Flair was the brainchild of Fleur Cowles, a Look magazine editor who wanted to create a magazine for both women and men; one that celebrated the art, fashion, decor, entertainment, travel, and literature that reflected life in the '50s. She brought the most distinctive magazine production ideas (and an Italian chief designer) from Europe to the United States and got busy. Cowles cut holes in her covers, bound booklets into each issue and innovated fold-out pages that demanded the reader pay close attention. Flair became a monthly event, a tactile feast for the eyes and mind.

Today, Flair originals are highly collectible, the 50-cent cover price is inflated to as much as $150. And they're not easy to find. Much easier to locate is The Best Of Flair, which collects the magazine's most exciting pieces in one luscious volume.

As with the magazine, the fun starts on the book's cover, which duplicates the first issue cover: a blood-red field; a fanciful logo (drawn by Cowles); and a golden wing, below which is a die-cut hole in the same shape. Inside is a stunning portrait of one of those women who looks like she has great stories to tell, a woman not unlike Fleur Cowles.

One of Flair's distinctions is that each issue had a different die-cut hole and revealed a new surprise. March featured Spain, and revealed a "Guernica"-style tapestry. May's roses revealed a gorgeous portrait of a young woman. The July All Male Issue let us peek through binoculars at a woman on a beach . Even more daring, Flair's name was treated a new way each time, taking its cue from the issue's thematic content: sans serif type one month, hand-drawn the next, serif type the month after.

Looking back from now, when consistent image is all, the nonchalant approach Fleur Cowles took to editing Flairseems almost dangerous. But it worked, aesthetically if not financially (Flair disappeared after only a dozen issues). Inside, the design was all '50s, but the imagination and playfulness were far ahead of their time. In fact, they're far ahead of our time.

Flair's bound-in booklets were its trademark. Probably the most famous is "Saul Steinberg Portraits," in which the artist uses hand-drawn lines to transform everyday objects into distinctive objects. A cardboard box becomes a man trying to escape a cardboard box. A chair becomes a woman sitting in the chair.

The magazine was Cowles' personal gallery. She used it to showcase the work of established artists and writers as well as those early in their careers. She convinced Tennessee Williams to write his first magazine article. She published Mary Hemingway's thoughts about Ernest. For her, Simone de Beauvoir wrote about love and women, Clare Booth Luce about time, and George Bernard Shaw wrote about singing. She ran features on Lucian Freud, Rufino Tamayo, Edgar Degas (in the famous "Degas Sketchbook"), Salvador Dali, and Rene Gruau, who became a regular contributor.

Flair took its readers around the world--to Paris (where die-cut windows revealed the shops and offices on the Place Vendome), London (where a large double fold-out revealed the city's history), and Hawaii (with a James Michener essay).

In those twelve issues and one book in 1952, Cowles served up a delicious menu of art, intellect, and fashion, always with a healthy side dish of whimsy. Recently, I met Fleur Cowles and found in her those same qualities.

I told her I was writing about the interactive magazine of the '50s for the interactive web magazine of the '90s. "Brilliant, she responded." I wondered what she thought of the internet, does she think it will survive? "I do. It has to," she said, leaning closer. "But it will never replace the printed word." Fleur Cowles changed the way we see magazines. And, with The Best of Flair, her vision will be preserved (at least as long as the paper lasts).

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