26 February 2010


I remember my first Vogue like it was yesterday. The October 2002 issue. The words in each article were so heavily embossed that they appeared to be dancing on the page. The images, a secret garden for my mind to play in, as I eagerly wondered what pleasures awaited me on each page. The sound of the pages as I flipped through, resembled moments from my childhood, on a sunny afternoon at home under a cool fan. The most romantic moment of my life, was when I was swept off my feet by the styling of the legendary Grace Coddington. This British darling was a river of creativity that flowed straight into the centre of this American fashion bible. Her wavy red wheat hair, whispered elegance and blew fashion onto the covers of Vogue. Each of her eye swallowing pieces charmed and had me secretly playing dress up as a teenager! Models did more than just pose while on set with her, they were constantly moving at the tempo of photographer's camera; a motion sickness for which one would gladly welcome. She helped me rediscover my wardrobe and reminded me of how the colour red could mean more than sexy. Even with shoes, she showed me how to create a romantic view from the waist down. Grace Coddington was the porcelain vase that sat on the shelf of my heart, her genius as a stylist made my eyes smile. The octopussy ink that fills the pages of Vogue would be dull without her; she gave it its signature colour.

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