Shelf Appeal is having a fashion moment. Due (perhaps) to spending last Saturday night with 3 veritable pinks of fashion and one rather fashionable young (to me) man. I came away wanting to do another post on something frothy.
The magazine Vogue follows me around like Linus’s blanket. I know I shouldn’t be so attached to it but it makes me content to have it. And that is Vogue from America, Japan and Britain. In that order.
American Vogue is very sure of itself. It is sure of its establishment position, iced with aesthetic verve from Grace Coddington. It sometimes has longish articles worth reading. They do funny things to their cover girls, in terms of eyebrows. But all in all I find I like to read it a lot.
Japanese Vogue is the best looking Vogue and commissions the best illustrations. In fact they have revived fashion illustration within the Vogue stable. I wrote two articles for them last year, which made me rather proud of myself. Getting the ‘V’ word on my CV has been a lifelong ambition.
British Vogue I struggle with. I loved it with a passion during what I call the Bruce Weber years. Under Liz Tilberis. Bronzed bodies and blowsy flowers. I still get it every month but I never expect to be enthused by the contents or the photos. A good Tim Walker shoot will perk it up occasionally. Other than that..
But what it once was – British Vogue – was tremendous. The covers, the illustrations, the style. Even off-shoots like the Vogue Patterns supplements were smart. The smaller Vogue Knitting Book (pictured here from Spring 1947) was equally tasty.
This cover, which I am pretty certain is by Clifford Coffin, is a masterpiece. The clothes sublime. The sandals outclass any Birkenstocks. And the model, who might not pass muster these days, makes the whole thing.