Vogue

Ok. Let’s start with this. I am completely OBSESSED with Vogue. Their photography is spectacular, (God bless Annie Leibovitz, arguably the most talented portrait photographer in US history), and Keira Knightley is on their cover this month. If there ever was an actress who wore her clothing well, it’s Keira.

I also love the fact that no matter how freakin’ weird the fashion is, it always looks fabulous on the models. Or at least almost always. Observe exhibit A:

Mia Rosing in Christian Dior

Now I don’t think a single person I know, myself included, would be caught dead in such an outfit. But if you start looking at the details, such as the way it accentuates Mia Rosing’s neckline and the way it falls so that it demonstrates how tiny her waist is, you begin to appreciate it.

A couple of years ago I was completely nonplussed by fashion. (Particularly by Dior. The guy has got to have THE weirdest fashion shows out there, between the face paint and the out-there headdresses of arachnid-like proportions.) But after staring at a picture long enough, there is that “aha” moment where you say to yourself, “So that’s what the guy was doing.” A fashion designer has a statement to make, a mission to accomplish. Something he or she wants to say about him or herself. And by God, in Vogue they accomplish it. Every time.