Vogue is Forever

I was recently very upset to hear (second-hand mind you) that one of my favorite magazines- Domino- has been laid to rest. Ok, now this economy thing has gone too far! Domino is the sister magazine to my beloved Lucky, and reports on home décor in a stylish, modern way. No other magazine can replace it (as if I wasn’t heartbroken enough when the Martha Steward equivalent Blueprint went under last year after only a handful of issues). The publisher is sending, to finish out my subscription, get this- Cookie, the magazine about parenting and family lifestyle. I don’t know where to begin.

But while other magazines may come and go, the one steadfast and true glossy, like a beacon in the storm, is Vogue. Aahhh Vogue. I have almost every issue I’ve ever gotten. When I first moved from Florida five years ago, I made the terrible mistake of, gulp, trashing all my magazines. I know, I’m still upset about it, but it must have been in response to having to leave my books behind- in boxes! Cardboard boxes! My books don’t deserve that- they should be on a shelf, where I can see them and touch them and read them and tell them that I love them… as you can see, I’m still a little upset about it.

So now everywhere I go, the magazines come with me. Every time I move, I waver… do I really want to carry all these heavy effing magazines? I have boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes of magazines. But the answer is always, yes, yes, yes. Keep the magazines. I’ve even almost convinced myself that perhaps Vogue was a phase for me, that I’m not really a Vogue girl. But the warm tingle of reverence I feel whenever I gaze lovingly at even the advertisements tells me that yes, I am truly, now and forever, a Vogue girl.

I will admit that the past few years, the magazines have come in the mail, and I piled them, unopened, unread, their plastic wrappers intact. Because you can’t just read Vogue- it’s not like InStyle or US Weekly, which you can flip through at the salon or the waiting room at the dentist’s, you must devote yourself entirely to the reading. And the past few years, what with the heartbreak, depression, massive bouts of unemployment and mounting debt, I just haven’t had the heart to look at all the wondrous and earth-shatteringly beautiful things inside the pages of Vogue.

But now, I have eighteen months worth of unread magazines. Does it matter that they’re not current? Hell no! Vogue is timeless. You can open any issue from any date, and it would still be a soul-shatteringly profound experience. That is why I’m keeping mine. When I’m old and crazy and my house is over-run with feral cats, I’ll have all my Vogues to keep me company. A thing of beauty is a joy forever.