Everyone needs a brass fly, right? (Of course you do, particularly at Halloween, when gross things are more important.) And like Catherine, the Dutchess of Cambridge, I have an heir and a spare.
Fly Guy 1 guards my desk. He’s a 1930’s brass fly whose wings lift up to reveal an ashtray. That I do not smoke is a moot point, because even if I did, I would be freaked out by dropping ash into the abdomen of an insect. Fly Guy was made in Italy, and is considered “barware.” Can’t you picture some slender man, pleated pants, flipping it open and lighting up next to his cappuccino?
The dealer I bought it from at the fabulous Brooklyn Flea said it was a reproduction of a Victorian design, which would make sense with all their botanical passions, but I haven’t been able to find anything relating it to that era. If there are any Victorian fly experts out there–form a line, please.
Fly Guy 2 is a 1920s model I’ve seen listed as a “match striker.” He’s darker, smaller, heavier. Far less elegant, as flies go. But he was a buck at a garage sale, so there you go.
The funny thing about these is my younger daughter cannot stop playing with them. She’ll step over Barbie and blow off Pinkie Pie pony on her way to get her little hands on these flies. She stuffs the flies’ crevices with her plastic gems for safekeeping.
And that’s not weird at all… Happy Halloween!