On the left, a pretty woman in a complicated shawl sneaks home from a party late at night. And on the right, it looks like her pissed-off girlfriend has been waiting up with a plate of spaghetti. If shawl-girl is as guilty as she looks, that spaghetti is about to fly right at her head.

And, as promised, here's one more Mohr.
Remember this?

Asked about the attractiveness gap between men and women in Apatow movies, Rogen responds, "I love that. Like, there's so little chance that a girl would like me, it's sexist to assume that one would."

He takes it personally — and good for him. Is the idea that male attractiveness goes beyond traditional good looks really something we want to stamp out? In Marie Claire, Lucy Kaylin writes:

When funny women carry a comedy, it's expected that they'll be shaggable too — see Tina Fey's gleaming gams and cleavage in Baby Mama. Look, we know we've always said that a sense of humor is the most important thing. But a few crunches wouldn't hurt either.

But Kaylin's going the wrong way here. Rather than demanding that funny, weird-looking guys become more conventionally handsome, can't we acknowledge that attractiveness in both sexes can be a fungible thing? Men like weird-looking women sometimes too, and if we saw this play out more often on screen, maybe we'd be more accepting of our own quirks. I know I'm sick of ladymags telling me how to look better all the time, and rather than holding men up the same exacting standards, I'd like to quit worrying about camouflaging my flaws.

Now, if only Ms. Grigoriadis had addressed the responsibility gap between the sexes in Apatow movies. I'd like to see what Rogen would say to that one.

Elle

The skirts are now popular enough that they outsell women's capris, shorts, and pants at New Balance, and they have their own seven-city race, called the SkirtChaser. Even men get into the act.

Armstrong writes that "one of the best things about being a woman today is that we have so many options. Whether we are in the boardroom, on the home front, or on the starting line, we can bring it on like a man, but it doesn't mean we have to look like one." To my mind, however, the skirt option sucks. It doesn't help that Armstrong never mentions any real comfort advantage, or that she felt self-conscious the first time she put one on. It certainly doesn't help that Runner's World includes a skirt guide that looks pretty much like any ladymag's tips for hiding your figure flaws, including the "very slimming" New Balance Flare Skirt and the prAna Sugar Mini Skirt, whose name looks suspiciously similar to the phrase "pro-ana".

But my main objection to running skirts is best expressed in the sidebar "A Dissenting View," by Ginny Graves:

I couldn't quit thinking about The Skirt. It looks better than I usually do when I go running, but that was part of the problem; my "nice outfit" meaning more aware of my appearance — the last thing I want to be distracted by when running.

I don't want to look cute while kicking butt. I would like kicking butt (or "slowly flailing," which is what I actually do in the pool), to be one of the few activities in life when I'm exempted from looking cute. Then again, I'm not a runner. Those of you who do run, would you try a running skirt? Better yet, has anyone done so already?

The Rise of Skirt Culture: Skirt Reviews And Fit Tips [Runner's World]

Here Lucky mixes an oddly blunt headline with its traditional euphemistic style. Which is it, Lucky — nasty all-caps BIG LEGS or nice polite "issues around the hips and thighs"? Either way, the answer is apparently a dirndl.

But other parts of your body can also be BIG! You've heard what to do if you're pear-shaped, top-heavy, or curvy — what if, like Erin Hinkle, you're tall and thin, but think your "shoulders are disproportionately wide"? According to Lucky you should "draw attention toward the center of your body" and away from those unsightly growths that hold your arms on.

If you're now reeling from all your newly discovered figure flaws, the Shoes of the Month are here to put things in perspective. These lovely yellow ballet flats are "the kind of shoe you live in" — a helpful nod to those Lucky readers who are old, and who have so many children they don't know what to do.

This is like that scene from Zoolander where he goes home to his dad and brothers at the mine with snakeskin luggage and a garment bag. Except these two are trying (desperately) to fit in. But the one on the left is wearing a $1700 coat while the one on the right is wearing $375 jeans. Oh, sure, you're ready for hard labor.

She may be all oiled up and "working it" but are those boots appropriate for the factory floor? Asking because of the heel, not because they're $380.

"So I says to him, I says, Phil, you can't make an omelet without breakin' any eggs, yaknowwhatImean?"

Working hard or hardly working?

"With the lights out, it's less dangerous."
"Here we are now, entertain us."
"I feel stupid. And contagious."

This is not going to end well. There's going to be a screwdriver in her eye and whatever is in those pipes is sure to leak onto those Dolce & Gabbana boots. Oh, by the by, this entire ensemble is $1793. In this country, a factory job pays about $30,000. You probably bring home only $21,900 of that, meaning you make $1825 a month. So you'd have $32 left over — or $1.06 a day — to eat with that month if you purchased the clothes pictured.

Didn't Rosie the Riveter have a wee bit more muscle in her arms?

"Haha, isn't it fun to pretend to be blue collar?" "OMG totes, I'm gonna eat Hamburger Helper tonight. Kidding! I've got a reservation at Masa."

Jeremy spoke in class today.

Earlier: Marie Claire's "Outlaw" Look: $13,000 Gown & Black Lipstick
Marie Claire's Vietnam Photo Shoot: Apocalypse Wow
Marie Claire's Oh-So-Realistic Trailer Park Photo Shoot
Marie Claire & The 75-Year-Old Bhutanese Model
'Marie Claire' Editors Went To Italy And All They Got Was This Awesome Photo Shoot

I don't read Italian, but some of the headlines and captions have English words. One of the first stories on the "People" page is about Michelle Obama. The next piece is about Spike Lee's film, Miracle At St. Anna, which focuses on four black soldiers trapped behind enemy lines in WWII. There's also a picture of Naomi Campbell and Nelson Mandela with information about the Nelson Mandela Children's Fund, and in the caption, the words "benefit girl." A few pages after that: A short piece about Essence magazine, followed by one about Ebony. It's kind of funny how between the pages of editorial content with black faces, the ads continue to have white faces. In any case, I had to scan the page about Ebony because Lena Horne on the March 1946 cover looks amazing.

Skipping ahead, you'll find a six-page ad for PINKO, starring Naomi Campbell. No matter how you feel about her, you cannot deny that the woman is astounding. She is 38 years old and still built like a thoroughbred.

There are eight pages of up and coming black models called "You Have A Go-See." Maybe it's for the people who claim there are no black models. All of the young women are gorgeous; I scanned three for you guys to check out.

The first big black model shoot is the beauty spread; it's shot by Dusan Reljin. Edgy. Not technically "pretty." The underlying subtext seems to be about the meaning of blackness, the meaning of black as a hue, as a skin tone. Not my cup of tea, but here are a few shots:

Question: Is blackface on a black face still blackface?

Oh! An ad for a company called Quodlibet uses a black model! It's so '80s your hair will crimp.

And so we come to the feature well. The first photo spread is the "Modern Luxe" story by Steven Meisel. Alek Wek, Alva Chinn, Sessilee Lopez, Ubah, Kiara Kabakubu, Noemie Lenoir, Vernoica Webb, Arlenis Sosa, Liya Kebede, Karen Alexander, Iman, Yasmin Warsame, Jourdan Dunn, Gail O'Neill and Chanel Iman appear. Many images have already been on the web, so I'm only scanning a few:

It's awesome to see Karen and Gail since they were in the issues of the fashion magazines I read as a pre-teen magazine junkie and I haven't seen them since.

Next is the shoot appropriately titled "There's Only One Naomi." The photographs (again by Steven Meisel) are like scenes from ordinary days in Miss Thing's life: Luxe, aloof, a little crazy.

After Naomi? Tyra.

Then 8 images of ensembles worn with crazy hats, called "Elegance As A Form."

The "How To Dazzle" shoot is 25+ pages of black and white photography; here are just a few images. In case you're curious about how to dazzle, the mag seems to suggest smoking, large jewelry, turbans and animal print.

Did you know that ANTM alum Toccara Jones was in this issue? She is smoking hot. Aside from the whole woman-is-an-object-like-a-car thing. And she is topless! Absolutely stunning. Gotta love that they included a "womanly" body.

There's one last "Black on Black" shoot, but it pales (heh) in comparison to the rest, so I didn't even bother scanning it. But after counting black models on runways and in magazines and finding them ignored by the fashion industry, this much-anticipated issue really delivered.

Is it a gimmick? Yes. But the fact remains that flipping through the issue and seeing page after page of gorgeous black women can act as a reminder to editors, stylists, modeling agencies and consumers — that beauty comes in many forms. It can be edgy, irreverent, weird, pretty, strong and avant-garde — while being black. While perhaps some may be upset that it took a "stunt" like this to throw a spotlight on the issue of the lack of diversity in magazines and runways, it's actually a beautiful souvenir, a keepsake to remember these troubled times. A protest song in photograph form. Never has the racism issue looked quite so stunning.

Related: Memo Pad [WWD]

On The Runways Of Milan, Color Just Wasn't Considered Chic
Earlier:

This letter from Editor-in-Chief Ann Shoket sets the tone for the entire issue (bold-facing hers):

Hi! I have a weird Q for you: If your outfit could talk, what would it say about you? Think about it for a sec. We put so much importance on first impressions. And when you're going back to school, meeting new teachers, checking out cute guys, and seeing your friends again after a long summer, it's especially important - you're making impressions on about 150 people a second. Sure, your energy and vibe go a long way toward telling people who you are and what you're about, but your clothes and makeup are an important part of the package. That's why I'm practically obsessed with helping you get your look just right for the first day of school. So when your fourth-period history teacher sees you in class, or when your secret crush (who, BTW, got the best muscles over the summer) asks where the music room is, you'll be saying all the right things - before you even say a word! How's that for an awesome payoff from a day of shopping?

What impression do you want to make this year?
Tell me everything at ann@seventeen.com
XOXO
-A

I’m never going “back-to-school” again, and yet for some reason I’m now anxious about September. Thanks Ann!

The beauty section explains how to “tell everyone about yourself” by “picking the look that makes the right statement about you.” So, if I wear a subtle shadow with purple liner, will that tell the world “I’m serious about school” but “I don’t take myself too seriously?”
This two-page fold out chart shows how size measurements vary for different styles of jeans. Maybe I’m just feeling vulnerable after measuring my waist to 1/8 of an inch, but I think the real message in the size 15/16 row may be “Sorry! They don’t come in this size, fatty!”
In case you’re a little too flabby for those “perfect fit” jeans, the magazine's health section includes a “get your best butt” exercise plan. It also advises that you shouldn’t eat chicken Caesar salad because the dressing is fattening, but that apple rice cakes “are almost like mini apple pies.” But watch out, because exercising too much or counting calories obsessively could be a sign that your “feelings are bad for your body.” And yet, if we don’t watch ourselves everyone may “see the emotional weight we’re carrying right there on our stomachs, hips or thighs.” I guess everything about me really is wrong!
Maybe it’s not just me – there’s probably something wrong with my friends too. I’d never considered the possibility that boys don’t like me because my friends are annoying!
But think twice about ditching your friends for a guy. In “Sex Lies He Tells you,” we learn that “sometimes he’ll say anything to keep going.”

I remember there being a few non-heinous aspects of being a teenage girl, but after reading Seventeen (motto: "It's fun to be seventeen") I've realized it’s just seven years of public humiliation and ridicule. I wish that when I was growing up I had more positive role models to guide me through these difficult years — like the girls from The Hills! Who better to look to for cues on self-respect and supporting other women than Lauren Conrad?

Do people get confused by Harper's Magazine and Harper's Bazaar? After all, the luxury goods industry is not so different from Halliburton — shameless, ubiquitous, and really talented at charging more for less. Once again, we're taking things to their (ill)logical end with our own "Harper's (Bazaar) Index", inspired by Harper's famous feature, which parses the world of big oil, big money, and Big Pharma and puts it into easily-digested numerical form. This month's issue marked Bazaar's ultimate surrender to the advertising gods, probably something that Harper's would love to rip apart...if it cared about fashion magazines. After the jump, find out just how bitchy The Real Housewives of New York City are, what kind of yellow fever will make you pretty, and how many coats you should purchase in the dead of summer.

Studies show that a walk in the park reduces tension. Apparently this works especially well if you do it in your undies, a la Anne Heche.

If that doesn't work, try hypnotherapy. Glamour helpfully illustrates this technique phrenologically, plotting a woman's bad habits directly on her forehead. Good to know that while my anxiety comes from right under my hairline, my stress comes from just above my ear.

But if none of this works, perhaps the problem is those troublesome menses. If your bloating, irritability, and acne have gotten so bad that they are actually projecting enormous teal lettering in front of your face, try Yaz. Yaz is the young, fun birth control pill that makes you blast white light out of your vagina. Your vagina is Cyclops now. Enjoy. [Glamour]

I did the quiz again and chose B), and that got me labeled "Blindly Ambitious," which, in Cosmo world, is a no no. Because showing your ambition makes you seem like an undainty "bulldozer," and nobody likes that in a lady. Just for the good of womanity, I took the quiz a third time, and chose C) and other answers that were similarly manipulative. Like for the question, what do you do when you hear that your crush is dating another girl, you're supposed to "Snoop around to find out how serious they are. If it's just a casual thing, you can still make a play for him." When I choose those sorts of passive aggressive responses, Cosmo was delighted, and called me a "savvy goal-getter" who could manage to be simultaneously "likely to succeed…and likable." Sigh. The takeaway: stabbing your coworkers and friends in the back with your fuck-me heels is a-ok by Cosmo standards as long as you have a shit-eating grin on your perfectly glossed lips.

Are You Destined For Success? [Cosmopolitan]

It was the decision to do something, to get myself out of the rut I was in. I had had enough and was supremely unhappy. You get advice from everybody anyway, why not women's magazines? It would have been great to live in Italy and Indonesia and India for a year, like Eat Pray Love, but I spent $144 on my subscriptions. It was an affordable, doable and really relatable idea. Magazines have millions of subscribers and I think there's a real common thread for the women reading them, which is the sense of possibility.

And she's right! Without Allure, we would not know how to shower. Without Glamour, we would not know how best to sexually harraass a coworker and shag him on a desk. Without Elle, we'd never know that $5,000 bags are for hiding genitalia. Without Marie Claire, we'd never know that high noon in the desert is an appropriate place for a $13,000 evening gown. Thanks, magazines! And congrats, Cathy. You actually seemed really happy on the Today show this morning. But just so we're clear: The message is not that women's magazines saved your life, but that deciding to save your life saved your life, right?

How 365 Days Of Cosmo Advice Saved My Life [Globe And Mail]

See, all this time I'd been assuming the developing countries would always imitate the useless consumption fads and phony neuroses that comprise the sorry substitute for purpose we call "lifestyle" around here. Otherwise, what is the West even good for? Well, funny you should ask, because I have an answer for that: nothing. We are good for nothing. Because I opened the fucking magazine, Anna. I couldn't not open it. And in a few flips of the page I almost regained my belief in something I should know better than anyone is a cynical con designed to sell shit to insecure women and perpetuate a lucrative unending cycle of the creation of new wants, which is to say: beauty. Beauty, of all things! Seriously, I was surprised as you. But check her out.







Who is this stunning broad? Well, look here, they actually give you her name. How gauche — and yet, useful! Don't strain your eyes; it's Lakshmi Menon.







And look, I Googled her! Would you believe she's the new face of Hermes? Not Hermes in India, Hermes in Everywheria!







Of course I fucking would. Look at her.







This girl could start the next Peloponnesian War and I would be like, "And?"







But let's face it, maybe the photographer deserves some credit. Who is this guy?







Do you think the only reason I don't open my magazines anymore is just fatigue with the anemic staged Leibovitz-Testino-Meisel-guy ripping off that guy who got AIDS sameness of Vogue and all the magazines that hire photographers on the sole basis that you launched their careers in Vogue??







Nah, probably not. She's just motherfucking stunning. Look, she doesn't even have a pedicure. Hot.

So anyway, don't blame yourself. The world is flat as the saying goes. So are magazines. Now, once upon a time it seemed like magazines were there to inspire you to get outside, walk around, learn a language, buy a fucking swimsuit, look at the pretty colors, educate yourself on the internal politics of whatever country's populist leader the CIA is trying to depose, and whatever else you're supposed to do. The flatness could almost convey the roundness, if you will. Yeah, I totally thought those days were over too. Maybe not! Oh, and don't bother coming in to get your stuff. Like Samantha says, we have people who can take care of that for us here. People whose children will one day put Bee out of a job, too!

Bestest,







Si

Earlier: Vogue India Debuts With Australian Blonde On Front, Bleeding Heart Inside?

Related: Wintour's Alleged Tryst With Conde Nast Boss [Gawker]

Why hello there, dear. The words that come to mind immediately are "exquisite corpse." Yeah, it means something else, but damn. She is dead in the eyes. The lip gloss is purty, though! And positioning her mouth thusly doesn't make me think of swollen labia, no, not at all!!

Okay, so the copy claims that this product is "the end of overprocessed blonde," but over there on the right, Ms. Johansson's hair looks sorta overprocessed. To me. I know it's in the light, but is it supposed to look like cotton candy? Or is she imagining better tresses, hence the title "Dream Blonde"? Also, L'Oreal, You Have Taken The Title Case Thing Too Far, Methinks.

Look, I have no idea what the hell goes on under the hood of a car, but I do know that you don't need sunglasses to check out an engine. It's like they're trying to be pro-woman with a bad-ass chick mechanic, but from the way she's holding that wrench to the faux grease on her arms, it's clear she doesn't know what the fuck she's doing. "Genuine since 1937." Really? Also, this whole image is very Herb Ritts circa 1990, when Carre Otis was hot. Show me something new.

Guess what? If my birth control method fails I am not going to "Be Calm." I am going to freak the fuck out. Then I'm gonna read that thing Moe wrote about Plan B and throw up.

You know what else makes me freak out? When someone suggests that "we girls" should freak out less. We make less money than men, are expected to be thin and hairless and we have the crampy bleeds every 26 days. A body wash solves nothing. Fuck off.

Correct me if I am wrong, but waxing is not an orgasmic, kick up your heels, throw-your-head-back-in-ecstasy experience as illustrated here, is it?

The copy reads, "Unleash the enchantment of Brazil," and there's some sort of kudzu emerging from her crotch.

As a rule, if you have to put the word "SEXY" in electric lights behind you, then you are not sexy. And this is no exception. These ladies, none of whom are wearing pants, want me to believe that "big hair is sexy," and they appear to be in possession of yards and yards of extensions. And the bedraggled, voluminous crazytown hair, frankly, looks like crap. Try to count the number of times the word "sexy" appears, then ask yourself: Why is there so much going on in an ad for hairspray?

Pinocchio's sister dreams that someday, Diet Coke will turn her into a real girl. And cure migraines.

Haha, wow, OMG you guys, not having cellulite looks like SO MUCH FUN!

Aww, nostalgia! These happy white people have been in this same Newport ad since I was a kid. There's another one with happy black people. The greatest thing about Newport ads is how white everyone's teeth are. Smoking other cigarettes may discolor and rot your gums and give you oral cancer, but Newports are basically Crest White Strips!

That November, she attended a public debate on the subject "The West or Islam: Who Needs a Voltaire?" The first three speakers called for a new Voltaire in the West, a rational reformer to counter Western arrogance and neocolonialism and consumerist decadence. Only the last speaker, a refugee from Iran who taught law at Amsterdam University, spoke up for the "critical renewal" of Islam.



During the question and answer period, comment was heavily supportive of the first view. Finally Hirsi Ali raised her hand. Here is what she said as she recalled it in her 2007 memoir, Infidel: Look at how many Voltaires the West has. Don't deny us the right to have our Voltaire, too. Look at our women, and look at our countries. Look at how we are all fleeing and asking for refuge here, and how people are now flying planes into buildings in their madness. Allow us a Voltaire, because we are truly living in the Dark Ages.

And speaking of said Dark Ages: In a gesture that Hirsi Ali will appreciate—she considers the date of her escape to freedom her "real birthday"—Frederick Douglass marked the tenth anniversary of his escape in a special way. He published in the North Star an open letter to his former owner, Thomas Auld, one of the slaveholders whose religious profession he deemed a travesty. It is a most unusual and highly charged communication, and this is how it ends:

I will now bring this letter to a close; you shall hear from me again unless you let me hear from you. I intend to make use of you as a weapon with which to assail the system of slavery—as a means of concentrating public attention on the system, and deepening the horror of trafficking in the souls and bodies of men. I shall make use of you as a means of exposing the character of the American church and clergy—and as a means of bringing this guilty nation, with yourself, to repentance. In doing this, I entertain no malice toward you personally. There is no roof under which you would be more safe than mine, and there is nothing in my house which you might need for your comfort, which I would not readily grant. Indeed, I should esteem it a privilege to set you an example as to how mankind ought to treat each other.

I am your fellow-man, but not your slave.

We think it's just all the styling information on the top right. Editor! Hair! Makeup! Manicure! Bitch, if you weren't famous we'd have sworn we'd seen this picture on the wall at the Olan Mills.

First, Schoff. He slipped into the septic tank in his backyard while trying to get a piece of toilet paper unstuck. The writer fantasizes about punching Joel Osteen in the face the whole way to Schoff's house but Schoff doesn't have much to tell him about the experience:

"Didn't smell s'bad. Smelled like dirt, mostly. I was covered in it. Dirt, and some other stuff. I'm a celebrity. There goes the guy from TV. Last time I went to church was probably thirty-five years ago…No, I wasn't angry. I'm pretty active. I was thinking I was dead. Got m' good days and m' bad days.

Then, Gisele. Did you know Gisele owns some sort of extended-stay hotel in Santa Monica? That's about the most revealing thing we learn here:

Look, I know who I am, and I know where I come from. I think there is danger obviously when you're really young and they make you all glamorous and then you start thinking you are that… This is exactly how I would describe my work: I get there, I put on the clohtes, I leave it on the hanger, and I go home. And that's what I do.

And finally, Michael Caine. Would you believe he's been married to his wife for 35 years? That's just one year longer than the amount of time Bob Schoff has been married to his wife! Caine is in a higher tax bracket, of course. He talks about that. The tax rate used to be 82% in California, you know. (Wait, can I get the math on this? And think we could try it again sometime?) What else does he say? Not a whole lot. But this passage stuck out. For obvious reasons.

Is it true that in the '60s you used to drink two bottles of vodka a day? My God, that's impossible I used to drink a lot. Yeah. Vodka's very easy to drink and very nice. You can drink it with a lot of stuff.
Yeah, but two bottles a day. How would you work or sleep? Or eat? When would you have time to do anything? Along with eighty cigarettes!
It's a very long day. But I didn't do that when I was working. And I don't do that now That was a long time ago.

And he probably doesn't remember any of it. Anyway, that GQ, they sure tried! But I guess for now it's summer, and the only thing to do is drink it away.

Yeah, that's right: RAPE! An endlessly thrilling topic, whatever the social context! Especially at the beach, I can totally see this playing out so well:

DUDE: Hey, hotness. The keg may be tapped, but I can show you a clothes dryer where a quarter-bottle of Malibu has our names engraved on them…

'COSMO' READER: Um, cool! So like, did you know, that if you slip something in my drink, I can totally find out if you had sex with my unconscious body the next day without having to drag the police into it?

Seriously though, rape should get talked about more, but it's odd to see Cosmo suggesting it's as simple and no-big-thang as, say, sticking a finger in his ass while you're in reverse cowgirl. But hey! Maybe I'm just old and rape is now so just so common it's lost its stigma as a discussion topic. How awesome would that be?

Cosmo

Okay, I'll admit it. The Teen Vogue way to wear this plaid D&G trench coat, which is not priced and probably won't be in stores until the temperature drops below 95, looks a lot more fun than the "run"-way. Maybe because the D&G way is…well…for starters, orange is a bad color for eyeshadow and…it looks like it was styled by the department of the Pentagon that conceives all the propaganda in charge of turning Americans against people wearing headscarves. (Or wait, Victoria Clarke!)

Behold: the punk pencil skirt, brought to you by Marc Jacobs. Everyone knows how Marc Jacobs invented grunge, but not everyone realizes he was one of the co-founders of punk as well. That is why his plaid at $238 is so affordable compared to Dolce & Gabbana's; he wants the kids to be able to pair his pieces with their $230 vintage T-shirts and $296 "Blue Blood" backpacks! He is like Ian McKaye in that way.







These are my personal faves. Doesn't it look like she just stepped out of a 1992 Mandee? Well except for the top part, which probably would have been a bodysuit. And she should probably be wearing a choker. I can't find a price tag on these House of Holland pants but their their website makes me want to kill myself.

Here, allow me to excerpt. Here's the NY Times' David Carr on Fuller:

When the current issue of Glamour promises "101 Racy Little Sex Ideas," you are seeing Ms. Fuller's twining of sex and numerology. Ditto for this week's People, which promises "91 Sexy and Single Guys." The added single digit seems gratuitous, but admit it: you wonder what the 101st weapon in the erotic arsenal looks like and which guy came after the 90 other hotties. That prurient need to know just a little more is pure Bonnie Fuller.
The critical moment — Ms. Fuller's version of published cold fusion — arrived in 2002 when she took over Us Weekly, a distant cousin of People magazine that Jann Wenner owned. She not only turned Us into its own darn thing, but found a way of presenting celebrity news as a not-so-guilty pleasure... "I'm not embarrassed to say that I was reading proofs in the delivery room," Ms. Fuller wrote of the birth of her second child.

The magazine is at its most provocative, though, when it turns its attention to personalities not typically associated with high fashion — Oprah Winfrey, Laura Bush, Hillary Clinton, Michelle Obama, Cindy McCain, Condoleezza Rice. The resulting photographs are fascinating not because of any reality they reveal but because of the fantasy they unleash.
Vogue sets its sights on an of-the-moment character and transforms her into an impossibly perfect version of herself. In the accompanying story, her accomplishments are detailed: Her charitable acts. Her legislative successes. Her business acumen. But the primary photo rarely illustrates all that brainy, do-gooder activity. The photo is pure glamour.
It taps into that core desire to be gorgeous and declares it righteous and worthy and, most important, smart. Vogue validates the modern careerist's fantasy, that she can run the world and look fabulous doing it.

The little fairy wore a prett dress with a fluttery skirt. The dress was white but every time the fairy moved it shimmered...

No?

Eh, I give up.
The Editor Who Keeps Vogue In Fashion [Washington Post]
101 Secrets (And 9 Lives) Of A Magazine Star [NY Times]

(Although unrelated to the Estee Lauder promotion, Bazaar has been shilling expensive shit next to the mastheads for its editorial and publishing staff for many months now.)

Advertising 1, Journalism 0 [Portfolio]
A Cover, 40 Pages, 4 Faces And One Perfume [NY Times]

Earlier: LOL'Vogue': Scarves, Silverware & Scooters
LOLVogue: Hungry Moddles & Rorschach Tests
French LOLVogue: I Can Has My Close-Up?
Mon Dieu! C'est French LOLVogue: Shoulders, Champagne and Cigarettes
Bon Joor, C'est Paris LOLVogue Encore!
I Can Has Jeetann? C'est LOLVogue En Faux Français
LOLVogue: Teh Hare Toss & Teh Bunnee Hop
LOLVogue: Carbs, Botox & Pink-Eye
LOLVogue: Good Help Is Hard To Find
LOLVogue: Superhero Photo Shoot Gets Super Stoopid
LOLVogue: Tard Moddles & Bahlinceeyagga
LOLVogue: Sheez Over Ayteen, I Sware
LOLVogue: Starving Models & Marionettes
LOLLost: Srsly, Guiz, Dis Izland Is Weeerd

Anyway, as if to prove that the magazine is part of the solution and not part of the problem, this same issue of Vogue has a story called "Is Fashion Racist?" The piece has "interviews" with models Chanel Iman, Jourdan Dunn and newbie Arlenis. See? Vogue is not racist — some of its best friends are black!

The funny thing is that the editorial "proof" that Vogue embraces black models — a single page highlighting their appearances in the magazine — has, as its most recent usage of a black model a 2006 shoot with Liya Kedebe. Two years ago! The most recent cover on this page? Kiara Kabukuru, in July 1997.

The first issue of Vogue hit stands in September of 1916. Beverly Johnson was the first black model on its cover in 1974; she also appeared on covers in 1975 and 1981. In the '80s, models like Louise Vyent, Kara Young, Shari Belafonte, Sheila Johnson, Karen Alexander and Naomi Campbell had covers, but the number severely decreased in the '90s and since the turn of the century. (Anna Wintour began editing Vogue in 1988. Recently celebs like Oprah, Halle Berry and Marion Jones have graced the cover, but black models? Not so much. The May 2007 issue had Chanel Iman on the cover… but far to the right and therefore under the fold, where Conde Nast — or is it Annie Leibovitz? — seems to think black people belong.)

Last year, we took it upon ourselves to count black models photographed for fashion editorials. Vogue's October issue? Zero black models. Vogue's November issue? Zero black models. Vogue's December issue? Zero black models. In January, one black model, Chanel Iman, appeared in Vogue, a good three months after Bethann Hardison's summits on the "lack of color" in fashion. Vogue has a three month lead time, by the by. (Sometime in February, Style.com, the online "home" of Vogue, labeled a picture of Jourdan Dunn with the name "Chanel Iman." Whoops!)

In any case, we'll have more to say about this when the "black model" issue of Italian Vogue hits stands, but here's a question: If Vogue is the leading fashion magazine, should the question "Is Fashion Racist?" actually be "Is Vogue Racist?"?

Fashion, News, and What Nots: Vogue's July Issue [The Fashion Bomb]
Related: VOGUE: Black Cover Girls [Associated Content]
US Vogue Cover May 2007 [COACD]

Earlier:
Is Prada To Blame For the Lack Of Black Models?
Where Are All The Black Models? Let's Start By Asking Anna Wintour
We're Still Looking For Black Models
Merry Christmas, Black Models, Wherever You Are
Most Ladymags Continuing To Experience Whiteout Conditions
Is Vogue's "LeBron Kong" Cover Offensive?
Photo Finish

In brief, West Indians make "marvellous surrogate mothers, which is odd because they have such terrifying children themselves" while Australians "are famous in Nannyworld for needing sex about as often as Bentleys need filling up. And in the same quantities," while South Africans are mostly to be avoided for their accents, (Elsewhere in British GQ it's noted that cover girl Charlize Theron has none.) Old liberal Europeans are "expensive and demanding" but will teach your child conversational French and to write letters "demanding the release of Aung San Suu Kyi." while Soviet bloc New European girls "will life happily in a converted broom cupboard and talk wistfully of how they could fit their grandmothers and cousins into the airing cupboard," though they are "seriously predatory when it comes to solvent men with their own cars." Having chosen an ethnic group compatible with your budget, political leanings and number of accumulated delusions of grandeur you intend to project onto your offspring, the more divisive dilemma of pretty vs. ugly takes center stage. "Mothers go for ugly because they just had a baby and they are flabby, grey-faced, lank-haired and tearful," he explains. "On the other hand, who would purposely go and buy a huge piece of hideous furniture to stand in the middle of every room of the house? Having a grim nanny is a constant aesthetic poke in the eye."

At this point, readers, you probably recognize that the point of posting this is simply to say, "See? Seeeeee how the satire-lite thing works, guys? See what they get away with?" Etc. etc. But Gill isn't done!

You may wonder why I'm telling you all this hideous, racist, sexist, 19th century, embarrassingly stupid shit…You wait: having a child, being responsible for children, gives the parent permission to say and do the most appallingly pernicious, unfair, vain and inconsiderate and cruel things. The moral of the nanny conversation is that you have to be a good person before you become a good father. Fatherhood won't turn you into a good person. Quite the reverse, it may make you into a far nastier one.

But hey, if you're a father, chances are you are a bad person, even if you weren't before, which is why family men have an easier time getting laid, because that's how evolution intended it, according to one of those new studies intended to prove to "nice" guys women sleep with dudes like A.A. Gill, when actually the real reason A.A. Gill gets laid is because, you know…it's a joke! There's no way he could possibly be that bad…

Yes, I digress.

British GQ