Virginia Woolf was a little crazy of course. On the other hand, look at the photographs. Women look at it the way they'd look at an annoying policeman. Sometimes, lost in a focusless world of love or sublimity, they seem not to see it at all. Sometimes, with their cocked straw hats and feet on the running board, they look a little weaselly, like salesmen who aren't ashamed of themselves anymore.
Women ignore their mothers' lessons on how a lady appears in public.
They slowly jettison corsets, shed chaperons and hike their hemlines over their ankles. They face the camera with an amused wise-guy wariness. Sometimes, for mischief, they pose with cigarettes, The face of sublimity starts to become the face of sexuality. What you want is personality, not character. You want the frankness of Freud, and the freedom of the Model T Ford.