chic nucleus in the same peppy color as an emerald bead. Just absolutely perfect, from the 1920's.

-Sherbert McGee

Gratitude Blossom

Thanksgiving is over and in the wake of the holiday I'm showcasing this extra fancy button that I've nicknamed the Gratitude Blossom. Set on chocolate Bakelite, a brass flower takes a seat with a big orange jewel at rest on top. I'd call it a faux topaz if it didn't look so cheap and basic. Alas, it's just a chunk of glass. My favorite feature on this button is the sections of carved lines shooting outwards to the rim of the Bakelite. All things come together so nicely on this aesthetic period piece, c. 1930.

-Sherbert McGee

Raspberry Pie

Spotlighting this octagon-shaped button on Thanksgiving is a no-brainer. It's like a great big tart in a tone of raspberry Bakelite that's topped with a pattern of indentations to suggest a perfectly baked pie crust. A smattering of patina resting in the hollows of this checkered keepsake compliments its elderliness. On that note, this ripe old baby is a 90-year-old zinger. Made around 1927. Bon Appétit and happy holidays!

-Sherbert McGee

Artichoke Oddball

Anyone in the mood for an artichoke? This large moss-tone button in Bakelite looks like a strangely contorted specimen of the green vegetable—replete with five interlocking leaves and a handsome design of shallow etchings. I couldn't resist snapping up this bizarro find when I first laid eyes on it in my friend Doreen's button shop earlier this year. It's a wonderfully exotic coat button, likely dating back to the 1930's. We're getting awfully close to Turkey Day in the USA, but here's something for the vegetarians.  

Visit Doreen's online store
Click here: BUTTONS FROM THE ATTIC

-Sherbert McGee    

Little Masterpieces

Okay, so maybe these buttons aren't really "masterpieces" per se, but they are painted and they do exude a touch of artistic flair. Testing positive for Bakelite, the color here is orange juice with lots of signature swirling along the surfaces. Most uniquely, the tops of these old buttons depict carved flowers that've been filled in with off-white paint and an earthy tone of Persian red. Autumnal buttons for sure, here we are in late-November and this decorative pair looks festive enough to serve as the centerpiece on a Thanksgiving table. circa 1930.

-Sherbert McGee

Trefoil Quintet

Here's five little "trefoil" buttons in a gleaming tone of black Bakelite. If I didn't know any better I'd chew these buttons up—owing to their uncanny impression of licorice. Many moons ago, these nifty studs might've emblazoned a jacket from the 1930's or the early 40's. I can't say what's become of that jacket, but today these leftover buttons are running amok! Not to be confused with the common clover, the more rare and unusual trefoil is my favorite of all the button shapes.

-Sherbert McGee     

Red and Red

What's redder, the border of this old button or the center section? Both colors are shades of red, but in my estimation the textured perimeter (with its design of pressed brickwork) is more of a maroon while the middle circle is almost a bright pinkish red. This two-tone button is made in the cookie-style and probably harks back to the early 1930's. Most importantly, this button tested positive for Bakelite.

-Sherbert McGee    

2 Years...and Counting

Today's the second birthday of Bakelite Buttons by Sherbert McGee and I'm marking the occasion with this huge coat button from the 1930's. Half black licorice and half apple juice, both sides tested positive for Bakelite and the apple juice side of this Yin-Yang doozy is packed with a hearty dose of multicolored particles that I'm calling confetti (likely made of celluloid). It's a two-sided party button, seemingly custom-made for my two-year-old button blog.

-Sherbert McGee 

Rootbeer Something or Another

And here we have the button that dreamed of becoming a turtle. Every time I look at this Bakelite oddity I think I see the rough formations of a soon-to-be baby tortoise. A patchwork of funny spots are etched along the surface with a long stripe dragged over the top. It's like this rootbeer button is on its way to becoming something else. A most quirky enigma—made during the Depression era.

-Sherbert McGee