Gene Thornton
Although it may not appear as if it has a direct impact upon my style, one of the most important things to recognise about the way I dress is that it is informed through my extensive, some say 'addictive', collection of magazines. With more than 5 years of british vogues accumulating in the corner of my room, their stacked up pages singing of lucinda chamber's deconstructed boho-luxe and kate phelan's ramshackle english romance, how could i not take cues from their pages?
And, most significantly, with a room plastered from floor to ceiling (this is no exaggeration, believe you me) with magazine cut outs, how could i not, even subconsciously be affected by the fashion tales that they impart upon me? From minimalism to fetishism to hippie to vintage to mod to romance to glam... it's all there, and it's all the first thing i see in the morning and the last thing i see when i enter into the world of dreams.
the back wall (1-2) and corner (3) of my room, plastered with pics of everything from rachel bilson to couture clad aggy to hamish and andy (aussie reference).
What effect does this constant surrounding of magazine's glossy and, admittedly, inaccessibly world have on me? It is inspiring? Undoubtedly. My earliest fashion memories are those of me desperately trying to emulate images from magazines, be they editorial or candid. I remember a teen vogue with a toothy model sporting a burgundy 'chunky' tweed jacket over a grey tee shirt and distressed jeans. I immediately searched out my mother's wardrobe for something similar that would imbue me with all the effortless chic of that sunny teen vogue model. The sheer amount of editorial posts on this blog will also attest to the inspiration factor within magazine shoots. The very best ones are, to me, like art, they tell stories, they sing songs, they conjure up imagined worlds where everything is perfect, or cool, or simply very very chic. While the outfits within them may not be instantly copy-able, they are inspiring in that they project the mood of an outfit - whimsical, strong, relaxed, historical, romantic. You then transfer this mood to your own wardrobe, searching out that little cheese cloth dress, those cute tie up espadrilles and that easy denim jacket to create your own sense of sofia coppola-esque young love.
Another of the effects of this magazine worship has been, and i can admit this now i am on the other side, a precocious label worship. The other day I found a magazine mock up cover we had to make for english back when i was 14. I made a fashion magazine, but apparently a cerebral one at that, with Jean Paul Gaultier and Karl Lagerfeld on the cover, and i quote, 'facing off for the title of fashion's leading man'. Other cover lines included references to Proenza Schouler, Marc Jacobs, Marni and Jacquetta Wheeler. Why wasn't I out riding bikes and skinning my knees? I don't regret the fact that I was introduced to the fast paced, often vitriolic world of fashion early, but it does give pause to think. Would i still be the same girl I am today if I hadn't been so devoted to british vogue in my early teens? There is no way I would have been so slavishly devoted to boho as I was back in 2003/4/5 without Vogue's constant covering of Sienna Miller and her fur gilets, or lucinda chamber's incredible shoots with models like Daria Werbowy and Karen Elson in far flung exotic locations like Morocco and Ecuador. The models wore head scarves and anklets, rings on their fingers and bells on their toes. I wanted to be a free spirit like them, without even really knowing what a free spirit was.
my dressing table
When I was 14, and studying for my yearly exams, I stood on tiptoe on my bed and covered my ceiling with pages ripped out from magazines, mostly adverts for luxury brands interspersed with some beautiful editorial shots. Over the years this graduated into a full on assault on my room, partly an attempt to cover up my hideous saccharine pink wall paint (remnants of a girly nursery), but partly because I wanted to surround myself with the arresting beauty that can be found in the pages of glossies. Say what you will about vogue there is no magazine that matches it (save perhaps harpers bazaar, but only in some countries) for sheer sartorial glamour. Whether it's the obvious kind, Caroline Trentini strutting her stuff in a floor length jersey gown, ruby red nails and a fur stole, or a less in your face version, like lily cole in a bed of roses wearing corsetted pastel blue gown or gemma ward and her one-in-a-million features, staring at you through heavy-lids and curled lashes.
It was vogue that taught me that scent should be worn wherever one wants to be kissed (via chanel, bien sur). It was magazines that taught me about fashion's leading players, from daphne guinness to jen brill to anouck lepere to alexa chung. It was magazines that provided me comfort and solace in dreary days as i pored over beautifully scented pages (vogue uk always smells divine) under the bed covers. It was magazines who taught me that you should always remove your make up before you go to bed, that you should scour vintage markets and op shops for the next big thing, that you should always put money aside to repair your shoes (although in recent times this advice hasn't quite been followed by yours truly, leading to shoes with holes in their soles... my bad).
I think that the most impacting effect of this magazine obsession has not been, then, a precocious baptism into fashion's world, nor one of inspiration, but rather a move within me to a different state of mind. As incongruous as it might sound, magazines taught me to not be a conspicuous consumer, to not mindlessly churn through clothes like the proverbial piranha, but rather to strive ever closer to the ultimate goal - effortless chic. Bandied about so much in magazines it might as well have its own byline, it is this goal, however disingenuous it may seem, that magazines have taught me to look for.
It's all in the way you read them. Even though they may seem to forever be exhorting you to purchase a new bag or splurge on a line of exorbitant hand-illustrated placement cards what magazines are really saying is 'look, here are all these beautiful things, one of them could be right for you.' Especially now this is even more clear with pages like 'work the splurge', showing women how to make their one big purchase co-exist harmoniously with the rest of their wardrobe, or pages that show readers how to update their current wardrobes or 'must have staples' with quirkly little accesories and touches that make it all personal and fun.
a small portion of my magazine collection as i moved some of it out from under my bed/in my wardrobe/on my floor into shelving.. still have to find something to do with all my british and american vogues though, there are too many of those for a shelf...
Magazines have taught me restraint and humility - a $5000 is not a possibility, but hey, you can look till your heart's content (just ask the sales assistants at chanel who regularly greet me as i go to feel up the jumbo 2.55). Magazines have taught me beauty and glamour are not to be apologised for, that elegance is a woman's basic right, even if she chooses to dress in ripped tights and doc martens it's all in the pose. Magazines have taught me to search for inspiration everywhere. Magazines have taught me to be more adventurous with my dressing, and yet, to sometimes pare things back. A little goes a long way, and a little is better than nothing.
Magazines have taught me to accept me, whoever that is. And Vogue (harpers, elle, i-D, marie claire, tatler, grazia... you too), I think that the more than 400 titles I have in my room right now is thanks enough.
X
And, most significantly, with a room plastered from floor to ceiling (this is no exaggeration, believe you me) with magazine cut outs, how could i not, even subconsciously be affected by the fashion tales that they impart upon me? From minimalism to fetishism to hippie to vintage to mod to romance to glam... it's all there, and it's all the first thing i see in the morning and the last thing i see when i enter into the world of dreams.
the back wall (1-2) and corner (3) of my room, plastered with pics of everything from rachel bilson to couture clad aggy to hamish and andy (aussie reference). What effect does this constant surrounding of magazine's glossy and, admittedly, inaccessibly world have on me? It is inspiring? Undoubtedly. My earliest fashion memories are those of me desperately trying to emulate images from magazines, be they editorial or candid. I remember a teen vogue with a toothy model sporting a burgundy 'chunky' tweed jacket over a grey tee shirt and distressed jeans. I immediately searched out my mother's wardrobe for something similar that would imbue me with all the effortless chic of that sunny teen vogue model. The sheer amount of editorial posts on this blog will also attest to the inspiration factor within magazine shoots. The very best ones are, to me, like art, they tell stories, they sing songs, they conjure up imagined worlds where everything is perfect, or cool, or simply very very chic. While the outfits within them may not be instantly copy-able, they are inspiring in that they project the mood of an outfit - whimsical, strong, relaxed, historical, romantic. You then transfer this mood to your own wardrobe, searching out that little cheese cloth dress, those cute tie up espadrilles and that easy denim jacket to create your own sense of sofia coppola-esque young love.
Another of the effects of this magazine worship has been, and i can admit this now i am on the other side, a precocious label worship. The other day I found a magazine mock up cover we had to make for english back when i was 14. I made a fashion magazine, but apparently a cerebral one at that, with Jean Paul Gaultier and Karl Lagerfeld on the cover, and i quote, 'facing off for the title of fashion's leading man'. Other cover lines included references to Proenza Schouler, Marc Jacobs, Marni and Jacquetta Wheeler. Why wasn't I out riding bikes and skinning my knees? I don't regret the fact that I was introduced to the fast paced, often vitriolic world of fashion early, but it does give pause to think. Would i still be the same girl I am today if I hadn't been so devoted to british vogue in my early teens? There is no way I would have been so slavishly devoted to boho as I was back in 2003/4/5 without Vogue's constant covering of Sienna Miller and her fur gilets, or lucinda chamber's incredible shoots with models like Daria Werbowy and Karen Elson in far flung exotic locations like Morocco and Ecuador. The models wore head scarves and anklets, rings on their fingers and bells on their toes. I wanted to be a free spirit like them, without even really knowing what a free spirit was.
my dressing tableWhen I was 14, and studying for my yearly exams, I stood on tiptoe on my bed and covered my ceiling with pages ripped out from magazines, mostly adverts for luxury brands interspersed with some beautiful editorial shots. Over the years this graduated into a full on assault on my room, partly an attempt to cover up my hideous saccharine pink wall paint (remnants of a girly nursery), but partly because I wanted to surround myself with the arresting beauty that can be found in the pages of glossies. Say what you will about vogue there is no magazine that matches it (save perhaps harpers bazaar, but only in some countries) for sheer sartorial glamour. Whether it's the obvious kind, Caroline Trentini strutting her stuff in a floor length jersey gown, ruby red nails and a fur stole, or a less in your face version, like lily cole in a bed of roses wearing corsetted pastel blue gown or gemma ward and her one-in-a-million features, staring at you through heavy-lids and curled lashes.
It was vogue that taught me that scent should be worn wherever one wants to be kissed (via chanel, bien sur). It was magazines that taught me about fashion's leading players, from daphne guinness to jen brill to anouck lepere to alexa chung. It was magazines that provided me comfort and solace in dreary days as i pored over beautifully scented pages (vogue uk always smells divine) under the bed covers. It was magazines who taught me that you should always remove your make up before you go to bed, that you should scour vintage markets and op shops for the next big thing, that you should always put money aside to repair your shoes (although in recent times this advice hasn't quite been followed by yours truly, leading to shoes with holes in their soles... my bad).
I think that the most impacting effect of this magazine obsession has not been, then, a precocious baptism into fashion's world, nor one of inspiration, but rather a move within me to a different state of mind. As incongruous as it might sound, magazines taught me to not be a conspicuous consumer, to not mindlessly churn through clothes like the proverbial piranha, but rather to strive ever closer to the ultimate goal - effortless chic. Bandied about so much in magazines it might as well have its own byline, it is this goal, however disingenuous it may seem, that magazines have taught me to look for.
It's all in the way you read them. Even though they may seem to forever be exhorting you to purchase a new bag or splurge on a line of exorbitant hand-illustrated placement cards what magazines are really saying is 'look, here are all these beautiful things, one of them could be right for you.' Especially now this is even more clear with pages like 'work the splurge', showing women how to make their one big purchase co-exist harmoniously with the rest of their wardrobe, or pages that show readers how to update their current wardrobes or 'must have staples' with quirkly little accesories and touches that make it all personal and fun.
a small portion of my magazine collection as i moved some of it out from under my bed/in my wardrobe/on my floor into shelving.. still have to find something to do with all my british and american vogues though, there are too many of those for a shelf...Magazines have taught me restraint and humility - a $5000 is not a possibility, but hey, you can look till your heart's content (just ask the sales assistants at chanel who regularly greet me as i go to feel up the jumbo 2.55). Magazines have taught me beauty and glamour are not to be apologised for, that elegance is a woman's basic right, even if she chooses to dress in ripped tights and doc martens it's all in the pose. Magazines have taught me to search for inspiration everywhere. Magazines have taught me to be more adventurous with my dressing, and yet, to sometimes pare things back. A little goes a long way, and a little is better than nothing.
Magazines have taught me to accept me, whoever that is. And Vogue (harpers, elle, i-D, marie claire, tatler, grazia... you too), I think that the more than 400 titles I have in my room right now is thanks enough.
X
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