I remember the first time I picked through a magazine. It wasn’t a tabloid, but something close to it. Us Weekly, or People. Something of that sort. Or, an entirely different publication all together. Some name I can’t remember. Gone from the racks, staff fired, its investors nowhere to be found. But its influence persists, never to be lost on me. I remember the feeling, like rifling through the drawers of your parents’ bedrooms at an early age, or exploring the old furniture in your grandparents’ house. Wondrous glory that you probably shouldn’t have been looking for, but found and relished all the same. I was enthralled by the trashy who-wore-it-better stories. Encapsulated by the tri-fold Micheal Kors ads. The image of the model on the horse, and a background of the Scottish countryside, practically clutched my chest and ripped me into the page along with it. My mother loves fashion, and, to my delight, would quickly snatch the tabloid out of my hand and throw Vogue or ELLE at me instead. Needless to say, I never went back. I have since felt very nostalgic for the early 2000’s issues of coveted high-fashion magazines. Always frizzy hair, almost parisian at times. A bubble skirt; color blocking. My childhood idols were Cara, Karlie, and Coco. I loved books, of course. But there was, and always will be something about a magazine.
But who reads? Nobody, these days. Not even books. Not articles. Maybe a TikTok if it is long enough. So it all feels kind of counterproductive in a way— except it’s not. Allow me to explain. I read Vogue every month when it arrives. I start at the front, flip through till the back, and then work my way through the features— and yes, I look at the pictures first. It is sacred to me. Ritualistic, if you prefer to call it that, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love reading it. Dissecting it, after all, it is “Fashion’s Bible.” So then, perhaps, I am devout. Though my message is this: That it means something, still. I was scrolling through TikTok (guilty) and I came across a very popular song, by Drake and 21 Savage. The lyrics struck me. “Don’t tell me that you model … .if you ain’t been in Vogue.” Countless videos were posted to the song; seeing aspiring models giddily announcing to their followers that they too– had been featured in Vogue. This was incredible to me. That, even today, it still means a great deal to be “In Vogue.” Or even just Vogue dot com. Or the Vogue runway app. Vogue Italia, Vogue France, Vogue China. It snapped me back to a forgotten pandemic era trend. One in which people used a Snapchat filter to edit the Vogue logo onto their home-pictures. At the time I found the trend to be in a way, annoying. At the risk of sounding mean-spirited, I did not think that Vogue would ever really consider a mirror picture (a dirty mirror at that) to be cover material! However, it is best to just let people have fun.
So I guess, what I am trying to say is, the magazine matters. If not to you, or your friends, to someone. It can seem vapid, dry, or arrogant. But as a young boy growing up in the South, whose peers would have much rather me read a sports column, or better yet, go play football myself, the magazine was everything. So I hope that this one will be something, to someone. Even if you just look at the pictures.
Additional Note: The 607 is a digital/print media magazine at Alfred University. We hope to spotlight creatives in the areas of Fashion, Art, Journalism, and more. We release monthly digital content and a print-copy issue each semester. You can keep up with us on instagram @The607au