In RJ Cutler’s film, The September Issue, the much-awaited documentary chronicling the creation of Vogue’s largest issue, the public gets a peek at the mayhem that goes on behind the magazine’s polished doors, proffering curious moviegoers a glimpse into the working world of the people who decide what hemline, what hue and what silhouette you and your amply-endowed (fiscally, at least) mother should be sporting.
This is hardly the first time Vogue has come under close scrutiny. The magazine, and its famous editrix, were famously maligned in the crowd-pleasing, yet underwhelming book The Devil Wears Prada. The book, written by a former assistant to Anna Wintour, skewered the publishing icon, painting her as a cold, callous deity equally reviled and worshipped by staffers intimidated by the editor’s autocratic gaze. In the film, famously portrayed by Oscar-winning Meryl Streep, the Wintour-esque character was softened somewhat by Streep’s attempt to humanize her.
But in a recent 60 Minutes profile on Wintour, who famously drew the ire of thousands of Americans after referring to people in Minnesota as “little houses,” she seemed eager to siphon whatever public goodwill remained with caustic remarks seemingly targeted at Middle America and their inability to get with the Vogue program.
Perhaps with the release of The September Issue, Wintour can generate enough goodwill to tide over doomsayers’ gloomy prognostications over Vogue’s future.
Some trivia worth noting: While Vogue has always led the pack in terms of pages, 2007’s September issue, and the subject of the film starring Sienna Miller as cover girl, boasted a staggering 840 pages — 727 of those ads. Thanks to the recession and plummeting ad sales, this year’s Vogue clocks in at a measly 584. Compare that to 2008’s 796 pages and you have the makings of a rapid decline heralding the end of the Vogue era.
Forbes magazine is quick to note the beginning of the end: “There’s been speculation in recent months that Vogue was slipping, citing February cover choice Blake Lively as too down-market, as well as the loss of spinoff publications Vogue Living and Men’s Vogue,” notes Lauren Streib. Elle magazine, which has been aggressively courting publicity via TV (sponsoring Project Runway’s first five seasons, peopling shows such as Ugly Betty with actual Elle staffers, launching a reality series searching for the next Elle intern to dismal ratings, and making regular appearances on The Hills spinoff, The City), has suddenly outstripped its competition — in ad pages at least, which, let’s face it is the bread and butter of any publication. Having cheerfully maintained a second spot in the hierarchy of women’s magazines, Elle suddenly experienced an increase in ads in the first half of the year, putting it ahead of Vogue in terms of ad revenue.
Does this spell the end for what’s long been heralded as the fashion industry’s bible? Has the publishing giant lost its position as cultural touchstone? Vogue has received criticism for its lack of creativity and inability to produce fresh editorial work, opting instead to reproduce pages upon pages of jumping models clad in head-to-toe looks straight off the runway against a dreary gray background.
A seismic shift is slowly transpiring, with competition coming in the form of Elle, which turned over a new exciting leaf when Joe Zee took over the reigns, and Condé Nast publication W. Instead of the usual vanilla fare Vogue has made a habit of churning out, readers are turning to the competition’s fresher —and, it must be said, more democratic — take on fashion. (Wintour’s glossy has been slammed for its elitist tone, rarely featuring apparel that doesn’t cost upwards of a thousand dollars.)
Yet Vogue’s juggernaut PR has shown no signs of yielding. An insatiable thirst for all things Wintour has taken over plenty of periodicals and the blogosphere. Alternating between slavish devotion and downright disgust, high-fashion’s headmistress is still the talk of the town.
An appearance on Letterman early this week supplied plenty of headlines for the diminutive doyenne who was put on the defensive when the late night talk show host brought up accusations that she was “tough — look out, she’ll chew you up and spit you out and fire you.”
This is part and parcel of being a tough, influential female in big business. Wintour has been called a ball-buster, a merciless shrew and more. The New York Times’ Maureen Dowd recently tossed in a few new additions to the growing list of antifeminist nomenclature that has plagued Wintour.
“She’s a sacred monster, an embodiment of the highest standard of style, and we don’t expect our monsters to be nice,” writes Dowd, playing into the same misogynistic narrative mainstream media has assigned to Wintour.
“I read in the New York Times this week that I am an ice queen, I am the sun king, I am an alien... and I am a dominatrix,” she says to Dave Letterman, after suggesting he look up designer Thom Browne (to which he replied, sarcastically, “Let me get his number.”) “So I reckon that makes me a lukewarm royalty from outer space with a whip,” she concludes, tongue firmly in cheek.
No doubt numerous designers agree with the notion of Wintour as queen bee. Designer Thakoon, a current favorite of Anna’s and a rising star (having recently participated in the Gap-CDFA collaboration, thanks mainly to Anna’s largesse), referred to her as Madonna — which, in gay speak, means she’s the bees knees.
Unfortunately, the publicity tour has done little to soften her image. In Cutler’s documentary, the film pits two of Vogue’s most powerful figures against each other. Grace Coddington, the titian-haired model turned creative director, comes across as the underdog to Wintour’s tough boss. (At one point, Coddington gleefully admits to Cutler’s crew that she loves talking to Anna about budgets because the editor has difficulty cutting costs in front of the prying lenses of the cameras.)
But many who’ve seen the film claim that Cutler failed to capture the true Anna, the real person hiding behind the oversize sunglasses and poker-faced exterior. The woman who’d led millions of women to embrace the likes of up-and-coming designers long before they made their name surely has more to her than the one-dimensional evil queen persona she’s been cursed with.
At the premiere, Wintour, smile in place, those ubiquitous shades perched primly on her nose, made her way down the red carpet, garbed — in what could be a droll sartorial nod to her image — in Prada. This is one sovereign who still knows how to play to a crowd, always leaving them wanting more.