Vogue is tired. Anna Wintour's iron-fist reign has run(albeit in Prada heels) that magazine into the ground. I realized slowly that I had become less and less excited each month as the issues arrived. The articles no longer resonate. The editorials are uninspired. The new batch of "supermodels" bore me. 
Agyness Deyn excluded of course....
Nevermind that Vogue doesn't actually put models on the cover anymore. The actresses they shove at me are not icons of style, grace, or daring. Jennifer Hudson? Scarlet Johanssen? PUL-leeze. And I believe I actually suffered a small cardiac arrest when I saw Anna gave Sienna-f&cking-Miller the September issue!
And I guess I'm just sick and tired of reading about fashion, fitness, and style that I don't feel are attainable or even relate to me anymore. .. I likely just kept the magazine out of habit. So, after 22 years, I finally ended it. I did not renew my subscription. You may think, so what? Its just a magazine. A magazine full of useless, expensive crap they try to shove down women's throats. ... But any Vogue devotee can tell you, Vogue is really more than that, at least it used to be. The magazine showed me about style, not just fashion. And for a dreamy 15-year-old culture hound stuck in the burbs, the monthly editions were my bible.
I still recall my very first issue. Isabella Rosselini showed me that I didn't have to be a blonde blue-eyed vixen to be beautiful. Oh, how I wanted to be her! I actually had my Vogue in my schoolbag as I walked up to the Lancome counter to buy my tube of Cabaret Red. *sigh* Oh, yes, I remember it well.
And I guess I'm just sick and tired of reading about fashion, fitness, and style that I don't feel are attainable or even relate to me anymore. .. I likely just kept the magazine out of habit. So, after 22 years, I finally ended it. I did not renew my subscription. You may think, so what? Its just a magazine. A magazine full of useless, expensive crap they try to shove down women's throats. ... But any Vogue devotee can tell you, Vogue is really more than that, at least it used to be. The magazine showed me about style, not just fashion. And for a dreamy 15-year-old culture hound stuck in the burbs, the monthly editions were my bible.
I still recall my very first issue. Isabella Rosselini showed me that I didn't have to be a blonde blue-eyed vixen to be beautiful. Oh, how I wanted to be her! I actually had my Vogue in my schoolbag as I walked up to the Lancome counter to buy my tube of Cabaret Red. *sigh* Oh, yes, I remember it well.
I hope one day to rebuild the relationship I once had with this venerable book, to recapture the magic. But I think, for now, Vogue and I need a bit of a break; deep in my heart of hearts, I'm hoping it won't last too long.
1 comment:
I feel melancholy about your breakup.
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