FASHION Magazine

In 1953, the Museum of Modern Art in New York mounted a show that treated the automobile as an aesthetic achievement. In a Talk of the Town bit published in The New Yorker, the writer Brendan Gill played the Philistine, thinking old-fashioned thoughts about function and price as he was led through the exhibition by a curator from the museum’s department of architecture and design. The punchline of the piece occurred when, stopping by a Siata, the cool—Steve McQueen owned one—Italian sports car, Gill asked, “Handle nicely, does it?” The curator answered, “I don’t drive.”

Bill Blass, the American fashion designer, told a similar kind of joke in his memoir, Bare Blass. He confessed that “for eighteen years, beginning in the mid-seventies, I endorsed a line of Lincoln Continentals for the Ford Motor Company without knowing how to operate one.”

After reading those things, I—a non-driver for whom torque is something that happens on an ill-fitting T-shirt—felt less like a poseur going off to interview Max Wolff (page 78), a car designer now relishing his opportunity to reimagine the Lincoln.

Models generally don’t like to disclose their age. Sometimes it’s because they don’t want to be perceived as over the hill, other times it’s because they are working the runways sooner than they should be, given that some fashion councils have set a minimum age guideline of 16.

This makes it difficult to tell you who the youngest person in this issue is. But we know for certain who the oldest is: Iris Apfel, at 90, followed by China Machado at 82.

The fact that both of these women have recently appeared in ad campaigns and fashion spreads is wonderfully ironic. Especially since they are modelling not in spite of their advanced age but because of it. The courage to wear their wrinkles with pride has paid off in both reverence and renown. And they cleverly use fashion to ensure they aren’t any less alluring for it.

Not that there is anything wrong with a little tweak here and there, especially if, as Lynn Crosbie writes in “Audio Visual” (page 140), there is a body part you’ve come to detest.

When I was a newspaper reporter, the water-cooler chat often turned to “how we got the story.”

Investigative reporters would describe months spent wooing reluctant sources. Photographers would detail how they wound up in the right place at the right time. And foreign correspondents told tales of bribery and squalor.

Things aren’t quite so dramatic on the fashion beat, but we have our moments.

Runway photographer Peter Stigter, whose images you see throughout every issue of FASHION, often finds himself crammed onto a riser in show venues that are so stifling, the sweat from other shooters rains down on his head.

Just last week, I was rumbling toward a Mexican beach in a golf cart with two friends, debating an article on trends that appeared in the January issue of Vanity Fair.

Now back home, shivering despite a turtleneck and boots, I am writing about FASHION’s Spring 2012 Trend Issue and I can’t get that conversation out of my mind.

In the VF piece, writer Kurt Andersen asserts, among other things, that not much has changed style-wise over the past 20 years. That 2012 looks much like 1992. That jeans and sneakers remain a standard uniform for people of all ages. And that the proliferation of mid-priced retailers like Gap, Urban Outfitters and Anthropologie means practically anyone who wants to can shop stylishly, and this has resulted in an “all the same, all kind of cool” look on city streets.

Well, yes and no. Yes, there are fashion themes that now seem to endure from year to year. Once again spring is on the horizon and with it comes the annual crop of florals, crisp white cottons and tropical themes.

This month, we have devoted 16 pages to the extraordinary Bosnian-born Australian model Andrej Pejic, but there is still so much more to say. Pejic is a man who dresses like a woman—sometimes. However, he is not a cross-dresser in the way that some men dip into their wives’ panty drawers for a thrill. He is not a drag queen, like RuPaul, who routinely took three hours to transform from freckled Southern gentleman to seven-foot-tall glamazon in size 13 pumps. And he doesn’t like to say whether, like Chaz Bono, he is on his way to the other side.

So who is he?

Donning a tuxedo suit and tassel earrings, and adding a touch of metallic makeup, will ensure we all ring in 2012 in style. But after the party streamers are swept off to recycling, we promise to keep the festivities going. Next year marks FASHION’s 35th anniversary, and you’re all invited to join the celebrations.

We have lots of exciting surprises planned to mark this significant milestone. Beginning in February, each 2012 issue will offer a package of anniversary-themed stories. We’ll be digging into our archives to bring you the photos we feel are as captivating today as when they were snapped. We will be honouring stylish Canadians from coast to coast, and we will turn the spotlight on many of the designers and brands that are also observing milestone birthdays in 2012.

The February issue will also herald our 10th Annual Readers’ Choice Beauty Awards and the inauguration of a Beauty Hall of Fame, where your most-loved mascaras, face creams and lip balms will receive extra-special recognition.

Westons, Mimrans, Budman and Green. There are some Canadian fashion families that are so well documented, their faces are as familiar as Brad’s and Angelina’s. It’s not that we don’t revere these brilliant style mavericks for putting Holt Renfrew, Club Monaco, Joe Fresh and Roots on the map, but in this issue, we wanted to turn the spotlight on some Canadian fashion families you may not be as familiar with. We always assumed there was a Laura, for whom the chain is named, but we didn’t realize she opened shop in 1930. The story of how 100 Jacob stores were born out of a dream is an inspiration. And how marvellous that the Cherry family passed their knowledge of retail down like a precious heirloom to Barry and Deena Weinberg, who run the Max Mara flagship in Toronto.

“You’re a smart girl. You don’t need to work in fashion.”

The white-haired retiree uttering those words to a wide-eyed MBA grad who expressed interest in the clothing industry was oblivious to the fact that I was reeling from his remark.

Nor did anyone else around the breakfast table at a friend’s cottage twig to the fact that I had just been insulted. At one time, I would have piped up and suggested he ask billionaire Bernard Arnault, chairman and CEO of LVMH, whether he thinks there is any upside to a brilliant business mind in fashion.

Ten years ago this month, I was covering New York fashion week for The Toronto Star. On the morning of Sept. 11, I was in my hotel room, trying to send a batch of stories, and my laptop was not co-operating. Between calls to the newspaper’s IT department, my husband rang and told me to turn on the TV. Moments later, I watched the second plane fly into the World Trade Center.

It was the worst day of my life, as it was for so many others. And for years, I couldn’t think about what I’d witnessed: the ashes that fluttered down from the sky, the traumatized survivors at St. Vincent’s Hospital, the school bus full of children who had not been picked up at daycare.

Even someone who chooses a career in the public eye might not be all that comfortable being lavished with attention. “Some actors are very amorphous and transformative, and they need anonymity in order to exist psychologically,” Romola Garai tells features editor Rani Sheen in “Bright Light” (page 59). “And then others have strong, powerful presences and personality, and fame is something they are attracted to and that they need to be happy.”

Every time I heard our fashion director, Susie Sheffman, mention “the Turkey shoot,” I had visions of her chasing a squawking bird. But the Turkey on Sheffman’s mind these past several weeks is the land of exotic markets and ancient ruins—a perfect setting for this season’s maxi dresses, tribal patterns, headscarves and wide-brimmed hats.

Packing for a 20-page shoot 8,200 kilometres away requires strategic planning and ruthless editing. Even still, our team hit the road with 13 suitcases stuffed with clothes, 37 pairs of shoes, 50 pieces of jewellery and 25 pairs of sunglasses. “We shot one pair,” Sheffman says, laughing, on her return. “Our model’s eyes were just too beautiful to cover!”

I don’t think we have ever had a happier-looking model than Maye Musk, who appears in our “White Noise” story (page 158). It is probably no coincidence that she is also one of the oldest models to ever appear in our main photo spread. Musk is bursting with life and vigour, and when you learn her backstory in “Contributors” (page 40), it’s evident why.