Viva La Vogue!

I was a lifelong Cosmopolitan reader until my husband asked "Aren't you a little bit old to be reading Cosmo?" Well, at 22, no I'm not too old for anything, but I decided to move on up, and I arrived with a 2-year subscription to Vogue (for only $24, I might add).

I have to admit, I was getting sick of Cosmo's silly cover stories about achieving triple orgasms or finding your Man's tickly spots, not to mention the dippy quizzes which supposedly will tell me whether I'm a Go-Getter Gal or a String-Along Susan. Please! I don't have a "Man," I have a husband, and I already know that I'm boring.

Vogue is a magazine with beautiful photo layouts, well-written articles, and fashion advertising that will make any decent clotheshorse drool. Every issue is stuffed with who wore what where, who bought what where, who had what fashion show when, and how you can get it yourself, should you care to blow half your monthly income on a dress that could get you committed to an asylum if you wore it to any social event.

Everyone knows that fashion is the most frivolous (and fickle) of all the arts. Vogue doesn't care, and neither will you. This magazine pushes all the right buttons. Where else can you find supermodels crawling across desert landscapes in stilettos, or standing in a filthy alley wearing ballgowns and biker jackets, or walking down the street wearing a store-bought tank top matched with a Gaultier punk-couture skirt? Only in Vogue, baby.

Even the articles are super-Vogue. My favorite was one about flying with only carry-on luggage, as in why everyone should. The entire article was written from the first-class seating point of view, which, if you fly like I do, you know is a whole lot different from the economy point of view. The basic reasoning was that checking in a Louis Vuitton suitcase is like saying "I'm rich, so please steal from my luggage accordingly." Naturally, I filed this away for that long-awaited occasion when I actually get to fly first-class. Won't be happening anytime soon, but thanks to Vogue, I know how to handle that crisis when it does pop up.
Disguised in the article's many ruminations on the good fashion value that is Louis Vuitton luggage were several truly helpful suggestions about flying without checked baggage, such as wear your chunkiest clothes on the flight so they don't take up all your packing space, and forget about bringing extra shoes and accessories. This is the Vogue writers' style: hide any helpful aspects of your article among various proclamations of wealth and vanity. It works...you feel really smart for figuring out what the point of the article is.

I love the unique presentation of fashion in Vogue, the high-brow articles, and the feeling of fashion-consciousness that comes with reading it. Vogue whispers, "Say goodbye to the cruel world of Cosmopolitan, with all it's silly banter about furthering your ulcer-causing career and What He's Really Thinking. You don't need to read about everyone else's most embarrassing moments. You need to read about FASHION."

Vogue does not lecture you on how to dress or fix your hair or find out if your boyfriend in cheating. Vogue simply sets out the fashion world as it is, shows you everything in it's glory, then leaves you feeling like "Yeah, I would look really smashing in that." You won't miss the ridiculously worrisome world of the 20-30-something single woman at all.