Anna Wintour, I love you, but you're bringing me down.

Yes. The September issue of Vogue is so bad that I have to resort to LCD Soundsystem allusions as explanatory vehicles.

I've already expressed my disdain for the fact that my bulging arm muscles were not employed while reading it. 580 pages for the fall issue of the premier American fashion magazine is unacceptable. The rag reminds me of when I used to dress up in my mom's heels/fur coat/jewels as a kid--I may have had the aesthetic trappings of an awesomely stylish adult, but I was not big enough to be taken seriously. As much as I tried to put it's lack of heft out of my mind, it was impossible to ignore--especially with such weak content filling it's reduced page count.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we? I enjoy reading the cover lines, if only because I know they're very difficult to write. Personally, my least favorite part of the jounrnalistic process is writing the headline or cover line of an article. Too often, I (and many other writers) resort to alliteration and lame puns (my horrific default) to try and make it sound "snappy." When the first cover line I noticed was "Fall Fashion Fun!", I steeled myself for inevitable dissapointment upon opening the pages. Really, writers? FFF? Nothing about Vogue is fun. It takes itself far too seriously and is far removed from what the American public actually concerns itself with. Oddly enough, that is why it's an institution--it is on a pedastal, and people have expectations of it. Does everyone in the world actually think the Mona Lisa is a riveting, beautiful work of art? Of course not. But if you're in Paris, you're going to go see it because it's important. It is ingrained in our collective cultural consciousness as something that shaped art for the years that followed it's creation, and does still to this day.


I just out-alliterated Vogue writers. How dreadful.


So please, Vogue, don't promise "fun." It's a desperate rhetorical attempt to trick readers into thinking that as long as shopping is fun and good for the soul, then no one needs to worry about saving money. Vogue has taught me a lot of things. Mainly, that budgeting is what ugly people do when they're left to their own devices on a Friday night.

Though, what grates at my nerves more is this: save for one delightfully-themed Alice in Wonderland shoot, nothing in the pages screams "I'm having such a great time! While wearing clothes!" Yes, they're still trying to find their place in a world of ugly budgeters. However, why not use this transition period to...oh, I don't know, use a different photographer to offer a different perspective, or pose models in something other than "jumping artistically to one side"? Most everyone in the fashion industry hopes to work for Vogue one day, so the magazine doesn't need to beg for new talent. The editorial staff just needs to have the courage to admit that they cannot keep resting on their laurels. They must shock and inspire like they so often have in the past.

Often, shock and inspiration come with an intimidating price tag. I oscillate between whether or not Vogue should tone itself down as far as the quality and price of the clothes they use to be "respectful" to the economic climate. It's a tough call to make, and I believe I've mulled it over in previous posts. I air on the side of seeing high fashion as a means of fantasy and escape--therefore, I don't see the point of styling Gap t-shirts in lieu of Louis Vuitton dresses simply because many people can't afford Vuitton. However, in a time where fashion as an art form means making alterations to a $10 thrifted dress rather than buying a Stella McCartney suit for it's exquisite tailoring, I have to wonder how long it will be before Vogue realizes that the pedastal is a lonely place to be. Without a doubt, the magazine needs to turn itself around. Either commit to worshipping the fantastical aspect of clothing and its construction, or become familiarized with the actual sartorial desires of the American public and cater to those.

Oh, and try to make that decision before next year's September issue, Ms. Wintour. I can't bear another disappointment.