From "Yessir, That's My Baby!—Wherein Several Experts Define the Perfect Female," Vanity Fair, August 1926:
Mr. Chaplin’s contribution to the symposium strikes a rather acid note at times, for one so versed in the poignancy of simple sorrow. He writes:
1. When in my company, she never admires the other men.
2. If I am obliged to leave her in order to keep another engagement, her disappointment is always keen enough to be flattering to me, but never quite keen enough to keep me from going where I am going.
3. Her diamond bracelets never need cleaning.
4. Her shoulders are never shiny.
5. She never takes advantage of a voluptuous situation to narrow her eyes.
6. She always reads all of the Sunday papers (the funny sheet first) but, having read them, she refolds them neatly and leaves them as they were.
7. She knows the words of no popular dance music, or, if she does, never sings them in my ear when dancing.
8. She uses only a faint eau de toilette during the day, but sprays herself plentifully with L’Heure Bleue upon retiring.
9. I am not exactly in love with her, but
10. She is entirely in love with me.