Vogue June 2017 Review

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Although we were technically still living in America when I was a little girl, my dad would deposit us on planes to India so often that it felt like we were living in both countries. Mom and I learnt to get ready in mere hours for the trip. Back then there was no such thing as direct flights so we would always have a lay over for a few hours either in Frankfurt or London. Daddy would herd us straight off and on the flight with a short layover in dad approved designations i.e. - the lounge. To be honest he was probably more afraid of my mom amongst the duty free stores than he was of losing a young child in the labyrinth of those massive airports. 


It was in one of those random lounges in a random airport on a random trip to India that I first came across my first Vogue. Of course I had seen my mom flip through dozens of magazines during the countless flights we took but for some reason, they never registered. It could be that I was too engrossed in an Archie comic or a Baby Sitter's Club book to notice a world beyond Betty and Veronica.  I don't remember which airport, which lounge, how old I was or even what I was wearing when I picked up my first Vogue, but I do remember the feeling that washed over me and lingered long after I had finished reading it cover to cover. 

I remember taking that shiny book into my lap and staring at the woman staring back from the cover. I remember being in awe of her glamour, of her confidence. I remember turning the glossy pages, being very careful not bend or tear a page; not completely understanding what I was reading but persevering, looking at every image, reading every paragraph, every line, every word that was offered. I remember being captivated by the woman dripping with diamonds and confidence, handsome men standing attentively by their sides, laughing in the soiree pictures. I remember all the photo shoots with the models wearing outrageous outfits, posing in - honestly - ridiculous poses. I remember not understanding why they were taking pictures like that, what it was that I was supposed to do with the information. I remember realizing that I couldn't recognize a single face yet I still understood  the importance, the honour of being in the magazine. 
I remember being impatient to grow up. To get to an age where I would know who these people are and what they were doing;  how they were able to live such visibly fabulous and glamorous lives.  More importantly, an age when I could understand how they got there, wanting desperately to be one of those women pictured in all their glory. 

It's been 20 years since that long forgotten trip to India but that memory always surfaces when I pick up a Vogue. It's been 20 years and i'd like to think i've finally grown up, but if you give me a British Vogue today, I still won't know half those people. But that's okay. I wish I could tell the little girl me that it won't matter. 
That fashion transcends names and nationalities. That the stylish always stay in style. 
That they - or some incarnation of them - are always in vogue.  

I loved the photo shoot Elle Fanning shot for this months' Vogue America. Naturally I'm biased - it was shot by my favorite Annie Leibovitz in my favorite New Orleans. But you didn't need me to tell you why these images are so hauntingly arresting. Look at the pictures and you'll see why yourself. 


Image credit: Vogue Magazine