Glossed Over

Lucky's Least Flattering Outfits for Spring

Lucky’s March cover touts “Body-flattering outfits for normal-size people.” You’d think that would be a given in a fashion magazine, but no, Lucky had to specify. See, this issue is packed with outfits that don’t flatter even the reed-thin six-foot models forced to be photographed in them. Maybe I’m missing the inherent aesthetic value of these ensembles, or perhaps Kim France et al actually wanted readers to say, “God no” and flip to the next page as quickly as possible. It’s hard to say with any certainty.

Below, my picks for the worst looks in the March issue:

Honorable mention: The Romper, page 192. Here’s a novel idea! How about not describing as “flirty” clothes that most closely resemble something a toddler would wear?

 

3. Boxy Tops and Slouchy Trousers, page 97. Lucky says that rolling up the cuffs of your single-pleat pants—oh, yes, pleated pants!—“draw attention to a flatteringly thin point” of your calf. Indeed! Showcasing that sliver of calf between your cuffs and your shoes both compensates for the pooch-highlighting pleats and confirms that you deliberately dressed this way to leave the house. Also, is it an optical illusion created by the loose-fitting pants, or is this model in fact three feet tall?

2. The Shrunken Jacket and Nonchalantly Cuffed Pants, page 163. What is it with the cuffs this month? And where on earth would it be appropriate to wear a suit with the legs “nonchalantly” rolled up? (Other than to an editorial meeting at a fashion magazine, obviously.) As for pegging the pants: It didn’t look good in 1989, either, although at least they didn’t also outfit the model with two different-colored pairs of socks and a coordinating scrunchie.

1. The Disheveled Button-Down, page 98. Cuffed pants, a haphazardly tucked-in tee, and a button-down fastened only at the neck? Yeah, there’s a reason we’ve never seen this look before.

As for the article mentioned on the cover, it includes one “normal-size” person. Also, the term “normal-size”? As a fashion magazine, Lucky has zero authority to declare which body types are normal and which aren’t. The feature showcases a mere three outfits, but they are at least attractive. For once in a fashion glossy, maybe those of us who don’t look like models actually come out ahead.

Deep Cover: Noteworthy Stories from the Newsstand

Occasionally, I read something other than fashion magazines! Even so, topics that relate to some of the most frequent complaints about the glossies arise frequently. I’ve culled these points of interest from recent readings:

The February issue of Wired graphed the BMIs of Playboy centerfolds from December 1953 to January 2009, and then compared the results to the BMI of the average American woman over the same time period. The outcome won’t surprise you: The models’ BMI shrank from 19.4 to 18.2, while the national average increased from 22.2 to 26.8. Wired points out that, while the stats could be skewed because the Playmates provide their own weights and measurements, what Playboy thinks its readers will consider ideal is far more revealing than the actual numbers.

 

The March issue of Psychology Today probes the growing frequency of suicide among teen girls. A new book, The Triple Bind: Saving Our Teenage Girls from Today's Pressures, postulates that society and the media subject girls to unrealistic pressures, creating strain when girls are expected to become caregivers, excel academically, and still fit conventional standards of beauty. Female role models, the book’s authors claim, are “ultra-sexy, ultra-feminized women, like the female surgeons on Grey’s Anatomy or swimsuit-modeling tennis players…” Ultra-sexy, ultra-feminized women? Like, say, the Photoshopped images that appear in fashion magazines?

 

And speaking of Photoshop, the editor-in-chief of Shape answered readers who wrote to complain about what they thought was the egregious retouching of singer Faith Hill’s bikini-clad body on an earlier cover. In March’s “Editor’s Letter,” Valerie Latona says, “I can emphatically and truthfully say we do not alter stars’ bodies: We select A-listers, like Jaime Pressly (whom we voted this year’s Sexiest Body in Hollywood), who are healthy role models—and have the curves to show for it.” In response to readers’ correspondence, the magazine says, “We never alter any Shape model’s body—including those on our cover. The women we feature put a lot of hard work into staying healthy and should be given the credit they deserve.”

Model Books Jobs, Vogue Solves Racism

Back in July, Vogue issued a rather, shall we say, opaque denial of the existence of racism in the fashion industry. Nearly everyone cited in the article blamed someone else, and anyway, said those same people, non-white people just aren’t in style right now! Accompanying the article were photos of Arlenis Sosa, Jourdan Dunn, and Chanel Iman—because, apparently, featuring their photos in an article about racism does far more good than just booking them in fashion spreads.

In November’s “Flash,” the magazine catches up with Sosa. So, how’s that modeling-while-Dominican thing working out?

Since appearing in Vogue this past summer, Arlenis Sosa has skyrocketed into the top-model stratosphere: She walked in 28 spring shows in New York—Carolina Herrera, Narciso Rodriguez, and Ralph Lauren among them—before jetting off to conquer the catwalks of Europe.

Given Vogue’s usual taste in models, the runway success of a non-white woman isn’t the only eyebrow-raising element of this article:

At de la Renta’s collection…she scored top honors: opening and closing the show in a color-block maillot and a strapless silver evening dress, respectively, both of which showed off her jaw-dropping curves (yes, curves!) to spectacular effect.

Wait, wait, wait. Vogue—Vogue?— is celebrating “curves”? I actually closed the magazine to double-check the cover. Sure, Sosa is curvy for a model, if curvy means having enough flesh so that her ribs don't poke out below her collarbone.

Asked how she’s coping with her newly packed schedule of castings, fittings, photo shoots, and fashion shows, Sosa doesn’t hesitate: “I can be tired later!” she says with a megawatt smile. “Right now, I’m loving every minute of it.”

By the conclusions drawn in the previous article, that can mean only one of two things: either Dominican models are in right now, or the only people not hiring non-white models are the editors at Vogue.

That’s right: despite the self-congratulatory piece about Sosa’s success, this month’s major fashion spreads feature not a single woman who doesn’t appear to be Caucasian, and neither does the October issue.

To be fair, there are a few women of color scattered throughout the November edition, primarily in paparazzi shots and event photos. I counted four different photos of Michelle Obama (three of those also depicted Barack), two of Venus Williams (one of which includes sister Serena), a candid of Naomi Campbell, two runway shots of Jourdan Dunn and one of Du Juan, and one pic each of socialite Genevieve Jones, Zoe Saldana, Astrid Munoz, dancer Judith Jamison, and Dr. Iffie Aitkenhead.

And several advertisers demonstrate diversity: Movado’s ad features Kerry Washington, Revlon has Jessica Alba and Halle Berry, and L’oreal ads star Pamela Dos Santos and Ashley Yao.

So I have to wonder what's going on at Vogue. Toasting Sosa's success is great, but why isn’t she—or anyone who resembles her—modeling in the magazine?

Live Blog: September Vogue's 798 Pages

Last week, when I bought an armful of September issues, the cashier at my favorite newsstand said, "You've got your reading cut out for you." Little did he know that I planned to spend an entire day poring over the pages of just one magazine.

For the record: I have not opened this issue of Vogue, nor have I read what any other blogs had to say about anything other than the cover. The only thing I've peeked at was the back cover, because by the time I reach it, I may be too delirious to realize I've reached the end.

August's Vogue Made Me Feel Better About My Life (and My Underarms)

Whenever I feel a bit down, I turn to Vogue to distract me. Not because the content makes me happy—but because reading an issue always serves as a reminder that, no matter my troubles, there are millions of completely unimportant things I could worry about instead! The August issue forced me out of my funk to ponder the provenance of the term “mogulette” (page 70), whether my underarms need a surgical intervention (page 220), and what circumstances, exactly, would require Anna Wintour’s three assistants to wrangle a visa from a country under siege (page 249).

Below, I’ve listed the top five astoundingly frivolous matters that Vogue caused me to consider. This may be the first time a fashion magazine has made me feel good about my life! If I were the kind of woman who would seriously consider cosmetic surgery for my armpits, life would be so much more complex.

1. From Grace Coddington’s quote on the “Contributors” page:

“[I love] indulging in expensive clothes—cheaper ones don’t look good on an older person.”

But snobbery looks good at any age! Should I be investing more in my retirement accounts to cover the designer clothes my dotage will apparently require?

2. From the Kate Moss profile, “View from the Top,” by Plum Sykes:

The antithesis of the airbrushed celebrity, Moss, now 34, has done nothing to disguise her age: Her kohl-lined, chestnut-brown eyes have tiny creases at the edges, and her makeup-free face is as natural as ever, with two little lines across the top of her nose…The reason she won’t do Botox is that if a photographer asked her to frown in a picture and she couldn’t, she’d be “really embarrassed,” she says.

Yes, one must have a solid excuse for not wanting botulism toxin injected into one’s face. What is my justification for not immediately obliterating the tiniest signs of aging? I’m only a few years younger than Moss!

3. Sykes again, talking about Moss’ Topshop clothing line:

She shows me a slew of clothes that are extraordinarily desirable considering their price: She holds up a slightly Beatles-esque wool sweater…(around $110); there’s a charming black chiffon flapper dress that could easily wander into a cocktail party on Park Avenue ($240); most of all I want the skinny black sweater with sheer chiffon blouson sleeves ($100)…

“Considering their price”? Has Plum Sykes ever met anyone who isn’t a millionaire? (Okay, that’s something I actually wonder about.)

4. From the Chris Evert profile “A Shining Moment”:

Tennis champion Chris Evert has won eighteen Grand Slam titles. But her best is yet to come—as a bride-to-be at 53.

Now that I’m married, should I even bother with a career? Because it seems landing a man is the greatest accomplishment a woman can ever aspire to!

5. Finally, from “Joint Session” by Judith Newman:

...I was visiting [Gerald Pitman, M.D.] to see whether I was a candidate for liposuction of the knee. They’d always been pleasantly dimpled, but now, as I got older, they were undeniably pudgy. Knees are not the worst of my problems, God knows…

So there are doctors who’ll remove excess fat and skin from your knees, but is there a surgical procedure to eliminate excessive narcissism?

See! Don’t you feel better already?

Italian Vogue's "Black Issue" Goes Into Reprints

As 10,000 freshly printed copies of the July edition are shipped to newsstands, Italian Vogue editor Franca Sozzani talked to Reuters about the magazine’s incredibly successful “Black Issue.” This quote, in particular, struck me:

“America ... is ready for a black president, so why are we not ready for a black model?”

Aren’t we ready, though? This issue is the first in Condé Nast’s history to be reprinted to satisfy demand. Ad sales were up 30 percent for this issue, even though many of those same advertisers stuck with white models in their ads. Photographer Steven Meisel, who shot the cover story, says,

“I’ve asked my advertising clients so many times, ‘Can we use a black girl?’ They say no. Advertisers say black models don’t sell.”

Right. They don’t sell advertising, which is why these same advertisers snapped up pages in this edition. They don’t sell consumer goods, and it has nothing to do with the product or the ad concept. They don’t sell at the newsstand, but it was Gwyneth Paltrow on the cover of the year’s worst selling issue.

So where does the problem really lie? Looks like America is certainly ready for more diverse models, but are magazines?

Earlier: Is Fashion Racist? Fashion-Industry Mouthpiece Vogue Says No

Business as Usual: Blonde Celebs Land September Covers

We’re just a few weeks away from the massive September magazines! That means it’s almost time for the same crop of overexposed celebrities who appear on all the covers to snag yet another one. (Vanity Fair, while not strictly a fashion mag, will feature a handful of models.) Here’s who’ll be gracing, er, appearing:

Vogue: Keira Knightley (and just like last year, I’ll be liveblogging as I read the issue)

Allure: Carrie Underwood

Cosmopolitan: Blake Lively

Elle: Jessica Simpson (who, apparently, was on the cover of Elle’s best-selling issue ever. Ever. How is that even possible?)

Glamour: Penelope Cruz

InStyle: Uma Thurman

W: Kate Hudson

No word yet on which flaxen-haired tabloid fixture will land Marie Claire, Lucky, or Bazaar.

Lowest Common Denominator: Glamour, August

47: Number of items promised on the front cover by number

Not much: What Glamour thinks of its readers, considering the cover lines’ emphasis on “cheap,” “easy,” “lazy,” and “shortcuts”

8: Percent of women surveyed by Glamour who say going to work bra-less is a “do”

$1,000,000: Money Drew Barrymore donated for relief in Africa, as cited in “Drew’s Million-Dollar Miracle”

20,000: Children that money will feed for a year, based on the article’s statement that $50 feeds one child for twelve months

$1,267: Total retail value of the featured cosmetics in the Beauty section immediately following the piece about Barrymore

18: Number of “real women” depicted in the “Jeans Special” section

8: Of 10, the number of real women considered “don’ts” in “The Official Dos and Don’ts of Denim”

1: Page devoted to “I Could Be Killed for Helping This Woman,” about a volunteer who works illegally in Myanmar providing aid to cyclone victims

3: Pages devoted to Christina Aguilera, not including the cover

975,301: Approximate number of times I’ve read how a celebrity got back into shape after childbirth in a women’s magazine, now that I’ve read the Xtina interview

975, 301: Approximate number of those articles containing clichés about motherhood (“My little boy breathes new life into me…Of course you have compassion for children, but when you have your own, you feel it on a much deeper level…Our child comes first, obviously…”)

10: Pages of “Fall Clothes You Can Wear Now,” including a full-length coat, a long-sleeved black lace dress, and several pairs of opaque tights

82: Forecasted high temperature, in degrees, for my city on Monday, July 14

11: Number of Olympic athletes featured in “The 11 Greatest Bodies on Earth”

Not a one: Models in this issue whose shapes look remotely like these “greatest bodies”

Minuscule: Amount of belief I have that Glamour’s praise for the Olympians’ bodies will eventually translate into a wider range of models in the fashion spreads (Don’t get me wrong. I want it to happen very much; I’m just a cynic.)

100: Percent of clothes in “The New Rules of Casual Chic” that come from the Gap

Nada: Gap items featured elsewhere in the issue

How Marie Claire Ruined My Day

I used to read magazines in part because of the escapism they offered. After a stress-inducing week at a lousy job, I’d pick up a couple of magazines and spend a blissful evening reading about glamorous lives and exclusive couture.

No longer.

Sure, magazines still offer some sliver of escapism, but reading the June issue of Marie Claire was like delving into a world that’s worse than the one I actually live in. They’ve dubbed this “The Body Issue,” but really, it’s the bloody depressing issue. The intrepid staffers manage to put a negative slant on every single feature.

It starts on the cover with this:

Mighty Heidi Klum Recommends Sex in an Igloo

So it’s not enough for her to be a successful, beauty-standard-setting Teutonic blonde, but now my sex life is inadequate too? And an igloo? How would I even get access to one of those?

In case you haven’t already given up on liking your body—and if you’re a regular reader of women’s magazines, you probably have!—the swimsuit edition of “101 Ideas” will pound any shred of self-esteem out of you. To be fair, they’ve made a modicum of effort to acknowledge that one size does not fit all. Apparently, there are vastly different ways in which women can be scrawny blondes!

There’s skinny-blonde-with-a-prodigious-rack Katherine Heigl, whom the magazine dubs “curvy.” If her picture above the words “Flaunt a full figure” isn’t enough to make you skip lunch, then you’re a more secure person than I am. The next page bears Kate Hudson, who is somehow the embodiment of an “athletic” figure. Even more baffling, the page quotes Gabrielle Reece, who, as an athlete, actually possesses an athletic figure! Perhaps she isn’t blonde enough to appear here. Finally, there’s “petite,” represented by the wispy Kate Bosworth. I can’t quibble with that characterization of Bosworth, although “she can’t possibly eat solid food” is probably more accurate. That covered everyone, right? Next page!

More body anxiety-inducing style lurks on page 58, where “Fashion Prediction” touts capris:

Don’t get caught with your pants hem down. Think cropped…with ankle-enhancing chunky shoes.

Ankle-enhancing? That may have been last body part I wasn’t worried about.

It goes on: “Project Heidi” reveals that Klum really does look that good in person. The “Bulletin” overflows with gloominess: it crams disaster survival, a democracy activist’s death in Iraq, and students lobbying for the right to carry guns on campus into three pages. (There’s more there, too, including the flash that $399 iPhones are the preferred gift for Father’s Day. Uh, not this year, Dad. Sorry.)

Then there’s “Women Harassing Men,” about the rise in women sexually harassing men in the office. This story will forcibly disabuse you of any silly notion that females might actually abstain from the kind of behavior to which we’ve been subjected. Equality means different things to different people, I guess. Next, “I Married A Terrorist” is the story of a woman who, well, you know.

Even theoretically joyous events—weddings—are morphed into a relentless negative. Thinking of inviting friends to your nuptials? Don’t bother! They don’t want to come! “How to Survive Wedding Season” offers not-at-all-bitter essays with titles like:

• When Brides Attack

• Three Reasons It’s a Bad Idea to Hook Up with Three Guys at the Reception

and

• Hello Wedding Season, Good-Bye Savings

Are you still with me? Immediately following that heartfelt celebration of wedded bliss comes “Losing Stephanie.” The only photos of the aforementioned Stephanie are from the past, while her husband and kids are shown “at home in 2008,” so right away, it’s clear this story doesn’t have a happy ending. Stephanie was diagnosed with Creutzfeld-Jakob disease, one of those inexplicable, horrifying deaths that women’s magazines specialize in. Here’s what the doctor told her family:

CJD is one of a group of degenerative brain disorders…in which it is believed that an infectious and indestructible form of a protein called a prion invades the brain and creates spongelike holes. As the brain disintegrates, the human or animal descends into dementia and loses all control of its body. There is no treatment for CJD; it is 100 percent fatal.

Writer Gretchen Voss explains that the disease is believed to be linked to mad-cow disease. Worst of all, it has an incubation period of 30 years—meaning we could all be nursing this fatal disease right now. Still not drained enough to throw the magazine across the room? Keep reading!

A few dozen fashion pages intervene, offering up the usual outrageously thin women in fantastically expensive clothes, with the only atypically pleasing element being a non-white model in “Nightglo.” Then, two features add a lamentable dimension to otherwise positive tales of transformation.

First up, Ariel Levy’s acne memoir “Out, Damned Spot!” The good: her skin clears up, finally, thanks to a new laser treatment. The bad: The treatment is $500 a session, and she requires “several” after the initial three sessions. Next, diet-book authors Neris Thomas and India Knight celebrate dropping pounds with an entirely sensible regimen they devised. But even losing 70 pounds has its downside. This is Thomas’ final quote:

 

I kind of thought everything suited me when I lost the weight. We both spent so much money, it was a disaster! I’m sure our next book will be Happier Women, Loads of Debt.

Because I am a masochist, I persisted. The Love/Sex section includes the confession of a man who ended his relationship with the woman he dubs the “One for Me” because of an addiction to online dating—and surprise! None of the women he’s met online since have lived up to her. Then Maura Kelly meets a man who pressured her to pop a Xanax on the first date—which I’m going to go out on a limb and declare a dealbreaker. He tells her:

 

“It makes you forget all your hang-ups. You become the real you.”

If you have the tiniest shred of faith in humanity remaining, the final page of the magazine will kill it with the cattiness that is endemic in fashion mags:

White pants: If your thighs are wider than this caption, pass.

And if you want to feel the slightest bit of joy ever again, pass on this issue. Excuse me, please—I need to go look at some puppies.

Lowest Common Denominator: Vogue, June

7: Days I was in possession of this issue before I realized Sarah Jessica Parker is sitting between a man’s legs on the cover

1.333: Pages devoted to France’s first lady, Carla Bruni-Sarkozy

6.333: Pages covering Cindy McCain, wife of U.S. presidential nominee Senator John McCain

20: Number of names appearing in boldface in André Leon Talley’s column, “Life with André”

1: Ostensibly non-satirical song by Ashanti, called “Diva,” that name-drops André Leon Talley (Sample lyrics, as quoted by the man himself: “Give them runway, now bring it!...Let me see that layout…Don’t come for me, I’ll come for you.”)

Zero: Chance I’ll be wearing the drop-crotch pants featured in “Drop Everything” by Sarah Mower

348,320: Estimated number of mentions of designer Philip Lim in this issue. I get it, already!

$1,242: Total cost of an ensemble labeled the “bare minimum” for writer Jane Herman’s trip to Tulum (That’s a $362 Alexander Wang top, $385 shorts by Yigal Azrouel, and $495 Bally heels.)

€250: Price of the “bare essentials” Beauty Director Sarah Brown purchased on arrival in Italy in lieu of carry ing her necessities on the plane

3: Occurrences of the unctuous term “Vogue-ette,” as used by writer Plum Sykes in “Rebel Romance,” which chronicles the unholy melding of the Sex and the City movie’s fake version of Vogue and real-life Vogue

3: Nonfictional Vogue staffers apparently appearing in the film (Talley, West Coast Fashion Editor Lawren Howell, and Sykes)

4: Locales depicted in this month’s fashion spreads—New York, San Francisco, Mali, and Patagonia

31: Age difference, in years, between Pierce Brosnan and model Daria Werbowy, who both appear in “San Francisco Chronicles”

18: Age difference, in years, between profile subject Cindy McCain and her husband

1: Evidently unselfconscious reference to Gilligan’s Island, by Sally Singer in “From Here to Timbuktu...” (Quote: “It’s hard to imagine a more chic and gloriously Mrs. Thurston Howell III-like rebuff to e-mail messages than ‘Talk soon. In Timbuktu.’ This is precisely what I’m doing…”)

18: Photos of Sarah Jessica Parker in this issue, including the cover, the table of contents, Anna Wintour’s “Letter from the Editor,” a Garnier ad, “Rebel Romance,” and “Marry, Marry, Quite Contrary”