In Love With Vogue.
With Valentine’s Day just around the corner I thought it was about time I paid some respect to my one true love. Although my darling boyfriend (and if I’m honest – wine) would be a top contender the truth is they just haven’t been around as long as the romance I share with literature.
I first began lusting over the fairy tales of Enid Blyton and then I came across the glossy pages of magazines. While I still prize my collection of Jane Austin novels there is something bewitching when it comes to the likes of Vogue.
1975 Vogue, Deborah Turbeville for the Bath House Series
Fashion is frequently perceived as a one dimensional, consumer driven industry. With sweatshops, photo shopping sagas & weight obsessions painting a pretty grim picture. And while on some level these criticisms all have a valid place, in my eyes there is always a villain in a good story.
Some might argue that fashion magazines don’t belong on the bookshelf alongside Lewis Carroll and Oscar Wilde but the thought and skill that goes into a single issue cements their place in my library. Grace Coddington's creative touch to the pages of Vogue makes me truly week at the knees.
There really is only one way to describe it - in the wise words of Carrie Bradshaw,
‘When I first moved to New York I bought Vogue instead of dinner. I just felt it fed me more’