picture this: the perfect september vogue

It’s that time of year again… I’m not talking pre-show casting season or back-to-school shopping (how cliche!), nor is it the celebration of two decades of my existence (the parade starts promptly at sunrise on August 9th, babes), but rather the moment is ripe for the unveiling of the September issues. Party at the Conde you say? Before you all lose your knickers- I hear Grace is quite the cougar- as it seems another lackluster year after another, the perennials- Charlize, Jessica, Kate, and more blonde blah- will be out in full force on U.S. soil. (OMG Confederacy is so the new black.) It seems to be just a sad fact of life that PYTs on this side of the Atlantic must choose between reading middle-aged heiress fluff, always disguised as a life-and-death matter, on losing fat around the collarbone (ahem, Vogue), how to slut your way into skinny- just like [insert trashy B-list celebrity]! (I hate you, Elle), or, at the ultimate best, style-guides for disguising spilled PBR in mountains of head-spinning patterns (please disappear forever, Nylon). Did we mention all the poor-economy garbage about conservative (timeless! classic! wear forever!) dressing for recessionistas? Just the term makes me gag! Where’s the creativity? The stunning avant-garde? Where are the first-rate models and the eye-opening spreads? Why has all the thoughtful writing gone to the blogs? Heaven forbid a journalist critique a fellow insider- or worse yet, a member of fashion’s sacred Mount Olympus! And what happened to that irresistible urge felt by inspired readers to lock themselves up with a glossy, read it cover to cover, and then cut up its copy to immediately incorporate into collages?! All evidence seems to scream that European mags are now carrying the edgy, need-it-now torch. And with French Vogue’s editors singlehandedly sparking the latest rock ‘n’ roll style craze, Italian Vogue launching a million and one black models’ careers, and Pop featuring a Russian-socialite-princess-cum-leggings designer at the top of the masthead, clearly that claim would be impossible to dispute. (You know leggings are so hot right now.) But with the intention of reviving our own nation’s beloved Vogue- yes, I do still owe my Anna-worshipping loyalty to the title- I propose we play a little game called “The September Issue.” How festive. It’s quite simple really- players merely imagine the perfect “Fall Fashion” edition of the magazine (What’s that Fabien? Oh yes, ads may be included.)- a roundtable of sorts! Oodles of fun, no? Now put on your best Givenchys and suck in those stomachs…I call I’m the Editor-in-Chief!

First step, COVER GIRL! Fall fashion is all about the ’80s… the tacky decade of neon excess seems to have no end. So who can pull off a punky crop, neon nails, over-the-top styling, and mimic Michael Jackson’s “Ma ma se, ma ma sa, ma ma coo sa” with ease, without looking like a bad spread in Seventeen or sounding like a drunk karaoke victim? Too easy- obvs it’s Rihanna! She’s got enough star power to sell a flammable toilet bowl cleaner to teen girls- maybe a good gift with purchase for those mascaras?- and as long as Jonathan Van Meter can get her tongue loose on Chris Brown, the cover line will toss People to the poor house… or at least to Salvation Army to scrounge up some story for their next lame report on charitable celebs (no offense!). RiRi will be smoking- figuratively, my beloved babes- in the Marc Jacobs, Balmain, Louis Vuitton, and Versace that we incorporate into the shoot. Now someone get Mert & Marcus on the phone, please- stat! Fabulous? Naturally.

Instead of plastering tired and freshly Botox-ed socialites in the party pages, I’m thinking we resurrect the supermodel (the term, not the middle-aged) with shots of the fashion crowd… at least they’re interesting to people who live below 52nd. Glorious. The oh-so-typical (for an oil-heir) zillion-dollar New England cottages, for lack of a better term, are just not hip and edgy enough to hold this generation’s attention, hence I call Pharrell to the stand! So maybe that idea’s a bit stale, but y’all catch my drift, right? And for the bland “Affordable Fashion” feature? We’ll replace the overpriced t-shirts, because really- who’s buying $275 silk Rag & Bone on a budget?! Replacing such disturbingly expensive items will be equally chic alternatives- J. Brand’s Balmain-inspired Thrashers, Frye Engineer boots, sparkly Topshop jackets, Kain/Sophomore/LNA tees, Pour la Victoire heels, etc. Such items may slightly veer into Teen Vogue territory, but with the right sophisticated pieces thrown in on the side, we’ll have a heaping plate of fabulosity- chef’s zero-calorie special, of course. Can we ring up Hilary Rhoda to model the wares? I’m lovin’ it! (Don’t think that means you can sneak in that McGriddle, Andre. I’m gaining ounces just smelling the oil.)

Now for the editorials, you ask? Let’s give Caroline’s and Raquel’s poor feet a little rest from the Sir Mix-A-Lot moves, and instead infuse a little bit of wit and sexy rock ‘n’ roll into the issue. We’ll have Greg Kadel behind the lens (LOVE. HIM.) for a biker-chic edit, with model Maryna Linchuk in the studio. To keep it classy, there will be no boobage (keep it clean, kids!), and I’m envisioning some black-and-white shots. Ya feel me? We’ll also feature besties Toni Garrn and Ali Stephens in a witty spread on location around New York or LA, shot by Inez & Vinoodh, with lots of color and super-glam hair- very Chloe, no? And for career-wear (ick, I know, but it is a necessity, people), we’ll book Steven Meisel with Sasha Pivovarova- who else could make such a category look tempting? We’ll just leave him to do his thing… and we already know Sasha’s fierce (zing!). Every ed will be pristine, clean, and perfect- this is still American Vogue, lovelies- but with a dash of sass, whimsy, and freshness. Oh, and I’d like a side of ritzy charm with that, please.

Now we just need to get the staff crack-a-lacking and we’ll be in BUSINESS. Y’all think Lauren Santo-Domingo and Ladybug- er, Bee- will approve? Their spoiled-socialite faces won’t be quite as prominent within the mag’s hallowed pages, but no one ever said such a phenomenon was a bad thing…