the september issue
Vogue arrives at the farm every month because my mother loves fashion, and loves me, and therefore she subscribes to it for me. She's certainly the one who practices what this book preaches, but I still read the gospel.
She doesn't know how I pour through every issue, that I love that magazine. I love the clothes, the people, the articles, the history of Anna Wintour and her empire. It is as foreign and exotic to me as Atlantis. Absolutely nothing I own could even be used to wash the windows at that Times Square office, but I am enthralled. I own eight pairs of shoes and one handbag. Two of those shoes are work boots and the handbag was made by a friend. I am not their target audience, but I still page through the tome. It is enchanting.
I love Vogue. I didn't always, but I do now. The people who put this magazine together do it with such diligence and careful thought I can't avoid respecting it. It is living sculpture, social comment, and moving art. We can knock fashion all we want as homesteaders and small farmers, but we can not deny these people are living their dream. Well, living their fantasy, really. To push so hard for a creative life like that is rare. I have no doubt that the people who run Vogue, if they had to, could run an amazing farm. Might be a steep learning curve, but no one that organized and on top of their game couldn't adapt. That farm would sing.
I'm still Jenna though, even when I'm sitting there on the daybed paging through the glossies. Ralph Lauren placed an ad right on the inside cover and it shows a pair of beautiful people kissing on horses in shoulder-high hay. I have ridden a horse through shoulder-high hay alongside my riding instructor at one of the best hunter schools in the country and it took both of us intense effort to keep our mounts from stopping mid-stride to snack. I moved up and down at a fast posting trot, reins ready, body tense as we moved across the field. These models were making out. Their horses placid. I try to tell if they are moving? Is the hay fake? How the hell is it fair a person can look that good and control a horse that well? Are they on cat tranqs? Inquiring minds want to know.
I sometimes wonder if there are people in those tall buildings in big cities reading this blog. Is there someone at Vogue who wishes he or she was on a farm? Does anyone at that Ralph Lauren cover shoot wish they could ride off on that fake horse? Probably not, they wouldn't be there if they weren't as in love with that scene as I am with mine. I read The September Issue, but I have no desire to wear the clothes or go to Paris. It doesn't mean we can't appreciate the other side of things. And it certainly doesn't mean a girl in Muck Boots can't wish she had somewhere to take a handbag and heels every once in a while.
And Mom, I might not own any new party dresses, but I don't even mow the lawn without mascara on.
You did good.