Like Joni Mattis (Miss November 1960), the lovely and talented Avis Kimble, Playboy’s Miss November 1962, hailed from Hef’s hometown of Chicago.
Photography by Jon Pownall
Body by ballpark hotdogs. Attagirl. This is the first Miss November that I have to say I doubt would go to print for Playboy today. She’s not even remotely fat … she’s just maybe too genuine? I don’t know.
I’m not criticizing her, and I’m not criticizing the magazine today, and this is not some generic predictable commentary on modern ideals of beauty. I just think from the commercial end of it, the talent scouts, they have trained their eyes to see a certain type of beauty, and I’m not sure that 5′5″ and a certain ectomorphic roundness would register. The boobs would. I’m sure of that. But … I don’t know. I’d love to be wrong.
In fact, I might be wrong, which is really heartening. It seems from reading her blurb that she was picked especially because she was different from the usual West Coast bunny, and I can’t jump to the conclusion that that would never happen today. I could be totally wrong and that philosophy of finding the unique and the special may still prevail; I mean, look at Stephanie Adams or Grace Kim, who I’ve highlighted in past weeks.
And the Playboy sez: Rara AvisNovember Playmate Avis Kimble is a well-constructed nonconformist
While Chicago is touted as a convention city, we’ve always found its unconventional side much more interesting — especially as personified by an eye-catching iconoclast like Avis Kimble, our bountiful bohemian November Playmate. Auburn-haired Avis, a Windy City citizen by birth and inclination is artistic both in temperament and topography (39-22-36); she paints striking water colors and oils, is a budding ballet dancer and a poetess who happily celebrates self-expression in lieu of carbon-copy conformity.
Blessed with catholic tastes, our 18-year-old maverick miss gets a boot from square-dealing artist Piet Mondrian, movie director Ingmar Bergman and the rich prose of novelist Ayn Rand; she gulps vast quantities of artichokes for lunch, will lend her ear at any hour to Chopin or Odetta, loves to wear Italian knit dresses, long gloves and floppy Greta Garbo hats, and digs dating unpretentious guys who don’t knock themselves out trying to impress her with their wealth and wisdom.
More upbeat than beat, Avis is sensibly stashing away her earnings as a photographer’s stylist (she sets up props, puts makeup on models, helps with photo composition) to pay for courses at Chicago’s Art Institute, and has her beguiling blue eyes firmly focused on a career as a fashion designer. For a design that will never go out of fashion, flip to the foldout where our poetry buff relaxes by scanning a choice collection of lyrical lines. We suggest that you do the same. (Playboy, November 1962.)
Ayn Rand?! Maybe she just read it so she had someone to get mad at. Like me watching a Dodgers game so I can continue to yell at Manny Ramirez.
Final thought — the wiki sez: “She was one of the Editors’ choices for the top ten Playmates of all time during Playboy’s ten year anniversary celebration. She did not make the top ten list when the readers’ top ten was voted on.”
So maybe it’s the readers and not the magazine. Content and consumer demand: they have an intricate relationship. You get the porn you think you deserve? Does that make sense? Chew on that. Let me know.
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