Back Issues: The New York Collection

Culling the fashion magazines stacked in one corner of my apartment was one of the first tasks that I undertook when I realized that my New York experiment had failed. It was no small feat. There were two and a half years of fashion tomes to consider. I took to my floor and made my way through them.

I’m generally not a collector of things. My dolls and stuffed animals were to be played with not enshrined. Many of my favorite books are bent and misshapen from spending various lengths of time in my purse. But the stack of magazines was different. Outside of a dust bunny here or there, they were in mint condition. No scribblings in the margins. No sticky notes. No dogeared pages.

Over two years after the move back, I’m still semi-packed. Suitcases are half full and boxes still untouched as I cling to the idea of this move being temporary. So in a box with books that followed me from college to home to Brooklyn and back again, as well as those picked up during my time on my own, live three magazines. As I sat staring at them this morning, my eyes welled up a bit. I had forgotten how many I had gotten rid of. I must have kept more than this. But at that moment in the spring of 2009, I was determined to be an adult about all of it. No crying over silly things. So I was vicious and hard and lugged pile after pile out to be recycled never thinking that one day I’d be 28 and a half, still living at home, and missing them.

The oldest of the three is the Fall-Winter 2008 edition of Vogue Paris Collections. It is an adult, fashion picture book. Photographs of the collections presented neatly in rows on each page. The last quarter dedicated to headshots of accessories. Good enough reasons for keeping it but not the truth of the matter. This magazine was a gift from my mother, and I kept it to commemorate one of those brief and fleeting moments when she seemed to understand me.

The March 2009 Vogue famously had the first lady on the cover in a pink Jason Wu. The fact that this magazine made it back to Boston barely warrants an explanation.

Lastly, there was the May 2009 Vogue.

It was kept because it reminded me of a magazine from long ago. One that lived forgotten in my mother’s house until recently.

When my best friend entered my apartment for the first time after I had gotten rid of them all, she looked at me in shock. Their absence was the ultimate sign that I was waving the white flag.

My current room, the room of my childhood, has magazines from my second post-collegiate Boston turn strewn about. When it’s time to leave this place, parting with them might not be filled with quite as much sorrow.


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Back Issues: Vogue, September 2004

The oldest magazine in my arsenal lives in an old dresser. It shares space with various historical and political books from college, long forgotten DVDs that I’ve never felt the urge to search for, and many other magazines.

The September 2004 issue of Vogue must have been bought either right before, while on my trip to, or during the first week of my last year of college. It was a tri-fold cover featuring the biggest models of the time. Though my almost obsessive reading and collection of magazines was only beginning, I knew that such a sight was a rarity in general, much less on the all-important September issue. Actresses of various levels of fame, or infamy, now hold court.

Daria, Natalia, Gisele. Isabeli, Karolina, Liya. Hana, Gemma, Karen. Most of these names probably mean little to you. They meant little to me at the time.

The cover itself was enough of a reason to hold onto it.

The magazine was heralded, in large typeface, as the biggest ever. A phenomenon that had been occurring for years prior and would reach its apex in September of 2007. The ads at the front of the book seemed endless as I flipped through the pages for the first time in years. The last set of Tom Ford for Gucci and Yves Saint Laurent campaigns starring Daria and Gemma respectively. Bai Ling featured prominently in a Saks Fifth Avenue advertisement as opposed to on the pages of Go Fug Yourself. Many of the ads had one or more of the women featured on the cover in them. Their appearances lay somewhere between coincidence and well thought out advertising plan.

Mostly the magazine reminds me of a time before everything shifted. I was preparing my medical school applications. I was steeling myself for one final year in a place I had grown to loathe. I was mistaking my fear about the future for excitement. And for all of that anxiety, there was no better salve then slipping into the over the top luxury of that magazine. Ten commandments for every women to live by that fall welcomed you to the fashion-heavy final fifth of the issue. Tackle chores in sequins. Wear the trousers. Bone up on the classics. Don’t leave home without your “face”. Make yours mink. Kick up your heels in a racy cocktail frock. Buy yourself your first real evening dress. Thank your lucky stars when it’s a bad-hair day. Say sayonara to strappy sandals. Ransack Grandma’s jewelry box. Some of them make me chuckle in that way that relics of the recent past sometimes do.

In the editorials, Karolina did a handstand in Alexander McQueen.

The models lounged in Theyskens-era Rochas and pre-contemporary Helmut Lang.

Everything radiated lushness.

For me, it is a touchstone. A reminder of when this all really started. Despite the other small awakenings that occurred during those collegiate years, this issue marks the most important one. The flashbulb. The genesis.


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Back Issues: T, The New York Times Style Magazine, Spring 2008

Most of the magazines I find in random places throughout my mother's house are from several years ago. Since I could only transport a few back with me, issues from my time in New York are rare. So it was with some shock that I stumbled upon my Spring 2008 copy of T: The New York Times Style Magazine.


Mere weeks out from the Bear Stearns collapse and a spring and summer away from the eventual crumbling of large pieces of our economic system, there is something of the abandon of the earlier part of that first decade of this new century all over the magazine. In the clothes featured. In the lavish ads. Many, from Vera Wang to Bottega Veneta to Weatherproof, featured a second page with only the name of the brand. No product. Just letters floating in empty space. Elephants appeared prominently in both a Hermès ad with Lakshmi Menon and a fashion spread with Jessica Stam. Models leapt in Malandrino. Ralph Lauren commanded a four page spread at the front of the book. A short story shared the price per pound of a group of six dresses. The Roberto Cavalli, a mere wisp of a thing at 3.25 ounces, tipped the proverbial scale at $20,554 per pound. There was little talk of frugality, a topic that one will now find in every issue of every magazine.

But for all of its symbolism, this issue was saved only by my forgetfulness. I either bought the paper especially for this magazine while home on a trip or brought it along for New York to Boston bus reading before forgetting to place it in my bag before my return. To be honest, I probably wouldn't have kept it. Somewhat flimsier and less weighty than its counterparts, T's often lost their covers and with that found themselves out with the recycling.

Despite the fragility of the cover, upon rereading I found the weight one usually finds in the physicality of the magazine transferred to the writing. It supplied an element I often find lacking in its counterparts. Cathy Horyn took an in depth look at the inner workings of Comme des Garçons. Daphne Merkin compared heels that you wear and heels that you date without making me instantly think of the frivolity embodied by one Carrie Bradshaw.

Unlike the other issues in this series, where the reason for their rescue resulted from a long ago emotional reaction to images, this one was saved because of its words and its history.


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Back Issues: Lucky, September 2006

I've never used the "Like It" and "Love It" stickers included among the first few pages of Lucky Magazine. I don't really like stickers. And I don't like putting anything on my magazines. I have trouble even making myself dog ear the page of something I especially like. So the September 2006 issue of Lucky, festooned with Post-It tabs, is something of an aberration among my collection.


Considering Lucky's publishing cycle, I probably bought this copy as soon as it arrived in early August of that year. I had been temping at the same place for a month at that point and had a lot of down time. Mostly that time was spent on the computer. Reading the news. Fooling around on Facebook. Instant messaging my friends. This all changed when the CPU of the computer had a meltdown and I was left without one for a very long time. I needed a new way to distract myself, so every single September issue made its way to my cubicle. They sat in a little pile on my desk to the left of where my computer had once stood. I don't think I've read any group of magazines so thoroughly. And when I was done reading, there was nothing left to do but find a use for the Post-It tabs that I had discovered while rummaging through a desk drawer.

I love organizing things and making patterns. The tabs did not escape this mild obsession and were placed in the magazine in the order of Red Green Blue. That is until I ran out of red tabs near the end and was left with a simple Green Blue pairing. On the clear portion that adhered to the page, I wrote myself a note. The name of the designer. Or the type of clothing I was drawn to in the photograph. I've changed so much in the three intervening years that I'm surprised by some of my choices.

But the tabs, as well organized as they are, are not the reason I kept this Lucky. I made my way quickly through the front of the book ads. Gap with actresses and celebrity scion. Lily Cole for Max Studio. Doutzen Kroes for Calvin Klein. Lily is an actress now. Doutzen is a Victoria's Secret Angel. I stopped briefly at the "What I Want Now!" feature. I wasn't into leopard prints or bohemian items or pin-tucked pleats then. I'm still not.

Almost halfway through and with no discernible reason for this magazine's salvation, I stumbled across "The Best New Designers" story. Usually the reason would lay here. I remember the Fall 2007 edition, which I regretfully tossed when I was moving, being full of designer names that I wrote down on a notepad to look up later. This was not the case for 2006. I began taking the pages ten at a time.

And then there it was. Mecca as it were.


In the March and September issues, there is always a season appropriate shoe guide. And four of my nine tabs were placed within this one. The featured styles would have instantly wormed their way into my schoolgirl loving heart. Loafer pumps. Flat boots. Mary Janes. Dressy flats. Cuffed boots. Platform pumps. Knee high boots. Only the t-straps would have left me cold.

That fall I spent far too much time wondering if I would ever find my way into a job where having multiple pairs of these shoes would be a possibility.

And this afternoon I spent far too long wondering if some of these shoes were still available in some far-flung corner of the internet.


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Back Issues: InStyle, October 2006

With the autumnal chill here to stay and the skies outside a soft gray, I put the tights back on, this time with a simple tank, and tried to discover the mystery behind why I never recycled the October 2006 issue of InStyle.


The first thing I noticed about this magazine was its weight. I forgot that pre-financial clusterfuck even non-September issues could be hefty. On the cover, as was the case for most fashion magazines by that point, was an actress. In this case it was Scarlett Johansson who had two movies being released that fall. (I've seen them both. I highly recommend The Prestige.) But her presence, no matter how pretty, wouldn't have been the reason I kept the magazine. I tended to skim the interviews with actresses. Or skip them altogether.

The advertisements featured many of the faces that were popular in the fall of 2005. There were actual models, not actresses, for Louis Vuitton. What a novel idea. A cadre of Supers, Kate, Christy, Angela, Carolyn and Daria, wore all black for Versace. Also light on the actress front was the Audrey Hepburn inspired black pants ad for Gap. (I bought a pair of those pants. I wore them once.) It took 111 pages to reach the first real story in the magazine. I doubt we'll ever see those days again, but I'm a pessimism-leaning realist.

I realized that if I kept up with the intense analysis of the ads this was going to take all day. So the skimming began. Past the horoscope that let me in on the fact that I was looking forward to dressing for fall and should, therefore, head to the gym. Past the Zach Braff "Man of Style" story that reminded me that I stupidly paid money to see The Last Kiss in theaters. Skim. Skim. Skim. Stop.

The title of the story was simple. Coats. Eight pages that made this New England girl giddy. A high necked black Alberta Ferretti that might now remind one of Mad Men. A double breasted houndstooth Martin Grant. And then there it was. The one coat that had saved this magazine from the discard pile.


I spent most of that fall lusting after this 3.1 Phillip Lim coat. His line was only a year old at the time, but it had quickly become one of my favorites. I was temping that fall. Wearing business casual clothes that I hated every day. Answering phones and swimming in a sea of ennui. But this coat, with its camel color and the fur at its collar, was everything that my life wasn't.

So I kept the magazine. It gave me the chance to look at it whenever I wanted.

And that bit of escape was what I needed at the time.


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Back Issues: Vogue, November 2005

I have a habit of hoarding fashion magazines. When I was living by myself in Brooklyn, I kept every single one that I bought during my two and a half years there. A small mountain took root in one corner of my apartment. It wasn’t until it was time for me to move home that I culled the pile, throwing out everything except for a few special issues.

But on yet another search through my mother’s house, I came across magazines saved from college as well as the time that I lived at home right after graduation. Unlike the ones in my apartment, where the space and the solitude allowed me to keep even those issues I became bored with, these magazines had been kept for a reason. But now, many years on, I didn’t necessarily remember why some had been kept over others. So I decided that I should start reading them and try to remember why they were spared.

For what must have been the 57th time since I bought it nearly four years ago, I picked up the November 2005 issue of Vogue last week and considered recycling it.


But that time, just like the previous 56, I read it once again before putting it back in its place.

It’s easy to forget how quickly the model population turns over. There were, of course, the old standbys. Kate Moss for Dior. Gisele for St. John. Daria Werbowy for many. Jessica Stam before the blond and the Fendi. But there were also a lot of faces that I hadn't seen in years. A story told of the arrival of the Topshop Unique line stateside four years before the store itself would make the leap. I must have been excited about the prospect at the time. While I was studying abroad in the first half of 2004, I had spent innumerable hours in the Oxford Circus store. The loss of access to it had added an extra patina of sadness to my return that June.

After skimming through the long piece on women dressing for work and the accompanying editorial on suits from the Resort collections, I landed on what I assumed was my reason for keeping the magazine. It was a fashion editorial featuring Josh Hartnett and Gemma Ward. Mario Testino had shot them at the coast. And they had put her in the types of pieces that I wished I could wear. Light and romantic. They were also, of course, those I was most afraid of trying.

I always liked when they had editorials with a male actor and one of the models. The pictures reminded me of stills from a film. Together they told a story, which was an element that I loved yet didn't often see.

I was satisfied that I had found the reason for this magazine's rescue.

I flipped through the last two stories. Remembering when Trovata was nominated for the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund and had four designers. Dreading the return, once again, of Boho Chic. When I turned the final page, the real reason I had kept the magazine surfaced. A phantom red dress. A Carolina Herrera that Gemma Ward had worn as she mimed playing the cello. Every time I picked up the magazine, including this last time, I would hope to see the dress before remembering, once again, that this was not the magazine.

It was another from that fall, but I couldn’t remember which.


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