After 25 years at Vogue, I can finally wear what I like
After 25 years in charge at Vogue, Alexandra Shulman left the job – and the wardrobe – behind. Here, she reveals a rediscovered joy in fashion now that she doesn’t have to sit in the front row
When I left my job as editor-in-chief of Vogue last June, one of the most common pieces of advice I received was “you’ve got to get out of your pyjamas every day.” I would nod in understanding while thinking to myself, “are you crazy? That is the whole point. I’ve had 36 years of office life and now I am jolly well going to stay in those pyjamas if I feel like it.”
I didn’t articulate this thought though, not wishing to reveal the inner slacker that I had always known lurked under the carapace of pencil skirts and high heels.
So for the first few months post-Vogue I spent a great deal of my time in a close relation to pyjamas, which was three pairs of Thai fisherman style trousers – a garment that causes my boyfriend nearly deal-breaking unhappiness due to the fact that they are the least sexy clothes possible. But with their bright coloured cottons, saggy bottom and loose tied hipster sash they represented freedom from that office life.
Of course this period came to an end eventually; autumn arrived and with it the need to work out what I was going to wear in my new existence. I was no longer a fashion magazine editor but I was still working. In my previous role I had become used to meeting people who would look at me slightly mystified and say “but you don’t look like editor of Vogue”. It was never entirely clear whether they thought this a good or bad thing. My appearance might have confounded some expectations
(and I clarify here that I didn’t turn up in a tutu or in a clown outfit) but whatever I wore, everyone knew what my job was.
Now it’s different.
Without the job title – and constantly meeting new people – I care more what message my clothes are giving and spend much more time thinking about it. It’s not unknown for me to change three times in a day. Advisory work in a fashion company demands a different look to a meeting with the head of a young person’s charity, the clothes I wear for a morning writing at home need to be changed for a meeting with a corporation head. And after a day slopping around in old jeans getting dressed up to go out at night is really fun, whereas before the pleasure was in shedding my smart skin.
While at Vogue my basic uniform was a knee-length skirt, a fitted top and a pair of heels. I have a legacy of lace skirts and dresses from Erdem and Dolce & Gabbana and a cupboard of beautiful coats from Prada and Marni.
Now I’m more likely to be found in trousers and flats from more under-the-radar brands like YMC and Steven Alan and buy from small boutiques like The Hub store, The Cross and KJ’S Laundry. Offices tend to be well-heated so shirts or light knits are all you need, but working at home it’s often chilly.
If I examine the economics of this I could probably heat the whole house all day throughout the winter for about the same as I spend on cashmere, but it wouldn’t make me feel as good.
Previously, there didn’t seem any point spending much on out-of-office clothes and my weekends would be spent in Gap, Topshop and COS. Now I can more easily justify my James Perse T-shirt habit and my love of expensive indigo sack-shaped dresses (many found in Chiltern Street’s Mouki Mou) since these are clothes I spend much more time in and therefore the time-honoured cost per wear justification comes out slightly better.
The most striking difference between dressing for my new life and the old is the pleasure I get from my clothes now that they’re no longer my job. I wear the things I buy (I no longer feel the need to refer to them as pieces) on constant repeat. Since I no longer see the same people each day I can wear the same pair of widelegged emerald green jumbo cords most of the time, though I wouldn’t have bought them in the first place when I was at Vogue, not because I thought I couldn’t wear them in my job but because I would have felt that the me in that role didn’t look good enough in them. Now, though, I don’t judge myself by the same criteria. It doesn’t matter that I don’t look slim in them. It doesn’t matter that they don’t invest me with a glimmer of professional sheen. It only matters that every time I wear them, their jewel colour and soft fabric make me happy.
As does the navy Shrimps coat with ivory feather trim, the blue velvet Marks & Spencer ankle boots, the white padded Samsoe & Samsoe bomber jacket and the oriental print Zara midi dress I bought this winter and will keep wearing until the weather catches up and actually feels like spring. No longer do I need new outfits for fashion weeks; instead I can buy as and when I feel like it. If there’s one thing I learnt during my time at Vogue it was that it’s fatal to panic shop for a specific occasion – you never find something you really love.
By the time I am poking around the stores in a month or so for some new kit I am hoping the shop floors – whether digital or otherwise – will have broadened out from the current tsunami of Vetements-inspired frilly, asymmetric dresses that are never going to work for me. In the meantime, I’ve splashed out on a pair of glistening white Balenciaga trainers that have replaced my cherished white Manolo courts as daily footwear.
You can take the girl out of Vogue, but you can’t take her out of the wildly impractical white shoe habit.
‘It doesn’t matter if I don’t look slim. What matters is that they make me happy’