Spring fashion is less interesting to most than the Fall collections. Me? I’m a sucker for any season but spring generally follows a pattern–a little dash of floral, a pop of color. This spring, however, brings us most interesting news. Miss Anna, as in Wintour, yes the Devil of Prada fame, got a little promotion this week. Damn girl–is there anything you can’t accomplish? Besides smiling.
The Great Anna was named Artistic Director of all of Conde Nast; making her basically Queen of all the fashion magazines ever in existence, to ever be created, and to ever be read by anyone in the whole wide world. For those of us who fell short of stellar worldwide fashion journalism careers ‘cuz we had all those damn kids, this seems a tad unfair. Granted the girl works harder than eight women her size–there need to be that many to make her the size of one of us regular girls–but can’t she at least spread the crumbs around?
It’s not enough that she’s edited Vogue for twenty-five years, has access to the most fabulous clothes in all the world, has worn fur for so long even PETA doesn’t bother her anymore, has tiny arms and ass, plays tennis everyday before work, juggles career and two children, somehow makes wearing sunglasses inside rock and has the ability to make or break the career of any designer with a nod of her head, now she gets all the spoils of Conde Nast? Harumph.
Perhaps if some of us had focused more on career and less on babies, decorating, tennis, kittens, charity work, ladies lunches and landing strips, we might be reaping spoils of our own. But no. We were far too focused on a house than smells like lavender Pine Sol and clean broom closets. And pearls. And shoes. And Grey Goose. And clothes arranged perfectly by color and sleeve length and a collection of tupperware to marvel a girl’s wildest dreams. Are we sorry? Depends. When I look at The Chickens, no, not for a minute. But when accomplishments can be counted on one hand and a girl is over 50, there is that nagging question. Girl–what the hell did you do with your self?
I’m probably not gonna edit Vogue or take my rightful place on Fashion Police. Although Kelly Osbourne did have a seizure last week, disrupted filming and had to be taken to the hospital. When I heard the news, I thought, “Shit, why wasn’t I in LA today?” I could have helped her into the ambulance, stroked the purple hair from her sweat covered face, washed my hands and jumped into her already warm chair. They don’t know what caused the seizure–you know my theory. It’s the hair. There is something unnatural about that business. Girl, even your body is saying, “Let’s go for a shade of the human variety shall we? Who do you think you are Lady Gaga?” Pfft. Get it–Kelly and Lady Gaga–little war going on there. Sometimes I just crack myself up. Even Mama Sharon got in on it. And being of the mother variety, I know the don’t fuck with my kid unless you want your throat cut response. Gaga learned and apologized. Her mom made her. Still, just sayin’ Kelly. I think it’s the hair. I hope she is better. Really I do. But would it be too much to ask for her to be unable to continue on Fashion Police. Miss Joan can have an open search and there I’ll be, spotlight shining down from heaven–the answers to all that is fashion holy. I will take my seat and rattle off in 45 seconds or less who is this week’s fashion loser. Done, done and done.
Carried away much?
Anyway, evidently, not all is happy at Conde Nast. Seems each magazine has its own editor and even though Anna is the rightful Queen of the Fashion World, other editors are essentially, her equals. God knows you don’t want to be an underling. You saw the movie. Who the hell wants a coat flung in your face every morning or to get hit by a car running to get the scarves to the show on time. One fashiony insider said “We’re not all friends here. (We can’t be dear. We’re all fighting over the same dress.) This is a competitive building. (In fashion, it’s a must. I must look better than you.) We use the same photographers. (Who cares?) We compete for the same celebrities. (Make better choices.) This will be a gradual process as she finds areas she’d like to investigate. Why else would she take the job if she wasn’t going to do things with it?” Translation? Fuck me, this girl is now going to run my magazine. Dammit.
Isn’t fashion delicious? Meanwhile, Teen Vogue editor, Amy Astley, who works under The Great, says, “She’s been a real mentor, and I think other editors will find that she can help them, too.” Really? Poor child. She is the editor of Teen Vogue. Is there another correct answer?
Word is the position of Artistic Director is new. Conde Nast didn’t want to lose Her Grace and so created the post just for her. Basically, she’ll be running about fifty ships while guiding Vogue and Teen Vogue. She will be the decider on editorial directions and branding and also have something to say about the development of a new entertainment arm. Could you just squee aloud for her? Non? Me neither. Doesn’t the woman even have the decency to remember us little folk and pass out some jobs in Scottsdale; the kind where you walk around observing fashion on the streets, drinking dirty martinis and telling people how to dress? How hard is that? Oh, and access to the lauded Vogue closet for all my reasearch. That’s a must or I just can’t take the job.
After all part of her new job will be “to look for new talents and reinforce aesthetics?” Girlfriend, is there someone who can reinforce aesthetics better than me? Really, is this a question? I think we can dispense with the interview process. Oh wait–you don’t think I have the experience? Well, you may have me there dear. But since Anna is 63, I guess I have 11 more years to catch up. I know she’ll be watching and waiting.
In the meantime, I’ve gotta color my roots. Going out tonight. God forbid I stay home and work on a career or something silly like that.