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Spent the last two days looking after a slightly feverish little girl. Little girl had no other symptoms beside the slight fever, and is also at an age when she pretty much wants to be left to her own amusements. ("Don't *talk* to me.") Hence I spent much of the last two days reading the September issue of Vanity Fair. And as soon as I was free, ran to the store to buy a copy, only to discover that the October issue is already on the stands.
The October issue is all about Lindsay Lohan; the September issue was all about Lady Gaga, who's a nonesuch, and Jacqueline de Ribes, who's pretty much what I wanted to be in life, not that I could. One has to be born a French aristocrat, after all. And her childhood sounds like hell, and the back operation, and not being able to walk for three years, and the celiac disease one could pass on; but ohh, such a beautiful woman. "She personified the idea that French women were the most elegant in the world."
No idea how long the web article will be up, and anyway I want the magazine with the pictures. Partly because I conclude that fashion advertising is the exact equivalent of mangakas' illustration collections: evocative and haunting pictures that tickle the brain with their lush suggestiveness, but that in the end have no substance, no real image deeper than the surface one.
The October issue is all about Lindsay Lohan; the September issue was all about Lady Gaga, who's a nonesuch, and Jacqueline de Ribes, who's pretty much what I wanted to be in life, not that I could. One has to be born a French aristocrat, after all. And her childhood sounds like hell, and the back operation, and not being able to walk for three years, and the celiac disease one could pass on; but ohh, such a beautiful woman. "She personified the idea that French women were the most elegant in the world."
No idea how long the web article will be up, and anyway I want the magazine with the pictures. Partly because I conclude that fashion advertising is the exact equivalent of mangakas' illustration collections: evocative and haunting pictures that tickle the brain with their lush suggestiveness, but that in the end have no substance, no real image deeper than the surface one.
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If that fails
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