Wednesday, November 25, 2009

C'mon Vogue

If I had a choice between chucking my cel or my subscription to Vogue, I would be learning how to send smoke signals. I'll never give up my Vogue. It arrives, wrapped in plastic, advertising a far inferior magazine, I unwrap it, breathe in the scent of Van Cleef and Arpels, Dolce and Gabbana and Anna Wintour. If I am disciplined, the magazine stays closed until I am able to draw myself a hot, hot bath, sprinkle it with Japanese grapefruit salt, and sink in for at least an hour.
The September issue always dips into the tub, so that the bottom pages tend to stick together, and I have a hard time balancing it. But OH, the joy of turning the pages and absolutely diving into a rarefied world, where the letters to the editor are uniformly considered and well written, with exquisite grammar, and the clothes are confections of tulle and marzipan and stage dust.
I think I've been reading Vogue for at LEAST 20 years. I can't remember NOT having a subscription. I was there for Linda, Cindy and Naomi. Grunge, minimalism, bold eyebrows, blonde eyebrows, straight hair, big hair, HUGE hair. The first time I ever heard of Botox and Brazilians was in the pages of Vogue. And the magazine has a way of making you feel like, "of course I know who the J sisters, or Thrum and Taxis are. And Turks and Caicos? Been there, done that", at least in print. One is never preached at, one is spoken to as if one is a select and included guest at an exclusive party thrown by Jackie Kennedy and Exene Cervenka.
At my saddest, I read the magazine for solace. The year after my son was born, when I was at the lowest ebb I had ever known, I let the subscription lapse. Re-subscribing was probably my first step towards feeling normal.
My best to you, Vogue and Conde Nast. I am alarmed that there might be a restructuring at the magazine. I am a loyal and devoted follower, please continue to be my most treasured alone time companion. Hefting an Elle into the tub would be like going from being BFF's with Coco Chanel, to paling around with Paris Hilton. Spare me the horror!

1 comment:

spartacus said...

That was a really well written Ode to Vogue. It created an experience that was about as close as I will ever get to reading it.