Before she was the world’s most famous redhead, Lucille Ball was a "starvation blonde" named Diane Belmont. Honestly, most people just think of the grape-stomping, chocolate-factory-working slapstick queen when they hear her name. But if you look at Lucille Ball model photos from the late 1920s and early 1930s, you aren’t looking at a clown. You’re looking at a high-fashion mannequin who could stare down a camera lens with the best of them.
She was actually kind of a big deal in the New York garment district long before she ever stepped foot on a Hollywood soundstage.
The transition from a silent, chic clothing model to a loud, boisterous TV icon wasn't an accident. It was a grind. Lucy’s modeling years were defined by a name change, a bout of rheumatoid arthritis that almost paralyzed her, and a very specific type of grit that you only get from being told "no" by every acting coach in Manhattan.
The Diane Belmont Era and the Hattie Carnegie Influence
In 1928, Lucy moved to New York City with big dreams and almost no money. Her acting teachers at the John Murray Anderson School for Dramatic Arts told her she had no talent. They actually wrote to her mother, DeDe, telling her she was wasting her money.
Lucy didn't leave. She just changed her strategy.
She started modeling under the name Diane Belmont. Why? Because she’d seen the Belmont Race Track on Long Island and thought it sounded classy. Diane sounded more sophisticated than Lucille. To make it, she landed a gig as an in-house model for Hattie Carnegie, one of the most prestigious fashion designers in America at the time.
Carnegie was the one who told Lucy to go blonde. Not just blonde—platinum.
Working for Carnegie was basically a masterclass in how to move. Lucy spent her days draped in $500 sable coats and intricate sequined gowns. She had to walk with perfect poise for rich society women and movie stars like Joan Bennett. This period is where those stunning, moody Lucille Ball model photos come from—the ones where she looks like a statue.
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She wasn't just standing there, though. She was watching. She studied how the wealthy women talked and how they held their cocktail glasses. Years later, when she played "Lucy Ricardo" trying to act posh, she was drawing directly from those years at Carnegie’s.
The Chesterfield Cigarette Break
If you’re hunting for the most famous Lucille Ball model photos, you’ll eventually hit the Chesterfield Cigarette ads.
This was her "overnight" break, though it took five years to get there. In 1933, a painter named Ratterman did an oil portrait of her wearing a borrowed chiffon dress. He sold that painting to Chesterfield. Suddenly, Lucy’s face was on billboards across the entire country.
She was the "Chesterfield Girl."
That ad is actually what got her noticed by a theatrical agent named Sylvia Hahlo. Samuel Goldwyn was looking for "poster girls" for a movie called Roman Scandals. Because her face was already plastered on every corner in New York, she got the job. She moved to Hollywood as a blonde, intended to be nothing more than background eye candy.
Why Her "Queen of the B's" Look Was Different
Once she hit Hollywood, the modeling didn't stop; it just shifted to studio publicity.
At RKO and later MGM, Lucy was a workhorse. She appeared in nearly 80 films before I Love Lucy even existed. During the 1930s and 40s, studio photographers like Ernest Bachrach captured her in classic "cheesecake" poses.
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But there’s a weird tension in those photos.
She had the legs of a showgirl and the face of a dramatic lead, but she was constantly "clowning" between takes. Lela Rogers—Ginger Rogers’ mother—was actually the first person to see this. She told Lucy she was a "clown with glamour."
The Max Factor Red Transformation
We can’t talk about her photos without mentioning the hair.
For the 1943 film Du Barry Was a Lady, Max Factor himself (the legend of makeup) decided she needed a change. Her "mousy brown" hair had been bleached to death during her modeling days. Factor’s team dyed it a vibrant, "Tango Red."
It was a revelation.
In Technicolor, she practically glowed. Most of the iconic Lucille Ball model photos from the mid-40s lean into this "Technicolor Tessie" persona. She was a high-glamour pin-up girl, but she was always just one step away from a pratfall.
The Physical Toll of the Posing Life
It wasn't all lights and fur coats.
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During her early NYC modeling days, Lucy actually developed a severe case of rheumatoid arthritis. It was so bad she had to move back home to Jamestown for a while to recover. She literally couldn't stand for the long hours required for fittings.
She eventually recovered after a series of treatments that involved (according to her autobiography) a lot of pain and experimental injections. When she returned to modeling, she went to a place called Jacksons on Seventh Avenue.
Interestingly, she found that if she clowned around and made the buyers laugh, they bought more clothes.
The modeling was her first audience. She realized that her beauty got them to look, but her humor got them to buy.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Researchers
If you are looking to find or collect authentic Lucille Ball model photos, here is what you should keep in mind:
- Look for the "Diane Belmont" era: Photos from 1928–1932 are rare and usually show her as a platinum blonde with very thin, 1920s-style eyebrows.
- Check the Cigarette Ads: Original Chesterfield posters from 1933 are the holy grail for collectors.
- The Max Factor Connection: Much of her best-lit color photography was done in the Max Factor building in Hollywood. If you’re ever in LA, the Hollywood Museum (housed in that same building) still has the "Redheads Only" room where her specific hair color was perfected.
- Verify the Photographer: If you find a high-quality vintage print, check for the RKO or MGM studio stamp. Photographers like Clarence Sinclair Bull or George Hurrell occasionally captured her, though she was more frequently shot by the "house" photographers who handled the B-movie starlets.
The Legacy of the Mannequin
Basically, those early photos prove one thing: Lucille Ball was a "beauty" who chose to be "funny."
She knew exactly how to look perfect. She knew how to hold her chin, how to angle her legs, and how to catch the light. She spent a decade mastering the art of the "glamour girl" just so she could spend the next three decades subverting it.
When you see her in a photo from 1934 looking like a million bucks, remember that she was probably thinking about how to make the cameraman laugh the second the shutter closed. She didn't stumble into comedy because she wasn't pretty enough for drama; she was a world-class model who realized that a laugh lasted a lot longer than a look.
To see the real evolution, compare a 1930 Hattie Carnegie fitting photo with a 1952 I Love Lucy still. The bone structure is the same, the poise is the same, but the eyes in the later photos are much more alive. She had finally stopped being a mannequin and started being Lucy.