I wrote the following essay on April’s Vogue magazine when I took the Amtrak Acela train to Philadelphia over Easter weekend. I didn’t initially post it because it reads like a overwrought collegiate women’s studies essay. Yet now it’s the last day of April, and I must justify the hours spent pouring over Vogue lest it be mistaken as non-scholarly enjoyment.
Hunting the magazine rack for a glossy mag with which to whittle away 5 hours of interstate train travel, I select Vogue because Scarlett Johansson poses on the cover, dolled up like an old-fashioned movie star. I project inordinate intelligence and wit on Scarlett, and so was disappointed by the article that discussed her love life, her shopping in Soho for a black pea coat, and her sampling of a frothy venison pudding.
The predominate headline on the cover (“Embrace Your Shape”) should have clued me into that month’s theme: We are all flawed beasts! In her Letter from the Editor, Anna Wintour acknowledges the fashion industry’s current controversy over the BMI of runway models, which she neatly brushes away by alluding to Scarlett Johannson’s “healthy self-image… a woman completely at ease with her small and curvy body.” Which made me smile in horror: Scarlett was the cover girl because she represents a “diverse shape.”
So ladies, let’s embrace our shapes. If Scarlett can do it…
There’s an article that begins “‘God,’ I once sighed to my boyfriend. ‘I really hate my chin!” There’s an article about the new chest of silicon implants (professional women in their 30s and 40s who make 50k a year.) There’s an article called “Leg Envy” (“For me, the world is divided between those of us who are on good terms with our legs and people like me, who aren’t.”) What an uncomplicated philosophy to subscribe to! Dare I say that I envy ‘leg envy?’ But of course, all of the imperfect bitchers and moaners come to terms with their Quasimodo appearances by the end of the articles, usually by aid of plastic surgery.
Judging by the perennial supergamine waifs in the fashion spreads, April’s Vogue isn’t promoting a revolution within the fashion industry, but rather urging us size 6 fatties to accept our grotesqueness, and learn how to conceal our hideous flesh in designer clothes.
Conclusion: If you want someone to blame for all the eating disorders and self-starvation deaths, blame Kate Moss for making gaunt thinness so damn appealing to the eye.
