All year I look forward to the September Vogue. And never more than this one—I hadn’t even purchased Vogue for the last three months because I know better: they’re just summer fillers until the fall, when the spectacularly heavy book loaded with stunning editorials and thoughtful journalism arrives.
But is there some mistake? I seem to have flipped through a double dose of August, arguably the least important magazine of the year (so once said Linda, I believe, who was getting snitty about Cindy’s August cover; do correct me if I have my supes mixed up).
Where are the interesting articles? (Aside from the one about the woman with the addictive husband.) Don’t even try to tell me that the excerpt from Candace Bushnell qualifies as prose. To take Capote one step further, it’s typing with name dropping.
Where is the extra-inspiring fashion and photography?
And what is going on with the covers lately? The Kate Moss last month was a rare spot of model-y joy, but this month—Keira Knightley (again!!) in a busy ensemble on a busier page just does not work. I sense that there’s a slight homage to your jaw-droppingly bold and successful Michaela cover from 1988, but I’ll take the original (see a version above) any day.
To misquote Madonna, “C’mon, Vogue!”