Alexandra Shulman’s Notebook
Surely there was no need to airbrush supermodels
WHEN I saw Vogue’s September cover, reuniting the supermodels of the famous 1990 Peter Lindbergh image, my first reaction was a touch of envy.
I had wanted to achieve that very thing so many times during my editorship of the magazine but it was always too logistically difficult and, more pertinently, too expensive to get everyone in the same place at the same time.
So kudos to the team that managed to get, literally, Cindy Crawford, Christy Turlington, Naomi Campbell and Linda Evangelista on the same page.
Only, sadly, the fifth member of that iconic quintet, the late Tatjana Patitz, is missing.
Now that I’ve paid tribute to the achievement, I have a few other points to add.
Those women are seriously beautiful. In their young selves, they inspired a generation of women to dream they might in some tiny way emulate them. Now, in their 50s, they are genuinely the stuff of the sweetest dreams of middle-aged women – most of whom can only wish for the bone structure, the long slim limbs and defined waistlines that not only this foursome display on the Vogue cover but also possess in real life. They are still super.
So why on earth did they have to be turned into a plasticised version of themselves, dressed in gloomy black widow outfits and run through computer retouching to emerge as a cartoon version of what a glamorous older woman might be?
It’s especially weird considering that Vogue has recently positioned itself around the idea of inclusivity, rejecting the notion that conventional definitions of beauty are relevant to the cover choices.
So it might follow that although these models are not as other women, the odd line and softening of the skin might be allowed to be seen. But as the headline on Vanessa Friedman’s article on this subject in The New York Times reads – Do supermodels age, or just get airbrushed?
The answer most probably lies in a spaghetti junction of different aims for all the different constituencies. Vogue wants publicity (which it has got in reams), as does the forthcoming Apple TV series this cover is promoting. But, most relevantly, the models will have wanted to be shown in a manner they were happy with.
These are no living dolls. You don’t bring together a successful, wealthy and experienced group of women in this way and take a few snaps without their collaboration.
Every outfit and make-up style will have been approved. Every pose perfected.
I can only imagine the scene as they gathered around a computer monitor in the studio as the pictures came up on screen. Naomi commanding that she wouldn’t allow such a one, Linda objecting to another. All while the hair, make-up and fashion teams made up a Greek chorus of encouragement, reiterating how amazing they all looked. And no doubt a lot of laughs, too.
These women’s careers are built on how they look and it’s hard to imagine they wouldn’t want to remain in control. So we can only assume they are happy with the result.
Personally, I would have liked to see them styled by a woman – as their general look strikes me as through a very male fashion gaze. They could have appeared more real, less camp.
And perhaps another photographer, like the older names Vogue used to work with such as Lindbergh, Mario Testino and Patrick Demarchelier, would have been able to bring out a warmth and easy beauty rather than Rafael Pavarotti’s more brittle offering.
But heaven knows, I produced enough magazine covers in my day when things didn’t go just as I wanted and the criticism piled in. So I am well aware that sniping from the sidelines is far easier than putting together the perfect cover.
The bright Sparks that Ministers want
WHEN I got my first job as an editor on GQ magazine, my mother, a seasoned journalist, reminded me – not entirely encouragingly – that there was no such thing as a new idea. This came to mind hearing that Health Secretary Steve Barclay has brought in a former M&S boss to look at waste and expenditure in the NHS.
Back in 2014, the then Health Secretary Jeremy Hunt asked a previous M&S boss, Sir Stuart Rose, to advise on improving the NHS. Despite its constant travails, M&S is clearly seen as a successful template by government. Less so, though, by Rose’s fellow retailer and sparring partner, Topshop’s Sir Philip Green.
Green’s collection of boys’ toys such as superyachts and personal jets were a source of pride and a symbol of his financial prowess. He taunted Rose, who hadn’t accrued such wealth: ‘And you don’t even know how to spell “jet!”’
Somehow it’s unlikely the NHS will be calling on Philip Green’s guidance any time soon.
Harry’s ripe for the fantasy world
HAVING read Wendy Holden’s new book, The Princess, a thoroughly enjoyable fictionalised life of the young Princess Diana, it is clear that Prince Harry is a perfect subject for similar treatment.
The novel is a mixture of welldocumented facts interlaced with imaginary scenes and dialogue. It’s hard to sort out the fact from fiction – meaning that Harry’s autobiographical Spare would be a rich source of original research material to play with.
Only we could make a Covid class system
THE current rules about Covid are completely unclear.
I only took a test to see if I had the virus because a friend I’d recently visited alerted me afterwards that he had Covid.
Had he not told me, and since I only had symptoms of a low-lying lurgy, I would have spent this week going about life as usual and no doubt infecting others, rather than staying stuck in my bedroom bothering friends and family for phone calls.
Such is my boredom that I started to notice which people pronounce the wretched thing with the same long ‘o’ emphasis as Coop, and a minority who adopt the rather posher , old-fashioned sounding Covi d–with ash ort ‘o ’, as in cough or even coven.
Even Covid, it seems, is not immune to this country’s class system.