Once upon a time, Vogue Homme— especially their spring/summer issues, literally blossomed with the lightness of being with glorious stories of the new, sun-drenched season. I could smell the crisp spring dew, and feel the (Helmut Lang) silks and (Prada) nylons through the pages. God, even the graphic design then were gloriously executed down to the kerning… These days… Cold and dull as sidewalk slush, pulled together by people— llikely interns/jr designers, with the skill-level of any given desktop publisher rushed through design courses in 6-months. The art direction has been truly obnoxious: My eyes hurt and I don’ t want to read anything.
Men are sidelined to appease the unisex kidz in general. And it’s this bland, department-store unisex that’s the equivalent of how toddlers dress: Thanks to JW Anderson. If it were gener-bending, tradition-defying androgyny of the brand that provokes rather than sedate I’d be all for it. While women’s mags are plagued with polite, catalogue portraitures, men’s mags are overrun with boys playing dressup in oversized basics.. VH was never quite as alpha, hyper-masculine as AH+ and L’UOMO in their golden days; more gentlemanly-assured, and it’s nice to
still see men in this mag.
David’s story is solid enough, his 60s-thing always pulsates— I mean, he can’t really do much else, can he? Paolo’s Jeff Buckley tribute is nice enough. And if only the Frank feature actually had a proper shoot… But as usual, Marlon saves the day, even with the shoddy styling and silly poses. Nothing can “infantisize” this man...Pure unleashed masculinity ( and unapologetically cheesecake-ness) on display. The B&W direction of his story is likely a result of simmering down his smoulder so that his is more in line with the neutered, pubescent dreck of the current times (which look like miserable outtakes from the current era of the dire Another Man…Why Parisian flair would want to copy English-dowdiness is sort of beyond me).
Decent enough issue by today’s low standards… (With American Interview and L’UOMO dead to me, Another Man and Arena Homme Plus lacking any presence other than to indulge in Juergan’s tired whims, it’s more out of tradition/sense of nostalgia, that I still pick up VH… and for Marlon.. :sigh