I used to love looking through my mum's old knitting patterns, and poking fun at the silly clothes people used to wear. I also endured a full blown addiction to Elle and Vogue throughout my teenage years. So on the basis that I might one day have a daughter, or a son who loves fashion, I saved them.
TLOML has made a strong argument for the fact that online archives are now available with every fashion photo ever taken. But to my mind there's nothing like the sensory pleasure of holding a magazine, flicking through the pages, the scent of printer's ink on paper. So I ignore the internet and keep my antiquated paper versions safe and sound at home.
Now I don't buy Vogue so often. Sometimes I even forget fashion exists, for whole weeks at a time. That's beach living for you. But at the airport recently I found myself browsing this shelf looking for a little unchallenging flight fodder:
|On the rare occasion I read a magazine these days, I like it to be really easy to read|
I was jolted by the sight of September Vogue, thick as a phone book (remember them?) and glossy and beautiful. It weighs more than my laptop and didn't fit in my case. But Lady P might want to read it one day.
So, reader, I bought it.