Thursday, 29 November 2007
Weeny-tiny New Year Vogue
Eva Green came through my letter-box this morning. It was a cheering thing, her all decked in new season Prada and whatnot. Trouble is, she was looking a bit slim for my liking though of course I don't blame her. Movie stars are beyond reproach in all matters - the US court system has proved this time and again. Nah, it ain't Eva Green's fault her issue is so slender - this wussy New Years edition of Vogue comes in at 201 pages and a featherweight 500g/1lb 40z.
This is disastrous news in a world where a successful fashion magazine needs enough advert-stuffed heft to make it uncomfortable to read in the bath and robust enough to kill an average rodent at close-range. As is always the case, Conde Nast shot its editorial wad on the Christmas issue (Sienna Miller - super sparkly) and all that's left for new years is the leftovers from the "Glamourous One-Name Models and their Glamourous Lives" photoseries (Dec was Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell, Lily Cole and Sasha Pivovarova and for Jan we get Agyness Deyn, Lily Donaldson and Lily Cole *again*). No real articles of note - "Can you Buy Sleep?" *that's* your cover line, Vogue? Well, yeah. Apparently I can buy sleep for £3.70 at all good newsagents and a bog standard year's round-up.
Still, at least we get some Gallic pouting. Look at that lovely sulky gothy French face. Eva Green is one of my favourite event dressers. She is invariably styled like a haute couture crazy cat lady and I love her tenderly for that.
Still, this cover is a little disappointment. I super dig the Prada floral action but the pose is so Hollywood generic and she looks, frankly, a little uncomfortable. I think this shot from her photoshot is easily the one in which she looks most at ease and it's also a genuine departure from the glam-goth thing that magazine stylists usually do for her.
She's got a naughty 50s farm girl thing going on that everyone can enjoy. That is, until I get the cease and desist order from the publishers. Like pixellated scans could even come close to a magazine copy. I'm not ashamed to admit that I get a little Proustian rush when my copy galumphs on the doormat, whether it's a vintage issue or not. Today, my copy smells of faded Flowerbomb, expensive paper and spilt tea. Surely surely surely February will reward our ongoing special relationship.
Also, can I have this?
Louise Gray, my snotty tissues and small change would never be so stylishly held but for a garment such as this. Plus, pink - am I right?