Side-barring from fitness again. I know I’ve been on a fashion kick lately, but hey. Deal with it. Attention MUST be paid.
Let’s talk Vogue, y’all.
My love affair with Vogue came at an early age. Taught to read by the age of 2 by my mother, I spent the majority of my youth buried in a book, magazine, or anything else of substance that I could get my hands on. Usually that consisted of my dad’s Tom Clancy novels, grandma’s Danielle Steele novels, but when I was lucky, Vogue. On long boring trips to the store or supermarket, I would run straight to the magazine aisle, find a copy, and lose myself in the endless glossy pages of the fashion future. It was avant garde, ahead of the generic, mainstream fashion that was placed at the fingertips of the general population, and often criticized as a result. Vogue was a fairy tale in its own way, a seemingly fantastical story that was ultimately a prediction of the future; it was delicately drafted by the movers of the fashion industry: the editors of Vogue, with their shrewdly psychic visions that always proved true in the years to follow.
As the articles’ messages slowly started to become clear to me as my maturity and understanding developed, I felt an immediate connection to the depth and endlessness of fashion; I would watch how even the most controversial look would somehow become normal at some point, and looks of years past would repeat themselves in a completely different manner, yet hold onto the original bones it had once held. It was fascinating, and I used it as my guide. Slowly, I started to watch my own edgy style become a trend within my school, and eventually across the nation, as trending grew from the initial sightings in Vogue. As a prime mover, it has truly shaped the look of the world.
So… THIS. On my birthday month, no less. Let’s discuss.
Those of you that know me, know how much I despise the word “selfie.” Don’t even get me started on the song. It’s only slightly more than I hate the phrase, “YOLO.” As an avid writer and reader, I relish eloquence and the beauty and art of language. I’m often teased for my use of large words in casual conversation. I guess it’s just a part of my charm. You can imagine my horror when I saw not only that, but a hashtag in tow as well. A HASHTAG ya’ll. It was as if the entire teen population of America had taken over the editing offices of Vogue. Was it “bring a tween to work day?” Was it an April Fool’s joke with a swap in editors from Teen Vogue? I wanted to rip my hair out and scream when I grabbed this from my mailbox. I felt like the societal dumb-down was truly taking over the world at this point, and it had finally reached Vogue. This is something that I wouldn’t bat an eye at on the cover of Teen Vogue, because it was created to reach a young audience with a budding appreciation for the meaning and purpose of fashion, using a trendy and popular tone. Vogue? Not so much.
I do see the modern reference with Kim and Kanye, and can appreciate that; whether you love them or hate them, they have ingrained a spot into today’s society and psyche, whatever that spot may be (I’m still trying to figure that one out). While I can’t understand the reasoning behind Wintour’s decisions on this yet, I plan to sit back and see where this is going. She has always had vision, one I so deeply appreciate and respect. However, I’m not going to lie, I am waiting with baited breath for May’s edition so I can tear through the Letters to the Editor section; I am dying to know how my fellow Vogue nerds and my favorite fashion powerhouses are processing this. My hope is that Vogue does not lose it’s bold and eloquent voice. There are so many channels today for the popular vernacular, and in my opinion, Vogue is not one of them. Leave the hashtags to social media, and off the cover of one of the most fiercely classic magazines of our time.