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48 73 79 experience while the progressive 156

Masthead Star Quality VLife this year’s class of movement’s new Trouble & Strife
In a fashion career Actor Joe Alwyn is movers and shakers star, Alexandria An Irish family
54 that spans almost back with a slate looks ahead Ocasio-Cortez spilling with
Editor’s Letter four decades, of carefully chosen children—and
roles; data-driven
144 148
64 Michael Kors has Scenes from a commotion—
gone from upstart diets; a famous
Revolution Battle Royal is at the center of
Up Front London hotel opens With two tough-
Political unrest drove to institution— As young women Jez Butterworth’s
and done a world anew; and more as-nails roles, the The Ferryman,
Rawiya Kameir’s on the political left
family from Sudan of good with his 127 storm the gates of dauntless Claire which hits
to Côte d’Ivoire to philanthropic 15 Years of government, Foy sheds her Broadway this
Canada. As a third- work. Bette Midler CFDA/Vogue Irina Aleksander crown for a new set month after an
culture child, she sings the praises Fashion Fund reports on a of armor. Nathan acclaimed West End
wonders, Where of her longtime Famous alums game-changing Heller witnesses the run. By Adam Green
does she belong? friend reflect on their election and transformation CONTINUED>46

38 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

 DIOR.COM
NORSTROM
 November 2018

MADE IN THE SHADE

A THIRD-CENTURY ROMAN COLUMN SITS NEXT TO A LUNCH TABLE ON THE MAIN TERRACE OF THE CAPRI RETREAT
BELONGING TO THE DESIGN DUO BEHIND STUDIO PEREGALLI. PHOTOGRAPHED BY FRANÇOIS HALARD.

158 cliff in Capri, Studio 168 Rocky and model Cover Look
Performing Peregalli has created Moment of Imaan Hammam Nobody’s Queen
Miracles a dramatic retreat for the Month 182 Actor Claire Foy wears a Saint Laurent
Tony-winning two demanding—but Grace Coddington Index by Anthony Vaccarello dress. Maria
actress Cynthia not difficult—clients: and Louis Vuitton This fall, deliciously Tash cuff earring. To get this look, try:
Erivo makes the themselves. By deliver us the cozy knits done up Future Skin in Alabaster, HD Perfecting
giant leap from Hamish Bowles cat’s pajamas. in muted pastel Loose Powder, Philanthropy Cheek
stage to screen in tones fend off Color in Bliss, Waterproof Brow Definer
two new thrillers 166 170 in Oak Brown, Shine Eye Shade in Perle,
Ms. Popularity Faking It the frost without
out this fall. Faux Cils Longest Lash Mascara,
Is Chrissy Teigen— More and more losing their cool Lip Veil in Moabi, and Brilliant Gloss in
Hamish Bowles
tries to keep up unfiltered, hilarious, houses are forgoing 190 Love. All by Chantecaille. In this story:
adorable—the most animal skins in favor First Look hair, Duffy; makeup, Lucia Pieroni.
160 likable person on of chic shearling Details, see In This Issue.
Passion Project the internet? and faux fur— 194 Photographed by David Sims.
Perched atop a Jason Gay reports seen here on A$AP Last Look Fashion Editor: Camilla Nickerson.

46 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

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 ANNA WINTOUR
Editor in Chief
Fashion Director TONNE GOODMAN
Features Director EVE MACSWEENEY Market Director, Fashion and Accessories VIRGINIA SMITH
Executive Fashion Editor PHYLLIS POSNICK Style Director CAMILLA NICKERSON
International Editor at Large HAMISH BOWLES Fashion News Director MARK HOLGATE
Creative Digital Director SALLY SINGER

FA S H I O N /A C C E S S O R I E S
Bookings Director HELENA SURIC Accessories Director SELBY DRUMMOND
Editors ANNY CHOI, GRACE GIVENS, ALEX ANDRA GURVITCH, WILLOW LINDLEY, ALEX ANDRA MICHLER
Menswear Editor MICHAEL PHILOUZE
Associate Fashion Editors TAYLOR ANGINO, YOHANA LEBASI
Associate Market Editor MADELINE SWANSON Market Manager CAROLINE GRISWOLD
Fashion Market Assistant NAOMI ELIZEE Casting Assistant KELSEY LAFFERT Y

FA S H I O N N E W S
Fashion News Director CHIOMA NNADI Director, Vogue Runway NICOLE PHELPS
Fashion News Editor MONICA KIM Fashion News and Emerging Platforms STEFF YOTK A
Style Editor EDWARD BARSAMIAN Fashion Features Editor EVIANA HARTMAN
Archive Editor LAIRD BORRELLI-PERSSON Senior Fashion News Writers BROOKE BOBB, JANELLE OKWODU, LIANA SATENSTEIN
Fashion News Writers EMILY FARRA, RACHEL HAHN

BEAUTY
Beauty Directors CELIA ELLENBERG, CATHERINE PIERCY
Senior Beauty Editors K ATE BRANCH, LAURA REGENSDORF
Beauty Writer LAUREN VALENTI Beauty Editors JENNA RENNERT, ZOE RUFFNER

F E AT U R E S
Executive Editor TAYLOR ANTRIM
Senior Editors CHLOE SCHAMA, COREY SEYMOUR
Entertainment Director JILLIAN DEMLING
Culture Editor ALESSANDRA CODINHA Culture Writer BRIDGET READ
Living Editor ELLA RILEY-ADAMS Living Contributing Editor ALEX ANDRA MACON Living Writer ELISE TAYLOR
Features Editor LILAH RAMZI Features Associates MICHAELA BECHLER, NOOR BRARA
Features Assistants MARLEY MARIUS, LAUREN SANCHEZ Enertainment Assistant KEATON BELL

C R E AT I V E
Creative Director DAVID SEBBAH
Design Director AURELIE PELLISSIER ROMAN
Art Director NOBI K ASHIWAGI
Digital Art Director SARA JENDUSA Senior Designer IVANA CRUZ
Visual Director, Research MAUREEN SONGCO Senior Visual Editor, Research TIM HERZOG Visual Research Editor DARIA DI LELLO
Visual Directors NIC BURDEKIN, EMILY ROSSER Senior Visual Editor LIANA BLUM
Visual Editors OLIVIA HORNER, THOMAS WOLFE Senior Visual Producer ERINA DIGBY Visual Producer IAN CRANE Visual Associate LINDSEY LAW

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Digital Director ANNA-LISA YABSLEY
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Editorial Business Director MIRA ILIE
Associate Director of Logistics MIMOZA NELA Senior Product Manager BEN SMIT Digital Content Manager OLIVIA WEISS
Director, Social Media GENA K AUFMAN Senior Manager, Social Media LUCIE ZHANG Manager, Social Media PUJA PRAK ASH
Lead Visual Editor, Emerging Platforms AMANDA BROOKS Associate Editor, Emerging Platforms NIA PORTER Production Manager MALEANA DAVIS
Associate Director, Audience Development ABBY SJOBERG Manager, Analytics SARAH LEE Digital Editorial Associate SEAN FELTON
Engineering Manager GILES COPP Product Manager K ATE DEVINE

VIDEO
Supervising Producer, Video KIMBERLY ARMS Senior Producer, Video DAYNA CARNEY
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European Editor FIONA DARIN European Fashion Associates VIOLA MARELLA BISIACH, CAMILA HENNESSY

Head of Content Strategy and Operations CHRISTIANE MACK Head Creative Director RAÚL MARTINEZ
CONTRIBUTING EDITORS
TAMAR ADLER, JORDEN BICKHAM, CAMERON BIRD, MIRANDA BROOKS, SARAH BROWN, GRACE CODDINGTON,
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48 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

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52 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

Letter from the Editor
PROENZA
SCHOULER’S
LAZARO
HERNANDEZ
(LEFT) AND JACK
MCCOLLOUGH
IN 2004.

LAURA VASSAR
BROCK (FAR LEFT)
AND KRISTOPHER
BROCK (SECOND
FROM LEFT) IN 2016.

TELFAR CLEMENS
(STANDING,
SECOND FROM
LEFT) IN 2017.

AURORA JAMES
(FAR RIGHT) OF
BROTHER VELLIES
IN 2015.
ALEXANDER
WANG IN 2008.

Good Fund
THIS NOVEMBER WE CELEBRATE the fifteenth year of
the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund, our annual initiative to
find and nurture the very best new American design talent.
In honor of this anniversary, Tonne Goodman and Mikael
Jansson photographed models Kendall Jenner and Imaan
Hammam wearing many of the past winners and finalists,
from Proenza Schouler to Gypsy Sport, Rodarte to Telfar,
Alexander Wang to Thom Browne. It’s an impressive roll call
of designers who’ve gone from being local heroes to marquee
names. There’s also a portrait of all those who are taking part
this year: Batsheva, Bode, Christian Cowan, Hunting Season,
Jonathan Cohen, Luar, Matthew Adams Dolan, Pyer Moss,
Rebecca de Ravenel, and Scosha. Congratulations to all of
you! Meanwhile, Sally Singer, our Creative Digital Director
and a member of the fund’s original judging committee, has
crafted an elegant and concise backstory of why and how
we started it in the first place.
PROE N ZA SCHOUL E R: ARTHU R E LG ORT. WANG : N O RMAN JE AN ROY. ALL OTH ERS : GREG O RY HAR RIS.
Of course, things were very different back then. It’s hard
to imagine now, but save for a few titans of worldwide repute,
American designers were barely known beyond our shores.
There was little e-commerce, no Instagram; corporate culture
wasn’t much part of the everyday narrative of the industry,
and street style was something documented only by one’s
own eyes and not the media frenzy it has now become. In
other words, fashion has irrevocably changed—and so, too,
have the designers coming through the fund.
We’ve just finished the spring 2019 New York collections,
and traditionally these September shows are our chance
to see any given year’s finalists in action. This time was no
different—and yet it was. When we started the fund, almost
every single competitor stuck to the straightforward showing
of their collections on the runway, speaking really only to
those in the room. That was what they aspired to, and that’s
what we expected of them. This time E D I T O R ’ S L E T T E R > 6 0

54 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

 THE NEW FRAGRANCE BY

A V A I L A B L E A T B A R N E YS N E W YO R K A N D O N B A R N E YS . C O M

H A R MON Y IS TH E SOURCE OF BEAUTY

T H E H A R M O N I S T. C O M
Letter from the Editor
LEFT) AND KATE
GREG CHAIT OF
THE ELDER
STATESMAN
JOSEPH
ALTUZARRA
IN 2011.
round, the judging committee saw
C O N T I N U E D F R O M PAG E 5 4
a celebratory and engaging vision of the world today—cul-
turally, politically, and socially. Designers are grappling with
inclusivity, sustainability, and the notion of community, and
blasting it outward to whoever will listen. The realities of all
our lives were writ large in the collections of our class of 2018,
and they were immeasurably better for it. As always, the very
best fashion not only responds to the world, it reflects it.
Through the Fashion Fund, we’ve been able to transform
the careers of many of those who’ve come through it, and
that’s something that I, along with all the judges over the
years who’ve given so much of their time and commitment,
am enormously proud of. Yet it’s not a one-way street. So
many of the finalists have challenged us to see fashion in
new ways—and made us think about the need to challenge
the status quo.
That was underscored by what we saw in New York for
next spring. There are Kate and Laura Mulleavy of Rodarte,
for instance, who returned to show here after a few seasons in
Paris. Their fantastical, romantic vision has flourished into
all sorts of creative endeavors and allowed them to define
their own independent sense of success while becoming a vital
and important label in today’s world. Or Telfar Clemens of
60 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
JASON WU
IN 2008.
RODARTE’S
LAURA (FAR
MULLEAVY
IN 2006.
MARCHESA’S
GEORGINA
CHAPMAN (FAR
LEFT) AND KEREN
CRAIG (NEAR
LEFT) IN 2006.
IN 2012.
RODARTE AN D MARC HESA: FRE DE RIK E HE LW IG. WU AND ALTUZ ARRA: NOR MAN J EAN ROY. THE E LDE R STATES MAN: PE TE R LINDBE RG H.
Telfar, the 2017 winner of the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund
Award. His terrific collection showed what can happen a
year on from taking the big prize: He confidently advanced
his streetwear with sophisticated but youthful tailoring, and
showed it all on a cast of characters drawn from his universe
to a live soundtrack performed by his friends.
Many of the latest crop of finalists emphasize this no-
tion of working together, and the CFDA/Vogue Fashion
Fund couldn’t exist if we didn’t think that way as well. I’d
like to take this opportunity to thank all the finalists who
pushed themselves to be their best during the process; the
past and present judges; all of the Vogue and CFDA staff,
who have rolled up their sleeves and done so much to help,
year in, year out; and the people who generously mentored
the winners, many continuing to do so long after they were
expected to. Without you all, the fund wouldn’t have been
able to come this far.
BARNEYS NEW YORK
BERGDORF GOODMAN
BLUEMERCURY
NEIMAN MARCUS
NORDSTROM
SAKS FIFTH AVENUE
CHANTECAILLE.COM

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Up Front
Citizen of the World
Political unrest drove Rawiya Kameir’s family from Sudan to Côte d’Ivoire to
Canada. As a third-culture child, she wonders, Where does she belong?
W
hen I was a child, my mother liked
telling people that I’d learned
French in a month flat. It was
true: My family had moved to a
Francophone country, and a few
weeks of playing outside was all
it took. But her retellings weren’t simply boasts about her
daughter’s abilities; they, like much of my childhood, were
proof of just how easily a young brain, not yet calcified with
experience and expectation, can adapt. From there, I would
learn firsthand that it isn’t just language that can be absorbed.
Like both of my parents, I was born in Sudan. But by the
time I came along, in the mid-1980s, a fragile political situa-
tion had become increasingly volatile. My parents had met in
England a decade earlier as doctoral students, and returned
to Khartoum as professors at the national university. When a
chaotic regime shift descended on the country, however, my
father’s political allegiances eventually led to our exile. He left
first, and we followed. I was four, and my brother was seven.
After Sudan, we had a brief stint in Cairo, where my grand-
parents, like many Sudanese of our privileged class, kept an
64 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
apartment. Those few months, a resetting of sorts, marked a
period of intense insecurity and upheaval. One of my earliest
memories is of my father trying—and failing miserably—to
coax my curls into one of the cute hairstyles I wore then, and
of a too-loose pink bauble flopping painfully against the side
of my head. Sometimes I wonder if I didn’t just dream this
up, an approximate amalgam of stories I heard over the years
and things I know to be true about my dad and domesticity.
It was also an apt metaphor for that time of unease.
My mother soon got a job with an international or-
ganization that relocated us to Abidjan, Côte d’Ivoire, a
nearly nine-hour flight away from the life we knew. Côte
LORRAINE CH ITTO C K/ARAB IAN EYE /RE D
d’Ivoire in the 1990s was at relative peace. The president,
Félix Houphouët-Boigny, was a beloved, if autocratic, leader
who had been in power since the country’s independence
in 1960. Though widely considered a puppet of the former
French colonialists, he ruled with a gentle fist. In my head, I
called him Babar, after my other favorite chief U P F R O N T> 6 6
DISTANT HILLS OF HOME
TWO WOMEN MAKE THEIR WAY ACROSS FARMED FIELDS
ON THE WESTERN SIDE OF SUDAN’S TAKA MOUNTAINS.
 Elsa Hosk

Car nivale Collection

Flagship Boutique
48 East 57th Street
N e w Yo r k 2 1 2 . 7 1 9 . 5 8 8 7
jacobandco.com
Up Front Beyond Borders
elephant (Côte d’Ivoire’s symbolic state animal is the elephant,
though decades of poaching have made the species there
close to extinct).
Abidjan was a safe and welcoming place to make a home
after the tumult of our departure from Sudan. It helped that
my mom’s job with an international organization offered us
diplomatic status. My brother and I attended one of the only
English-language schools in the city, a K-12 that never exceed-
ed 450 students. We spoke a fluid combination of English,
French, and Arabic, and learned to easily pass between the
Sudanese culture at home, the American culture at school,
and the Ivorian culture that permeated both.
For a schoolwide talent show in fourth grade, a Sudanese
classmate persuaded me to sign up for a dance performance
in the style of a traditional wedding
from our home country. She was
obsessed with the videotapes our I keep a tiny bag packed
families received of brides in beau-
tiful fabrics and glimmering jewelry, in my closet in case the
making me watch them over and over. wrong people discover
I never felt especially connected to the
idea of getting married, much less the old green passport that
getting married Sudanese-style, but I once defined me
relented. We wore tangerine-colored
thobes (intricate dresses constructed
out of single pieces of yards-long textiles), applied gobs of
henna to our palms, and sat as kohl was applied to our lower
lids. I tried not to fidget as my eyes teared up in the makeshift
costume department in the second-grade homeroom where
I’d learned cursive. When we received the videotape of our
own performance; I watched myself looking thoroughly
uninterested, an early mirror of the disconnection I felt from
my own culture. For the following year’s show, I performed
a choreographed dance to “Daisy Dukes,” swapping out
my traditional dress for a denim skirt and a Reebok T-shirt,
while my friend did another bridal dance, solo.
A
couple of days before my twelfth birthday,
my aunt took me to get my inaugural re-
laxer, a burning alchemy that promised to
turn my frizzy hair straight—and to trans-
form me in the process. About halfway into
the ordeal, the gendarmes arrived. Out of
the thin Harmattan air, dozens of militia began parading
outside the salon, dressed in full uniform, singing patriotic
songs and marching loudly through the otherwise quiet
residential neighborhood. When I picture it now, I can still
hear the sound of metal pins clinking against plastic rollers.
It was a coup d’état, the first of multiple political inter-
ruptions that would shift the ground beneath me and forever
alter my understanding of home and nation. After my aunt
thrust a handful of bills at the receptionist, we retreated to
my family’s Nissan hatchback, a car whose bright-red paint
job belied its failures, such as the fact that the window rollers
would fall clean off if any one of the two doors was slammed
shut. I wondered what the unexpected detour would mean
for my newly permed hair. That’s life, I would later learn—
mundanity cutting through madness.
66 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
By 2003, the instability had turned to full-out war. When
I procrastinated on a paper or failed to study properly for a
midterm test, I’d wish for another coup, much in the same
way that East Coast kids pray for snow days. Soon, though,
only several dozen of us remained at the school. We were
the ones with “bad” passports, the ones without secondary
citizenships or whose countries of origin were not hospita-
ble. I struggled to process the anomaly of being a member
of a sociopolitical elite in one country, while knowing that
my citizenship made me unimportant virtually anywhere
else. In 1998, the Clinton administration bombed a medi-
cine factory in Khartoum. (The plant was thought to have
been manufacturing a chemical weapon used by Al-Qaeda,
though the intel turned out to be shaky.) A few years later,
in 2001, Sudan was considered only a
few steps from membership in George
W. Bush’s “axis of evil,” the triumvi-
rate of Iraq, Iran, and North Korea
as de facto enemies of the American
state. I began to learn what it meant
to see your culture through the eyes
of others.
More moves ensued. During the
Christmas break of eleventh grade,
spent in Cairo, where my father was
now living and working, it was decided I would stay on and
finish the academic year at the American school. I quickly
started a new life before I had a chance to say goodbye to my
old one. Six months later I was in Tunisia, where my mom’s
job had temporarily relocated, to finish high school. Tunis,
the city where the so-called Arab Spring would be launched
a few years later, was an enigma—a shiny liberal metropolis
stretched along a beautiful coast. Like Egypt, it felt familiar,
though not always welcoming. We had arrived as part of a
wave of black African families, and racism and xenophobia
often meant harassment at the hands of strangers. Still, for
my friends and me, it also meant the opportunity to shape
ourselves around a new culture.
Until that point, my life story had been fairly easy to un-
derstand and even easier to explain: My parents were from
Sudan; I’d spent most of my life in Côte d’Ivoire; I’d attended
international schools that practiced globalism but ultimately
imposed American culture on their students through their
curricula and teaching staff. As well as using American text-
books, we did distinctly American things: played capture the
flag and ultimate Frisbee, attended proms with themes like
“Under the Midnight Stars” and “Enchanted Kingdom.”
My parents instilled our own Sudanese culture in me and
my brother, though not so overbearingly that I felt the need
to rebel: Wherever we lived, our apartment was decorated in
beautiful artifacts from home—elaborate silver jewelry and
hand-carved wooden dolls painted in bright colors—and we
regularly heard stories about the good old days of our parents’
youth in Khartoum. We studied Arabic and the Quran on
Saturday mornings, until our teacher proved more interested
in being a student and learning English from us. We spent ev-
ery summer in Cairo, where we’d become steeped in a swirl of
Sudanese and Egyptian culture. The tangible, U P F R O N T> 6 8
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Up Front Beyond Borders
easy-to-love things that make up a sense of home—food,
music, clothing—were all around us. Through interactions
with family and family friends, we learned about other, more
abstract national qualities: generosity, hospitality, strong
family bonds, but also conservatism, shows of righteousness,
and judgment. Unlike some of my friends, who internalized
racist Western critiques of their home cultures as oppressive
or crude, I always recognized the beauty and value of where
we came from. I didn’t rage against it. Instead I felt like a
dull magnet, unable to attach to the traditions and ways of
thinking that were supposed to shape much of my identity.
I also felt the guilt associated with that. I couldn’t muster up
a connection with Sudan, and that often felt like a betrayal.
And then: another layer of identity. When I was seventeen,
my parents dropped me off in
Toronto to start a new life as a
college freshman. I moved into
the dorms of a large school on
the city’s northernmost edge, and
quickly acclimatized to student
life. On the morning five years
later when I became a Canadi-
an citizen, I woke up early and
steamed the dress that made me
feel the most grown-up, a slate-
gray sheath from Club Monaco
that I wore with an old fur stole.
In a few months, I’d be moving to
New York for grad school. The
officer administering the swear-
ing-in ceremony made me repeat
the oath in private because I
hadn’t done it convincingly. “We
need to know you really mean TAKE THE CAKE
it,” he said, flashing a smile. I THE AUTHOR TURNING EIGHT, ABIDJAN, CÔTE D’IVOIRE.
laughed uncomfortably. I was
Canadian. I had been granted a freedom that I still can’t
fathom. My Sudanese passport, which I’d held all my life,
had become just a fraction of who I was. The official record
had finally caught up to my own view of my identity—as
free-flowing and malleable.
T
hroughout all the tumult we experienced,
my parents worked hard—often in different
countries—to maintain stability. Eventually
we all became Canadian citizens. My memo-
ries of Sudan are few and fleeting—standing
in a hallway with my brother as the water
rose, in what must have been the flood of 1988; afternoon
turning to evening in my grandparents’ backyard; slamming
my finger in a heavy yellow door during a game of hide-and-
seek, and being tricked into going to the doctor’s with ice
cream. The scar, a little crescent hollow in the ring finger of
my right hand, is the only proof. But none of those memories
helps me to answer the question “Where are you from?”
I spent years yearning for an attachment to my culture, one
I saw my friends and cousins enjoy, and feeling responsible
for its absence. Distance and diaspora can create even more
68 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
powerful bonds, but that was not the case for me. I often have a
silent panic attack when someone asks me about my heritage.
I hesitate, not unlike the pause I take when I introduce myself:
a beat in which I steel myself for the eventuality that I’ll have
to repeat my name, offer a phonetic spelling or, worse yet, tell
people they cannot call me Sarah or some other name they’ll
find “easier to remember.” But while there’s only one answer
to what my name is, there are half a dozen to where I’m from.
As I grew older and more removed from each country I’d
lived in, I began to question the assumptions I had about
citizenship and identity. No sweep of history or specific
circumstance can explain me. When home is different de-
pending on who asks, you start to invent and memorize
neat little answers, expressions of fleeting convenience. For
years, I found it difficult to recon-
cile the contradictions of being a
third-culture child, while know-
ing that I felt especially removed
from my first-culture roots. It’s
a cognitive dissonance I rarely
talk about, aware of the many
privileges I’ve enjoyed untethered
to my citizenship. And yet it fol-
lows me. In 2017, Sudan was one
of seven countries on Trump’s
original travel ban, until it was
replaced by Chad. I have been a
Canadian citizen for nearly ten
years, yet I tremble every time I
approach an airport immigration
officer. I live and work legally in
the U.S., but I keep a tiny bag
packed in my closet, in case the
wrong people discover the old
green passport that once defined
me. Even for the lucky ones like
me, peace feels fragile, and the security that comes with know-
ing you belong where you live can seem forever out of reach.
Narratives about immigration and migration are often
harrowing and cruel: We have become accustomed to deeply
upsetting accounts of children separated from their parents,
and migrants drowned in sea crossings, as if in punishment
for having too much hope. These stories highlight the ease
with which governments and corporations have normalized
violence at our borders. But we are also defined by other
stories. Immigrants and migrants have love affairs, jokes,
whims—all the things that make us human don’t cease to
exist just because border policies or political circumstances
change. We know citizenship can be a dangerous political
weapon, but a nomadic life has taught me that it doesn’t have
to be the sum of a person’s identity.
COU RTESY OF RAWIYA K AMEIR
“In my language there is no word for citizen,” wrote the
South African poet Keorapetse Kgositsile in his 2008 poem
“No Serenity Here,” a sharp critique of the lingering effects of
colonialism. Instead, he offers moagi, the Setswana word for
“resident.” Indeed, citizen is not the same as resident, which, in
its fluidity, more fully understands the experiences of my life:
You can belong anywhere while still belonging to yourself. 
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 Star Quality
In a fashion career that spans almost four decades, Michael Kors has gone from
upstart to institution—and done a world of good with his philanthropic work.
Bette Midler sings the praises of her longtime friend.
MICHAEL KORS IS WHAT EVERY young designer wants Everyone in them is either on their way there or just returning
to grow up to be: a gajillionaire. from a brief rendezvous—private jets, yachts, great clothes,
There, I’ve said it—but let me add that I don’t think there’s and a little mischief.) There he was at a tiny outdoor table,
a single soul who would begrudge him a nickel of that. He wearing a turquoise linen shirt the color of his eyes and
made it the old-fashioned way—by working hard and using surrounded by a group of people clutching their sides with
every ounce of his enormous talent, his intelligence, and laughter. He left his table, bounded up to me and introduced
his radiant good humor to lift him to the top of a business himself, and I fell in love then and there.
based on dreams and that most ephemeral of things: beauty. This was before Michael became known around the world
C HRIST INA Z IMP EL

It was many, many years ago that I first encountered Mi- as the hilarious judge of Project Runway, where, season after
chael, on the island of Capri, at the sidewalk bar in front of season, the young (and youngish) designers tried their best to
the Grand Hotel Quisisana. (I mean, of course it would be impress. I think people tuned in mostly to hear what Michael
Capri—doesn’t it make perfect sense? Just look at his ads! would say about the various outfits that came strutting or

B R O U G H T TO YO U B Y
VOGUE.COM NOVEMBER 2018 73
 stumbling down the catwalk week after week. Critically, he
always hit the nail on the head, but he did it with panache,
and somehow managed to be funny rather than cruel. Of
course, this endeared him to all of us watching: Those poor
hopefuls could have been any of us! Who knew fashion could
be so much fun (and so much hard work)?
Now the world recognizes Michael as a wildly successful
designer—not just of fashion but of what is essentially a life-
style brand, with 1,000 stores around the world. His fashion
shows are a perennial top ticket, and every year brings new
accolades. I am so happy for him—many people are, because
he has done the impossible: He has made a success without
sacrificing a scintilla of either his honor or his vision; he has
remained human (and hilarious) and has earned our love
and devotion by making us all feel good.
When I returned to New York City after nearly 20 years
in L.A., I found myself on the Upper East Side with nothing
to wear. Aiuto! I was unprepared for how many benefits and
public appearances made up “the season” in New York, and
found it not just daunting but horrifyingly expensive. I ran
from one designer to another but still looked underdone.
Then I remembered Michael. Not only was he delighted
to help, but he put me at ease by showing me how I could
make a big splash with very little effort. (There’s nothing that
appeals to me more.) Before I knew it, I was in possession
of beautiful sheath dresses and sparkling skirts worn with
low-cut sweaters—a perfect mix of formal and informal.
One skirt in particular, which he had had made in India, was
composed mostly of silver crystals and was see-through up to
the thighs, where it zigzagged around the body—a knockout.
Years later, I still wear most of those clothes.
There is, however, a side to Michael that I was unaware
of in those days—a side that cemented my love for him—
and that’s his philanthropy. Michael married his longtime
boyfriend, Lance Le Pere, in 2011, and together they have
poured their resources into many nonprofit organizations.
Chief among them is God’s Love We Deliver, which started
out with one woman delivering a meal via bicycle to a man
dying from AIDS and now brings more than 7,000 nutritious,
individually tailored meals each day to people too sick to
shop or cook for themselves.
I remember the AIDS crisis in the beginning of the eighties
vividly. It was a time of true horror for the gay community,
which had done so much for me—a cascade of confusion
and terror with no end in sight and no interest or help from
the federal government. Everywhere was death and rumors
of death—of friends, colleagues, stars in their fields, people
we loved and admired, with whom we worked or who lived
next door. It was unbearable. I lost my two best friends to
AIDS, along with so many more that I lost count. For years,
funerals and memorials made up my social life.
Michael was proactive. After first volunteering in the
kitchen of God’s Love, he quickly became their vocal ad-
vocate—putting himself right in the trenches of the crisis
to bring actual relief to the suffering. Michael worked with
God’s Love for 20 years before joining the board, where he has
served for the past five years. In 2015, with the help of many
donors and a very significant contribution from Michael
and Lance, the organization’s brand-new, state-of-the-art
building opened in SoHo.
In 2013, after years of learning about the effects of hun-
ger on children’s lives, Michael entered into a long-term
74 NOVEMEBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
partnership with the United Nations World Food Programme.
His Watch Hunger Stop campaign has delivered more than
seventeen million meals to hungry children through the
WFP’s school-meals program—a primary reason parents
send their children to school in countries including Cambo-
dia, Nicaragua, Uganda, and Mozambique. For all of these
efforts, Michael was named a Global Ambassador Against
Hunger for the
United Nations
World Food Pro-
gramme in 2015,
and in 2016 he
was awarded the
McGovern-Dole
Leadership Award
for outstanding
c o n t r i bu t i o n s
to ending world
hunger.
I may as well
confess: I, too, 1
have a nonprof-
it—not quite as
well known, but certainly every bit as meaningful to me.
It’s called the New York Restoration Project, and it’s de-
voted to keeping parks and gardens in all five boroughs
of New York clean, green, and accessible to all. We have
been in business for nearly 24 years and have removed tons
of garbage from public parks; we have built parks; and we
are the proud owners of 52 community gardens, where
MIDLE R: B ILLY FAR RE LL AG E NCY/S HUTTE RSTOC K
people grow their own food and hold outdoor events in
their neighborhoods. NYRP is a great organization—but
a tough sell! (Want to clear a room faster than a 110-slide
PowerPoint? Just say the words clean, green, open space!)
Of the 52 gardens we bought in 1999, most have been
renovated, and all are in public use. Michael and Lance have
been staunch supporters of NYRP for 21 years; in fact, they
adopted a garden, the Essex Street Community Garden in
Brooklyn. I was at that garden’s opening, and everyone was in
tears. The lot had always been in use, but now it is beautiful.
Michael has been on our board for six years, and every year
at our chief fund-raiser, Hulaween (Hal-
loween with a Hawaiian twist, natch), he
re-creates his duties from Project Runway
by serving as our costume judge. (We have
had some unusual categories: My favorite
is What the Hell Were You Thinking? You
can only imagine.)
All politics is local, as the saying goes,
and most charity and philanthropy are,
too. What you do on your block, and in
your town, matters. Eleanor Roosevelt said
a mature person is one “who walks humbly
and deals charitably with the circumstances
of life, knowing that in this world all of us
need both love and charity.” By this defi-
nition, Michael and Lance are surely two
of the most mature people you are likely
to encounter, wise in the ways of what it
requires to be at peace with yourself. They
are a light in this world—and isn’t that why
6
we are all here? 
 3

5
7 KORS CORPS
1. FROM FAR LEFT:
MODELS ARIZONA MUSE,
JACQUELYN JABLONSKI,
KENDRA SPEARS, AND
KARLIE KLOSS,
PHOTOGRAPHED BY MARIO
TESTINO, VOGUE, 2011.
2. WITH MIDLER IN 2011.
3. RIHANNA,
PHOTOGRAPHED BY ANNIE
LEIBOVITZ, VOGUE, 2012.
4. FROM LEFT: WITH GIGI
HADID AND LANCE LE PERE,
PHOTOGRAPHED BY MARIO
TESTINO, VOGUE, 2015.
5. EMMA STONE,
PHOTOGRAPHED BY MERT
ALAS AND MARCUS
PIGGOTT, VOGUE, 2016.
6. MICHELLE OBAMA,
PHOTOGRAPHED BY ANNIE
LEIBOVITZ, VOGUE, 2013.
7. MERYL STREEP,
PHOTOGRAPHED BY ANNIE
LEIBOVITZ, VOGUE, 2017.

75
 Fashion
Culture
Beauty

VOGUE.COM NOVEMBER 2018 79

V L IFE FLASH

Sir Ben Kingsley, Oscar Isaac, Olivia Colman, Rachel

Weisz, Russell Crowe, Nicole Kidman, Emma Stone.) “It’s Modern
definitely a conscious decision,” he says. “I don’t want to
jump into something big for the sake of it. It’s far more
interesting to work with great filmmakers.”
This winter he plays one “decent, loyal” guy—a con-
Relics
Go East! Women are
sort to Margot Robbie’s Queen Elizabeth I in Mary wrapping themselves
Queen of Scots—while in other recent work, he plays
a trio of problematic ones. First, in Chris Weitz’s post- up in chinoiserie-
Holocaust heist movie, Operation Finale, Alwyn is the inspired prints.
anti-Semitic son of Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann
(Kingsley). Next, in Joel Edgerton’s Boy Erased, about
gay-conversion therapy, he’s a villainous Christian college
student. And finally, in Yorgos Lanthimos’s rollicking
dark comedy The Favourite, he’s a debauched aristocrat
in the eighteenth-century court of Queen Anne (Colman).
Alwyn’s character is a pawn of Stone’s scheming for the
queen’s favor, but in the process he gets some of the film’s
most absurdly funny interludes: a hilariously anachronistic
waltz with Weisz, a flirtatious brawl with Stone, a very,
very unsexy sex scene. (Working with Lanthimos was “ri-
diculous fun. There was never any discussion about social
etiquette, history, character, intention. For two weeks’ AMAL
CLOONEY
rehearsal, we just rolled around IN OSSIE
“It’s far more on the floor playing games.”) CLARK.
In person, Alwyn is angeli-
interesting to cally handsome—like a Pre-
work with great Raphaelite knight—but boyish
and wholesome-seeming, from
filmmakers” his normcore outfit (shorts,
Champion T-shirt, gray run-
ning shoes) to his drink order (peppermint tea) and his
unfailingly polite manner (he asks as many questions as
he answers). Until recently, he lived with his parents and

CLOONEY: CIAOPIX/FREZZA LAFATA/BACKGRID. BIEL: JAMES DEVANEY/GETTY IMAGES. LE BON: ANDREAS

fifteen-year-old brother in North London. At home, he
hangs out with the half-dozen friends he’s had since he

RE NTZ /G ET TY IMAG ES FOR JAEG ER -L ECOU LTRE . BAC KGROUN D: J.C. ROSE MAN N/G E TTY IMAGES.
was a kid playing footie in the streets of Tufnell Park and
climbing trees in nearby Hampstead Heath. In between
parts, he tries to keep his freelancer’s anxiety at bay by
imposing structure on sometimes aimless days: exercise
in the morning; an hour reading (he’s been on an A. M.
Homes kick: “So funny, but also hits you in the gut”); a
walk or a gallery visit; a trip to the pub with a buddy. “I
don’t feel like I’ve changed,” he reflects.
But one thing in his life has undeniably changed: For
more than a year, Alwyn has been in a tightly guard-
ed relationship with Taylor Swift, and this can mean
straddling worlds. When I first lay eyes on him, during
a post-screening Q&A for Operation Finale at Manhat-
tan’s 92nd Street Y, it’s clear that the mostly gray-haired
crowd regards him as the guy onstage who isn’t Sir Ben
Kingsley. But as Swift’s boyfriend, he’s half of an intensely
scrutinized celebrity couple. Alwyn visibly tenses when
asked about this duality. His relationship is “not for public
consumption,” he insists. “I like being in a screening where
99 percent of the people have no idea,” he says about the
oblivious 92nd Street Y crowd. “Show them who you are
through what you do.”—JULIA FELSENTHAL CHARLOTTE
LE BON IN DIOR.

80 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

Mathilde Brandi yves-salomon.com
Arles, France
V L IFE
FAS H I O N
AFTER THE FUND
Joy to the World
At Wes Gordon’s Carolina Herrera,
having fun is a serious business.
“OH MY GOD, YES,” says Wes Gordon, entering a banquette-
filled room at the offices of Carolina Herrera, where he be-
came creative director this past February. “It’s Dolly Parton,
right?” An ear-to-ear smile breaks across the blue-eyed de-
signer’s face. Parton’s “9 to 5” is pumping through the sound
system, and a model—Gordon is in the middle of a fitting, a
few days before his debut runway show for the house—has
appeared in a dramatic tiered top and skirt. The pieces float
with rings of lace and daisy-embellished tulle—the look is
very country, something of a New Age Southern-belle Dolly.
“It’s a sign,” says the Atlanta-raised Gordon, kicking back
and sipping an iced coffee through a paper straw (“a new
office policy,” he says). Then he laughs. “Over Labor Day
Weekend, I was close to Dollywood. I wanted—needed—to
make the 45-minute drive, but nobody else was on board.”
The affable Gordon worked side by side with Herrera—
who stepped into the role of global brand ambassador when
her successor was announced—for about a year. He had
82 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
ALL SMILES
GORDON BACKSTAGE
AFTER HIS FIRST
CAROLINA HERRERA
SHOW IN NEW YORK.
already halted his own nearly decade-old namesake label,
which was well known for its contemporary (and quite
pretty) womenswear. “I could tell that he had a great eye,”
Herrera says. “He understood the style codes of the house
and the importance of the atelier, which was important to
me.” (An impressive feat on Gordon’s part: At 32, he’s five
years younger than the Carolina Herrera label itself, which
Herrera founded in 1981.) The two continue to WhatsApp
with each other, though Herrera has given Gordon free
rein. “She would always tell me, ‘Don’t be afraid to just
be elegant,’ ” Gordon says with a look of fond reminis-
cence. “I think being wonderfully elegant is kind of daring
sometimes. There’s this misconception that elegance has
to be stuffy, but it’s often more irreverent and witty. I like
N INA W ESTE RVE LT
to keep that in mind.”
While this fanciful approach is very much in line with the
uptown splendor of Herrera’s established aesthetic, Gor-
don’s early work for the house is augmented FA S H I O N > 8 4
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V L IFE
Past Perfect
with his sunny, charged sense of youthful optimism. The
same feeling coursed through New York’s spring shows, as Wes Gordon reflects on three of
designers seem to be offsetting the country’s tensions and Carolina Herrera’s most memorable
troubles with a countervailing surge of positivity. Given
that Carolina Herrera has stood, since its inception, as a
moments in Vogue.
bastion of the American good life, Gordon’s sensibilities
are no doubt a natural evolution for the company. But
it’s his sparky kick and beaming outlook that are both
relevant for the times and a propellant for the label going
forward. “I don’t think of designing for a certain age range,
or just for ‘uptown’—uptown and downtown are blended
now,” says the designer. “It’s about making things that are
fun. When you do that, it inevitably resonates with a vast
spectrum of women. I want to take Mrs. Herrera’s spirit
of exuberance and shout it from the rooftops.”
Gordon’s runway debut at the New-York Historical
Society boasted a mosaic of peony-patched suede boots
(made for Carolina Herrera by longtime collaborator
Manolo Blahnik), scarflike and double-layered flo-
ral dresses, embroidered equine motifs in almost neon
hues, the house’s signature black-and-white polka dots
treated with pomp and volume, a sleek
emerald-green placket-front frock with a
whimsical poppy print, and a polychrome- 2013
banded off-the-shoulder finale gown. “I “One of my all-time
am adamant about happy color,” he says. favorite Herrera
“I want to put an exclamation point after gowns. The
that, underline it, circle it, and highlight romantic lighting,
the yellow floral
it.” Why? “Because with a new wave of
print, and Karen
chaos every day, these clothes are . . . a

DANCY AND ELSON: ANNIE LEIBOVITZ, 2013. KNIGHTLEY: MARIO TESTINO, 2006. CAMPBELL: ELLEN VON UNWERTH, 1998.
Elson’s red hair
bit of a rainbow.” combine to create a
Before September, Gordon had complet- mesmerizing image.”
ed two collections at the job—one for resort
and one for bridal, a pillar in the Herrera
empire. Here, too, he wants to infuse some
pep: “I’ve added a bit of green or yellow or
even hot pink. I’m always thinking, I hope
this isn’t too crazy—but I do love a daring
bride.” The unveiling of the spring 2019 2006
line, though, was his cotillion. “This photo of Keira Knightley with
Gordon’s ebullience, it’s safe to say, is in bold black-and-white polka dots
part inspired by Herrera herself: Back at is the epitome of happiness.”
HQ, Gordon speaks not only of admiring
her iconic portraits (rendered by, among
many others, Robert Mapplethorpe and Andy Warhol) but
of enjoying her camaraderie. “We would sit in meetings
all day long, snacking on candy, and you hit certain points 1998
where everything just seems ridiculous. We couldn’t stop “Carolina Herrera
laughing—and Mrs. Herrera laughs better than anyone.” has a great history
Just as he’s about to take his bow, Gordon fusses with of being the
the top button of his shirt and does a nervous little up- designer of choice
for so many
and-down jump. But as he steps onto the pink-carpeted
heads of state,
runway to a loud cheer—his mother, mother-in-law, sister, monarchs, and
and husband to his left, and Herrera a bit farther down global figures. This
to his right—that arresting smile is back. “I think the photo embodies
number-one thing about my job is finding the things that class, elegance,
make my heart beat faster,” Gordon says. “That’s what and grace in a
makes me happy.”—NICK REMSEN modern way.”

84 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

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Aphrodite as she bends down to unfasten her sandal before
a soak. “Bathing and the rituals around the body—they’ve
been here since the beginning,” says the fifteen-year Estée
Lauder Companies alum. Nick Axelrod, who cofounded the
cult beauty site Into the Gloss, is sizing up the spear-thrower
Doryphoros. “This is how everyone is trying to look at Cross-
Fit,” he jokes. The Italians called the athlete’s asymmetrical
pose contrapposto; Drake has dubbed it “hitting them angles.”
Christiansen and Axelrod, now business partners, have
spent the past year thinking intensely about bodies—espe-
cially why we don’t apply the same obsessive label-reading that
usually attends our facial skin-care routines to the products we
apply below the neck. Nécessaire, the duo’s five-piece unisex
line launching this month, is the fruit of all their brainstorm-
ing. “No one is thinking about body care holistically,” notes
Axelrod. “Why is it split into five aisles at CVS?”
The foundation for Nécessaire traces back to when
Christiansen and Axelrod met in Los Angeles and realized—
as former New Yorkers are wont to do—that they had both
started being better to their bodies. It was difficult, however, to
find products that were clean, efficacious, and sumptuous
to use. “We started to wonder,” recalls Christiansen, “What
would it look like to treat our body the way we treat our face?”
88 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
SKIN IS IN
BELOW: THE
BODY LOTION BY
NÉCESSAIRE IS
PACKED WITH
PEPTIDES AND
ANTIOXIDANT-
RICH OILS. LEFT:
IMAAN HAMMAM,
PHOTOGRAPHED
BY OLIVER
HADLEE PEARCH.
HAMMAM: FASHIO N E DITOR: SARA MOO N VES. HAIR , JAWARA; MAK EU P, EMI KAN E KO. PRODUCE D BY WALTERS PRO DUCTIONS. PRODUCT: COURTESY OF NÉC ESSA I R E .
The answer arrives via their fragrance-free lotion, a top-
to-toe formula rooted in oils (marula, cacay, meadowfoam)
that are nourishing yet fast-absorbing. The antioxidant
niacinamide helps repair barrier function and fosters a healthy
glow, while a pair of active peptides works on toning and
firming the skin. A luscious body wash, which uses gentle
plant-derived surfactants in place of the harsher chemi-
cals that usually provide froth, comes unscented or laced
with either eucalyptus or sandalwood. “I’ll be blunt,” says
Christiansen of the last variety, which provides a husky
aroma that envelops like an aromatic cocoon: “It’s sexual.”
Speaking of sex, Nécessaire wants to bring that out of the
drugstore abyss as well, aligning it with the body, where it
belongs. Water-based and FDA-approved, the brand’s take
on personal lubricant—simply called The Sex Gel—incorpo-
rates organic aloe for slip that’s not sticky. In keeping with the
whole range, it’s designed and marketed for everyone. Rarer
still, it comes in an elegant pump-top bottle that can sit in
plain sight on a nightstand, instead of hiding inside it. With
a coolly understated logo conceived by Brian Roettinger,
the album designer for Jay-Z’s 4:44 and Magna Carta . . .
Holy Grail, the products are meant to be “furniture for your
bathroom—and bedroom,” says Axelrod. As for what you do
with them in your private chambers? Let’s just call it good,
clean fun.—MOLLY CREEDEN
V L IFE
BEAUTY

Blossom
Buddies
Consider Aerin Lauder and Johanna Ortiz’s friendship
the product of a twenty-first-century phenomenon: “We
met on Instagram!” says Colombian fashion designer
Ortiz, while nibbling on pandebono—a fluffy bread
native to her home country—at Lauder’s midtown East
headquarters. Their social media connection was built
on a similar aesthetic; both women share a love of ruffled
cocktail frocks, flower-filled tablescapes, and what Lauder
describes as a “modern, feminine approach to beauty.”
This month, they’ll officially evolve their relationship from
mutual followers to collaborators, thanks to a new gilded
lipstick trio. “The names are so good,” Lauder says of
the semi-sheer shades, “but she has to say them in her
accent because they sound even better.” Ortiz laughs and
obliges, properly pronouncing the guttural g in Cartagena
DESIGN
Sunsets, a fiery tangerine; and the soft j in Cali Aji, a rich
red, named after the city where she resides. The third,
Tayrona Nude Beach, proved the most challenging—yet
Les Petits ultimately rewarding—to make. “Finding a good nude is

DES IG N: LOUIS VU ITTON MALLE TIE R. LIPSTIC K: COU RTESY O F AE RIN . O RTIZ : PHOTO G RAPH ED BY C RISTINA DE MIDDEL OF MAG NUM PHOTOS.
so tough, so I said, ‘OK, this is my opportunity to make
Plaisirs one,’ ” Ortiz explains of the “not-too-pink, not-too-white”
shade that was on heavy rotation at her resort show in
If your social feeds New York this past June. As salsa rhythms filled the air,
experienced a design deluge models swayed down the intimate bistro turned runway in
this past April, it was owing to an array of whimsical printed fabrics: peachy palm fronds,
Milan’s supremely photogenic pink beetles, cockatoo-filled trees. The patterns now
furniture fair, Salone del Mobile— decorate the lipsticks’ packaging and are sure to inspire
and specifically to the splendorous likes—on-screen and off-.—ZOE RUFFNER
and rarely open Palazzo Bocconi,
where Louis Vuitton commissioned
a canopy of Valentine-hued origami
flowers. It was a spectacle to behold,
but more impressive were the wares
beneath: Vuitton’s first-ever line of
home decor, Les Petits Nomades. For the
collection’s debut, available this month, four
illustrious collaborators were called upon to
pleat, pucker, and manipulate the brand’s
supple leathers into decorative objects.
Among them, Humberto and Fernando
Campana’s vase, which pays homage to
the pineapple-like blooms on the bromeliad
plants of their native Brazil—it’s a vessel
so stunning, filling it with flowers may very
well be gilding the lily. And perhaps the line’s
most conspicuous piece comes from the trio
behind Atelier Oï, which produced florets of
leather that inspired the installation’s paper
canopy. Of these decorative confections,
Atelier Oï succinctly stated: “Form follows
emotion.”—LILAH RAMZI
RED ALERT
SAY IT WITH FLOWERS FROM LEFT: THE
ATELIER OÏ’S LEATHER BLOOMS FILL A CRIMSON CALI AJI
CAMPANA BROTHERS VASE. BOXED IN A PRINT
FROM ORTIZ’S RESORT
SHOW; THE DESIGNER
AT HOME IN COLOMBIA.
NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
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V L IFE
N O S TA L G I A

My Mother,
My Fur
For Janine di Giovanni, repurposing
a vintage fur coat offered a way to feel
close to her mother late in life.

M
y mother’s fur coats always hung
in the front-hall closet. When I
was a child and reached for my
parka or duffel to go out to play,
there they were: glossy, sleek, ser-
ried, invariably glamorous. My
mother came from a generation of postwar women
who wore fur in the same manner as they carried gold
compacts; who never went out without lipstick, kid
gloves, and a hat. Not once did I see her in a pair of
ratty pajamas or jeans: She relaxed in silky nightgowns
and robes; on the rare occasions she wore trousers—“Women
should wear dresses or skirts! They’re far more flattering”—
they were either ski pants or tailored tweed.
Mum’s first fur coat was a leopard, now illegal, one that she
saved for out of her paycheck over a year before she married
my father in the summer of 1942, after which he went off
to war. She wore it until her second pregnancy, when she
stretched it out of shape and gave it away. The styles would
change over the years, from a classic Ava Gardner–type mink
she wore with high heels and tailored skirts to a fake leopard
coat in the 1970s with a gold chain belt and brown suede
boots. Her all-time favorite was a full-length black Persian
lamb with a chinchilla collar that my father had given her in
the 1960s, with her name stitched inside: She cut it down to
a car coat in the 1980s and then passed it on to me. I took it
to Austria and wore it après-ski with leather leggings; I wore
it in London with pencil skirts.
My mother came from another era, one of intense femi-
ninity, when the choice to wear fur did not commonly pro-
voke the ethical crisis it does today. And if I’ve inherited
my mother’s love of furs, at least the furs are inherited—or
secondhand—too. In Maine, where I went to school, I wore
my aunt’s hand-me-down sable coat over my Levi’s cords and
L.L. Bean boots. The coat was enormous—it hung past my
shins. My parents rocked with laughter when they saw me,
saying I looked like the teenage actress in The World of Henry
Orient who chases Peter Sellers around New York after she
develops a crush on him.
In my own career as a war correspondent, I spent time in
places so cold that their inhabitants saw fur as a necessity.
In Moscow and Eastern Europe, where I worked in the
1990s, I wore the Persian-lamb car coat with my much-loved
ushankas, traditional fur hats with ear flaps that I bought in
Siberia, Warsaw, Belgrade. I wore fur vests in freezing war
zones; in Afghanistan they reached my lower thigh and were
meant for horsemen riding through the bitter-cold Hindu
Kush. Fur collars and fur scarves kept me from shivering in
bombed-out hotels in Sarajevo and Grozny. I once saw the
great British journalist Ann Leslie, in her 60s at the time, in
a full-length mink as she negotiated with a Serbian soldier
at a checkpoint. “It does no harm to let them think you are
a birdbrain,” I recall her saying to me later. “Wear fur! Shake
your bangles at them and show them you are a woman, they
will let you through.” It was some of the best advice I ever
got from a fellow reporter.
After 30 years based in Europe, I returned to America
last fall. One of the reasons was that my adored mother was
getting older, and, as the baby of a very large family that
spanned three decades, I missed them more than I realized. I
moved back with my fourteen-year old French son; I wanted
him to understand his American roots.
Having aging parents can be heartbreaking, although I am
fortunate to have a mother whose brain is as N O S TA L G I A > 9 6
WINTER WARDROBE
MODEL LYNN WOODRUFF IN A MINK COAT BY MAXIMILIAN.
PHOTOGRAPHED BY GIANNI PENATI FOR VOGUE, 1971.

94 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

V L IFE
sharp as it ever was in 1942. Even if we now have quality time,
rather than rushed encounters, I know our moments are finite,
and that one day there will be a phone call that tells me she
has left us. We don’t talk about this, but one of the first things
Mum did when I came home was to start giving me things:
her costume jewelry from the 1940s, her cocktail rings and
pearls, Tiffany bracelets, and presents from my father. Theirs
was a real love story—they met when they were sixteen and
remained in love until the day he died, in 1995. Every piece
she gave me had a narrative attached: this one after the birth
of a child . . . this one for our 20th anniversary. . . . I began to front of him, along with Susan Romano, his fur design and
see her gifts not just as an inheritance but as a link, a bridge
between the past and the future. One day I would give them
to my nieces, or to my son’s future wife or children.
T
hen she gave me her fur coat. It was a beauty,
the last one my father had bought her in the
1990s: a glossy knee-length mink with a collar
and wide bell sleeves.
“I won’t be wearing it
much anymore,” she
said sadly. It was the winter before her
ninety-ninth birthday, and my mother,
who had been a social dynamo most
of her life, was finding it hard to go
out. She hated the walker she had to
use because her famously good legs
were finally giving out—she was em-
barrassed to be dependent on a piece
of metal. She hated having people
help her into a car or a restaurant.
She wanted to remain free-spirited, as
she had been all her life.
Giving me the fur meant that she
was reaching a turning point. She had
loved to wear it over her suits to lunch
with friends, to the theater, or, with
a matching mink hat, to church on
Sundays. Now the coat, and all that PRIZED POSSESSION
THE AUTHOR’S MOTHER, PREGNANT WITH
it meant, would be mine. HER THIRD CHILD, IN A BELOVED
Designers such as Vetements’ FUR COAT, C. 1946.
Demna Gvasalia and Creatures of
the Wind’s Shane Gabier and Chris Peters have recently
been showing us ways to recycle and upcycle vintage furs.
But even their talent might have been stymied by Mum’s
1990s mink, which—big and voluminous—reminded me of
Melanie Griffith’s fur in Working Girl. If I was going to wear
a fur coat as an adult, not as a teenager tromping through
snowbanks in Maine, I wanted one that was sleek and slender.
Then one day, on the Métro in Paris, I saw a woman wear-
ing the exact coat I desired. I chased her down the platform
at Saint-Sulpice and breathlessly asked her where she got it:
J. Mendel, she answered crisply, turning on her high heel.
It was a revelation. I had passed the J. Mendel shop on
Rue Saint-Honoré many times when I pushed my baby son
there in his stroller, lingering over the designs. The styles
were clean and chic, furs as sharp as a fitted Burberry
trench, with skinny arms and a belt nipping in the waist.
96 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
Could I possibly repurpose my mother’s mink to resemble
this chic Frenchwoman’s manteau?
As I searched how to remodel fur, the name that kept
popping up was Henry Cowit, an old, family-run business
smack in New York’s fur district that specializes in “match-
ing” furs and vintage. I arrived at the shop one February
day with my coat tucked under my arm. Larry Cowit, a
third-generation furrier, led me across the floor, past ponchos
and Liberace-esque sables and majestic white minks, to a set
of three-way mirrors. I slipped on Mum’s coat and stood in
remodel specialist, who had worked at J. Mendel for 25 years.
Silence.
So much was wrong with it, they said. The pelts were
vertical rather than horizontal; the coat was exceedingly
old; remodeling could be a significant expense—didn’t I
want one of the adorable ski parkas instead, with a pointy
hood and pom-pom strings that tied under the chin? I
stubbornly clutched the coat to me:
I wanted it for sentimental reasons.
“I understand,” said Susan. But as
we discussed the design, it became
clear that I was not going to get the
exact style I had imagined. I saw a
slim shape I could slip over winter
silk dresses (like my mother, I rare-
ly wear trousers). But my mother
is shorter and at least a size small-
er than I am. While the coat’s big
shoulders made it look enormous,
its measurements were actually nar-
row. In a stroke of genius, Susan
decided to stitch panels of suede
between the fur, use gold clasps in-
stead of buttons, and attach a suede
belt. It would be the most flattering
length: to the knee.
I went for three fittings. The weeks
went by. A trip to icy Zurich came
up; it was not ready. There was heavy
snow in April, but still the coat was
not ready. “It’s much harder than we
thought,” Larry said with a sigh when I called. “Susan’s ba-
sically had to build an entirely different coat.”
One afternoon in May, Larry rang me. “It’s ready,” he
said triumphantly. It was not yet warm weather, and I wore
a thin sweater and a skirt to try on the coat. It slipped over
my shoulders perfectly, the arms long and tight. The gold
clasps made it modern; the belt was slimming and chic. Susan
stood proudly looking on.
COU RTESY OF JANINE DI G IOVANN I
I love the coat, which works with dresses, tights, and heels,
and with flats and a skirt when I commute to work in New
Haven. It will also look good with jeans on the rare occa-
sions I wear them. I plan on taking it to Austria when I ski;
to Switzerland when I go to a conference there in January.
Most of all, I plan to take it to Mum’s at the first dusting of
snow. I know that every time I wear it, I will feel closer to her,
as though the soft fur is actually her, touching my skin. 
AVAILABLE AT TOM FORD BOUTIQUES, TOMFORD.COM AND SELECT RETAILERS
98
OSTA.
CARDI B
IN AZZI &
V L IFE
GEMMA

PRABAL
CHAN IN

NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

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FAST AS
THE LEXUS HYBRID LINE
Climb into the sumptuous cabin of the RX 450h or
RX 450hL. Rev its 308-total-system-horsepower1
3.5-liter V6. Bury the pedal. And smile. Switch it
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V L IFE
BEAUTY
Lighten Up
WHEN IT COMES TO SUMMER souvenirs, a

BE AUTY: GA RY HUM E . C E R I T H, 1998. SCREENPRINT ON PAPER, 35.7" X 26.7 ". © 20 18 GARY HUM E /ARTISTS
smattering of newfound freckles is one thing. But

melasma—a puzzle of brown patches resembling
the inkblots on a Rorschach test—is quite anoth-
er. A common form of hyperpigmentation that
typically dapples the cheeks and forehead, as well
as the eye and lip areas, melasma can be caused by
elevated estrogen levels, plain old UV exposure, or
heat. And it’s increasingly common among women
in their 30s and 40s, affecting as many as five mil-
lion people in the U.S. alone. Los Angeles–based
aesthetician Gina Marí has long recommended a
varied protocol to treat dark spots on her red-carpet
clientele—topical lightening agents, exfoliating
acid peels, and nonthermal lasers that use acoustic energy to
shatter pigment particles. Now Marí joins a growing number
of facialists, as well as doctors, championing a new ingredient
that’s already showing promise in Japan and South Korea.
Taken orally, tranexamic acid is designed to alleviate heavy
periods, though the pill has also been found to reduce the
appearance of melasma. Amit Pandya, M.D., a professor
of dermatology at the University of Texas Southwestern
Medical Center with a background in internal medicine,
was initially skeptical, but a review of the existing literature
that he coauthored this summer underscored its efficacy.
RIG HTS SOC I E TY (A RS ), NEW YOR K/DACS, LOND ON. TE LEV I S I ON: D ESWI LLI E /COURTESY OF NE TFLIX .
SPOT CHECK
MELASMA, A
COMMON TYPE
OF HYPER-
PIGMENTATION,
IS STUBBORNLY
HARD TO
TREAT—THOUGH
A POTENT NEW
INGREDIENT MAY
CHANGE THAT.
“Truly a breakthrough” is how Pandya recently described it.
“There is a vascular component to the skin condition,” says
Nancy Samolitis, M.D., a West Hollywood dermatologist,
explaining why the medication has multipronged benefits; she
has seen marked improvement in patients with compatible
medical histories. While tranexamic acid is not yet available
over-the-counter Stateside, a topical form appears in the
latest dark-spot launches, including SkinMedica’s Lytera 2.0
Pigment Correcting Serum and SkinCeuticals Discoloration
Defense. “There still isn’t a cure,” Samolitis insists. “But things
are looking a lot brighter.”—RACHEL MARLOWE

Spy Games
TELEVISION

High-stakes political maneuverings are at the

center of two thrilling new shows.
Every spy is a good actor, but is
every actor a good spy? We get
a gripping answer in The Little
Drummer Girl (AMC), the stylish
new thriller based on John le
Carré’s 1983 novel. Our heroine,
Charlie (Florence Pugh), is a
gifted but floundering English
actress who meets an alluringly
mysterious stranger, Becker
(Alexander Skarsgård). The
encounter leads her to Becker’s
boss, Kurtz (Michael Shannon),
a Mossad agent who offers
Charlie a role in “the theater of the
real”—a production aiming to take
down a top Palestinian terrorist.
Le Carré has never created a
greater female character than
Charlie, and the show rests on the
performance of Pugh, a rising star
who recalls both Kate Winslet and
Jennifer Lawrence. Her Charlie
is a superb portrait of an actress
who must tightrope-walk over the
deadly abyss between playing a
spy and being one.
The tension is ratcheted up
sky-high in Bodyguard (Netflix),
the six-part British smash about
Sergeant David Budd (Richard
Madden), a police bodyguard with
post-Afghanistan PTSD, assigned
to protect a power-hungry home
secretary (Keeley Hawes) whose
strident national-security ideas he
loathes. Juggling terror attacks,
political machinations, illicit sex,
and a ticking bomb of a hero, this
is the wildest thriller since the first
KEEPING WATCH
season of Homeland. RICHARD MADDEN AND KEELEY HAWES
—JOHN POWERS ARE ON HIGH ALERT IN BODYGUARD.

102 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

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V L IFE
BOOKS
Origin Story
When she died in 2004, Lucia Berlin was essentially
unknown. Two just-published works cement
her position among the great overlooked writers.
LONG BEFORE THE CURRENT autofiction craze, Lucia
Berlin was spinning her day-to-day into powerfully spare
prose that ached with brutal authenticity. Her short stories
reflected a troubled and glamorous life, populated by artists
and dope dealers, South American aristocrats and Califor-
nia housekeepers, children of absent mothers and young
mothers hemmed in by circumstance. With an unabashed
spirit that calls to mind Joan Didion’s bohemian sister, she
chronicled a mid-century America where people lived angry,
passionate lives stoked by creative ambition and unthinkable
quantities of alcohol.
Berlin published her first story at age 24 and 75 more over
the course of her lifetime—though when she died in 2004 at
68, she was known to only a few. It wasn’t until 2015, when
Farrar, Straus and Giroux put out the compendium A Manual
for Cleaning Women, which quickly became a New York Times
best seller, that the author earned her posthumous ticket
into the twentieth-century canon, drawing comparisons to
Raymond Carver and Grace Paley. Berlin’s newly published
book, Evening in Paradise (FSG), encompasses the bulk of
her remaining fiction, and a companion volume, Welcome
Home (FSG), contains a series of divine autobiographical
sketches that she was writing at the time of her death.
104 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
PORTRAIT: PAUL SUTTMAN; © 2018 LITERARY ESTATE OF LUCIA BERLIN LP. BOOKS: DAVID HANS COOKE.
Berlin was born in Juneau, Alaska, but her family jumped
around the American West and Midwest. An early home
in Idaho is described with poetic economy, typical of her
unblinking style: “Creaks. Echoes of wind in the trees, the
splatter of rain against glass. Sobs in the bathroom.” After
World War II, the family moved to Chile, where they lived in
prerevolutionary opulence. Her adult life would take her to
Greenwich Village, the American Southwest, and Mexico,
where she and her third husband, Buddy, attempted to raise
a family and outsmart his heroin addiction. During an idyllic
impasse near Puerto Vallarta, Berlin homeschooled their
young sons while Buddy spearfished and endeavored to dry
out. “And then, as if addiction had sent out loud heartbeat
messages, the drug dealers began to show up,” she writes.
“All young, handsome, ex–beach boys, smart and mean.”
No matter the genre, the dashed-off rhythm of Berlin’s
prose belies its wisdom. And taken as a pair, these new vol-
umes become a jigsaw-puzzle portrait of a long-neglected
literary legend, baring the autobiographical material that
filtered so forcefully into her fiction. The mystery of her
fiction is not, it turns out, in the source of its inspiration. It
is in how Berlin transformed her life into art that is as vital
as the thing itself. —LAUREN MECHLING
New York – 700 Fifth Avenue/55th Street, New York N.Y. 10019, USA
wempe.com
V L IFE
FAS H I O N
A Different
Beast
Creatures of the Wind’s Chris Peters
introduces CDLM—a small brand with
an old soul. By Lynn Yaeger.
“THERE IS NO REASON for anyone to be making a brand-
new T-shirt,” declares Chris Peters, explaining why he
has chosen to embroider well-loved tees, rework leather
greatcoats, and otherwise rethink vintage garments as part
of his new line, CDLM.
Peters, 34, is one half of the duo behind the still-thriving
label Creatures of the Wind (his life partner, Shane Gabier,
is the other half), and the initials stand for Cuevas de las
106 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
PH OTOGRAPHE D BY SAMUE L BRADLEY. FAS HIO N EDITOR : TESS H ER BERT. MAKEUP, ANG IE PARK ER; HAIR , MATTH EW CU RTIS. PRODUC E D BY D I ZON I NC. D E TA I LS, S E E I N THI S I SSUE .
Manos, an Argentinean cave with ancient paintings that
he is obsessed with. But it is also a sly reference to the fact
that much of the line is made by hand. Sustainability and
the plague of overproduction, along with an examination
of the way we shop and dress and buy now, are all central
to CDLM’s philosophy. (This value system includes a
commitment to gender fluidity: The designer admits with
a laugh that he was the fit model for the pants that female
models wore at his debut show last September.)
Everything at CDLM has a backstory: The oversize
sweaters, too chic to be dismissed as merely cozy, are knit
by a co-op of Russian women living in the tristate area.
“It’s important to make things seem precious and special,”
Peters says. “There is nothing worse than buying something
and then realizing there are 300 other things that are just
the same.” He intends to keep the company FA S H I O N >1 0 8
IN CAPABLE HANDS
MODELS (INCLUDING TAVI GEVINSON, SECOND FROM LEFT)
CONVENE OUTSIDE CDLM’S SPRING 2019 SHOW AT THE PETER
FREEMAN, INC., GALLERY IN NEW YORK. ALL CLOTHES BY CDLM.
V L IFE C U LT U R E

small and has no plans to sell on the internet—a radical A Tune Up

decision in 2018.
Peters has a background as quirky and interesting as his By incorporating a host of eclectic
latest endeavor. He originally trained as a marine biologist, disciplines, countertenor
but even when he was in Australia working with sea turtles Anthony Roth Costanzo is expanding
he was sketching clothing in the margins of his notebooks.
In short order, he ditched the turtles in favor of the School what opera can be.
of the Art Institute of Chicago, where he met Gabier.
At the quietly exuberant CDLM show, a pup tent with
scrawled graffiti—if i go to hell at least i’ll be with all
my friends—rested on the runway, which in truth was just
a circle on the floor of a SoHo art gallery. Plenty of Peters’s
friends strode the makeshift catwalk, including Tavi Gevin-
son (who quipped that she thought CDLM stood for Chris
Doesn’t Like Me!) and a very elegant gentleman in a gorgeous
black overcoat who was a dead ringer for John Giorno—and
turned out to be the iconic poet himself.
If the models—and the audience—could be described as
hipster/eclectic, so could the clothes: 20 looks that swung
from artfully patched coats to perfectly cut trousers in
shades that Peters describes as 1950s sportswear–inflected
(turquoise, oxblood), tempered by khaki and off-white, and
united by a cool simplicity—comfortable but miles away
from athleisure. A soulful trench would suit a latter-day
Juliette Gréco; a red bandanna skirt was unashamed of its
Western roots. Silver footwear owed their gleam to the alu-
minum covering their surfaces, hand-applied by Peters—a
project that cut up his hands. (We suffer for fashion!)
COSTUME HISTORY
Asked why he was intent on this new undertaking, given SALVADOR DALÍ’S DESIGNS FOR THE BALLETS RUSSES;
that Creatures of the Wind—a runner-up for the 2011 PHOTOGRAPHED BY HORST FOR VOGUE, 1939.
CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund Awards—is still going strong,
Peters said, “Creatures is a part of me, and I am super proud IN 1924, COCO CHANEL DESIGNED the costumes for a
of the work we do. But sometimes there is just something Ballets Russes production that featured designs by Pablo
you want to do on your own.” With, of course, more than Picasso and a story by Jean Cocteau. “It is more than a
a little inspiration, influence, input, and help from your frivolous work,” Cocteau said. “It is a monument to fri-
amazing inner circle of acquaintances. “Clothing is mem- volity!” Such collaborations were once relatively typical;
ory,” Peters says simply. “All I really want to do is make for a 1939 performance of Bacchanale, Salvador Dalí did
clothes for my friends.”  the set design. In the years since, however, such cultural
cross-pollination has become less frequent.
THREE DIMENSIONAL
This fall, countertenor Anthony Roth Costanzo con-
CHRIS PETERS (FAR LEFT) AND venes a coterie of collaborators for Glass Handel, an
SHANE GABIER WITH MODEL art installation/opera concert/ballet. In the 50-minute
ABBEY LEE. PHOTOGRAPHED BY
NORMAN JEAN ROY. performance, Costanzo sings arias from Philip Glass
and Handel while wearing costumes designed by Cal-
vin Klein’s Raf Simons. Dancers choreographed by
Tony-winner Justin Peck, meanwhile, flit around him,
and music videos—by Italian artist Maurizio Cattelan
or Daniel Askill (responsible for Sia’s “Chandelier”),
for example—are projected on giant screens. Staged at
Philadelphia’s Barnes Foundation in September, the
show arrives this month at New York’s Cathedral of Saint
John the Divine. “I like being subversive,” says Costanzo,
chuckling. He has a reputation for upending expectations.
(For a recent production of Glass’s Akhnaten, he waxed
his entire body and performed nude.) His multifaceted
project—with a cast of characters to rival the collisions
of Jazz Age Paris—will, he hopes, entice new audiences
to opera. Bravo to that.— CHARLES SHAFAIEH

108 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

 P I N K P O N Y

our eous
in Pink

J O I N U S I N T H E F I G H T AG A I N S T C A N C E R
1 0 0 % o f t h e p u r c h a s e p r i c e f r o m t h e “ L i v e L o v e ” l i g h t p i n k t- s h i r t s w i l l b e d o n a t e d t o t h e P i n k P o n y F u n d
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V L IFE
his extramarital fling, shipwrecking his cam-
paign and humiliating his wife (Vera Farmiga,
tremendously good). Even as Reitman explores
the circus that ensues—we follow consultants,
staffers, reporters—the film is anchored by its
star, who neatly captures the chilly, intelligent
arrogance of Hart. The fallen pol angrily insists
that the media’s invasion of his privacy would
set a ruinous precedent for the coverage of poli-
ticians. He’s right, and Jackman makes us feel it.
LIFE STUDY Willem Dafoe captures something even trickier
OSCAR ISAAC AS
PAUL GAUGUIN AND in At Eternity’s Gate, Julian Schnabel’s portrait
EMMANUELLE of the final days of Vincent van Gogh, a man
SEIGNER AS MADAME
MOVIES GINOUX IN AT trapped inside his own literally self-lacerating
ETERNITY’S GATE.
genius. The film gives us the world as van Gogh
experiences it, from the shattering loneliness that

Reality Shows
Three epic tales from history leap to
the silver screen this month.
WHILE AUDIENCES FLOCK TO SEE larger-than-life heroes,
most actors prefer playing real people in all their flawed, messy
humanity. Leading this month’s pack is Hugh Jackman,
perhaps the most versatile star in Hollywood—he sings, he
dances, he flashes metal claws—who turns to politics in The
Front Runner, Jason Reitman’s breezy, wannabe-Altman-
esque film about a tipping point in the media’s coverage of
candidates. Jackman plays Colorado senator Gary Hart, the
Democratic front-runner in the 1988 presidential election,
who becomes a punch line when the newspapers report on
leads him to cling to his friendship with Paul Gauguin (Oscar
Isaac) to his rapturous embrace of nature, beautifully evoked
by Schnabel’s own arresting imagery. In playing the laconic
artist, Dafoe gives a performance of triumphant physicali-
ty, be it van Gogh’s feverish assaults on his canvases to the
distant look in his eyes when he sees the world in a way no
one ever had before. He, like Jackman, will be heard from at
awards time. So will Melissa McCarthy, who gives a bravura
turn in Marielle Heller’s Can You Ever Forgive Me? She stars
as another real-life loner, Lee Israel, a smart, misanthropic
writer who—with some help from a louche barfly (Richard E.
Grant, terrific)—supports herself by illegally forging letters
by the likes of Noël Coward and Dorothy Parker. Funny
but dank, the film is kept aloft by McCarthy, who not only
flashes her razor-sharp comic timing but reveals a whole new
level of emotional depth as a prickly oddball whose deepest
connection is with her cat.—JOHN POWERS

WELLNESS
Tipping Point work, the first thing you need to do is get rid

MOV IES : L ILY GAV IN/COURTESY OF C BS F ILMS. W EL LN ESS: YASU + J UNKO, SE LF, 2015.
of the I”), her 2,200-square-foot space in
While facial bars and drop-in New York’s Flatiron District that offers
meditation studios have a monthly membership plan. The
mainstreamed much of the self-care streamlined menu includes three
industry, one area of wellness remains 45-minute treatments: Prevent is
little understood. “Acupuncture is customized to address everything
still in the shadows,” says Shari Auth, from fatigue to indigestion; Heal
a certified doctor of Chinese medicine targets aches and pains; and Glow
and acupuncture who has practiced in serves up complexion-rejuvenating facial
Manhattan for the past fifteen years. acupuncture. Each can be accompanied by
There is good reason for this; sound therapist Nate Martinez’s recordings
hyperindividualized, the ancient to clear the mind as well as the body. “A lot
tradition requires years of of people come to acupuncture because
study to master and can they have lower-back issues or insomnia,
command a hefty price and then they stay for the ongoing
tag. But Auth is of the mind maintenance,” says Auth. “That’s really
that it should be accessible the beauty of this medicine: It keeps
to everyone. This month, you well.”—ZOE RUFFNER
she brings her expertise
to the SoulCycle and Skin PINNING IS WINNING
OFFERING AN EDITED LINEUP OF TREAT-
Laundry crowd with WTHN MENTS, WTHN COMBINES HIGH-END
(“When you do spiritual HEALING AND BLOWOUT-BAR CONVENIENCE.

112 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

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V L IFE

BEAUTY

Plaits, Please
As traditional African braiding
techniques transcend the
beauty shop, Alexis Okeowo
considers the crossroads of
culture and coiffure.
I REMEMBER THE HARDNESS OF the chair, the drone of
the television in the background, and the insistent, sometimes
painful tugging of my hair into neat and uniform cornrows.
(“I’m tender-headed!” I begged.) I was getting my hair braided
for the first time, and my parents had dropped me off at the
braider’s apartment with a promise to return later. When,
exactly, they couldn’t say, because trying to predict how
long your braids will take is like trying to game the lottery.
Since that afternoon in Montgomery, Alabama, I have sat
between the legs, or under the unflappable arms, of black
women in places as disparate as Brooklyn and Eritrea to
have my hair braided.
So it was thrilling to see the product of the intimate ritual
that has long been the provenance of beauty shops and
private homes on Christian Dior’s fall couture runway, as
Queens-born model Indira Scott closed the show with her
waist-skimming braids strung up with beads and pulled
into a high ponytail. Later in the week, Tracee Ellis Ross’s
cornrows glimmered in the front row at Valentino.
To say that braids are having a moment would be
ahistorical—the hairstyle has been around on the African
continent since 3,000 b.c.—but their recent ubiquity on run-
ways and red carpets is relatively new. “Braids are certainly
not a trend,” agrees Lacy Redway, a celebrity hairstylist whose
roster of actresses includes Ross, along with Tessa Thompson
and Laura Harrier. Their current visibility in fashion circles
PRO DUC E D BY C LEV EL AND JON ES FOR 360P M

coincides with a moment of political and cultural significance

GREAT LENGTHS
MODEL KHADIJHA RED
for black culture. “Once upon a time, black women were told
THUNDER WEARS A that they had to get weaves, or cut their hair really short, or
MISSONI DRESS AND straighten it, to make it in Hollywood or in the workplace,”
OMBRE BRAIDS. HAIR,
VIRGINIE PINTO continues Redway. “But these days, women are embrac-
MOREIRA; MAKEUP,
SALLY BRANKA. ing more of who they are.” Natural hairstyles—including
DETAILS, SEE IN THIS braids—are part of this reckoning.
ISSUE. PHOTOGRAPHED
BY GREGORY HARRIS. As the style proliferates, the attitude of women who wear
FASHION EDITOR: it is evolving, pushing the functionality of the tight-weaving
KATIE BURNETT.
technique in artistic directions that feel familiar and fresh.
Consider the nameplate braids Brooklyn-based B E A U T Y >1 1 6

114 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

ogxbeauty.com | ogxbeauty
V L IFE
artist Tasha Miles created for Alexander Wang’s Collection 1
show, or the multicolored strands the actor and activist Aman-
dla Stenberg made her signature over the summer, a collab-
oration with her longtime hairstylist Vernon François. “It’s
about being unapologetic,” suggests Virginie Pinto Moreira,
the London-based editorial hairstylist who draws on her
heritage (her family is from Cape Verde) to mix the Afri-
can and the European in her work.
It was Moreira who added crystals
to singer Kelela’s dreads at Calvin “Thinking of braids leads
Klein’s spring show last year, creating us to a sacred black-girl
a social-media commotion.
But don’t mistake the phenome- space, and there are very
non for full societal acceptance. In few of those in the world”
the past two years, black students
in Louisiana, Arizona, and Massa-
chusetts have been sent home from school or punished for
wearing braided hairstyles, with administrators describing
the style as “unnatural” and “distracting.” Meanwhile,
black women have been fired from customer-service jobs
for having cornrows. It’s a jarring reminder of the aesthetic
pressures ordinary women, especially black women, have to
navigate. “Black hair is a metaphor for the way black women
shape-shift and move through the world with resilience,”
says Michaela Angela Davis, a cultural critic who launched
the web series Hair Tales in 2016 to explore black women’s
relationships with their hair. “Thinking of braids leads us
to our mothers and our grandmothers and our aunties and
T RAV E L
Where the Wilde Things Are
At the plum Sloane Street intersection of London’s Chelsea
and Knightsbridge neighborhoods sit five nineteenth-century
town houses linked by a somewhat scandalous history. In
one, turn-of-the-last-century society fixture Lillie Langtry
took the future King Edward VII as her lover. Though the affair
was carried out behind closed doors, Langtry wasn’t exactly
subtle about the romance. The ceilings of her drawing room
were decorated with trios of feathers—the heraldic badge of
the Prince of Wales.
Starting next month, you’ll be
able to admire this plasterwork
firsthand in the new Belmond
Cadogan Hotel, which underwent
an extensive refurbishment that
transformed the cobbled-together
town houses into lodgings with
cohesive charm. “It looked a bit like
your grandmother’s parlor,” said
the hotel’s Klaus Kabelitz, “but not
in a good way.” Now you’ll find a tea
parlor that morphs into a cocktail
bar, a gated park with tennis
courts, and library shelves stocked
with the works of Oscar Wilde.
The playwright was arrested in
room 118 for his dalliance with the
treacherous Lord Alfred Douglas,
116 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
our best friends; it’s a sacred black-girl space, and there are
very few of those in the world.”
That this space is increasingly interesting to designers—and
brands looking to capitalize on the currency of natural tex-
tures that have previously been siloed in “ethnic” hair aisles—
is overdue and potentially problematic. All the women I spoke
with for this piece worry about appropriation, something I’ve
repeatedly discussed with girlfriends.
WILDE : NA POLEON SA RONY. PORT RA I T OF OSCA R WI LD E, 1 8 8 2/PR I VATE COLLECTION/
And then there’s the flippancy with
which the mainstream beauty in-
PRIS MATI C PI CTUR ES/BR I D G E M A N I M AG ES. GA R D E N: COURTESY OF BE LM OND.
dustry often renames these styles as
they appear on white stars—“boxer
braids” instead of cornrows, for in-
stance—thereby stripping the style
of its cultural significance to black
people. But done respectfully, rep-
resentation can be a powerful thing. “For a long time, the
narrative has been that that’s not pretty hair,” says Scott,
who completed her breakout season with fall runway turns
at Ralph Lauren and Michael Kors. The evolution of this
narrative may have a profound effect on the way a new gen-
eration defines beauty.
Before I attended a recent wedding in Greece, my own hair
options felt endless: I could get a blowout; flat-twist and then
unravel it; or wear an Afro. In the end, I chose cornrows—four
simple plaits ending just below my collarbone. It had been
almost 20 years since my first braiding experience, but the style
still felt elegant and comforting, its history rendered anew. 
the hotel claims, and though there are only 54 suites, the
Cadogan has preserved his room number as an homage.
In another gesture to the hotel’s past, the accommodations
will place an emphasis on privacy—a second street entrance
bypasses the main doors entirely. Guests “don’t have to dress
up to go through the lobby,” says Kabelitz. But as Wilde once
wrote, “Looking good and dressing well is a necessity”; we
think he’d appreciate it if you made the effort.—LILAH RAMZI
CHECKING IN?
NEXT MONTH, AN INFAMOUS LONDON HOTEL,
ONCE THE HOME OF OSCAR WILDE (LEFT),
WILL OPEN AS THE BELMOND CADOGAN,
WITH ACCESS TO A PRIVATE PARK (ABOVE).
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V L IFE
H E A LT H
Watching Your Figures
Forget calorie counting. Next-gen nutritionists are using biometric analysis
for a data-backed approach to well-being. Jancee Dunn signs up.
I
n the loftlike Manhattan waiting room of nutritionist
Dana James, all is light and serene. Mounds of crystals
gleam alongside books such as The Float Tank Cure;
the faint scent of a tourmaline smudge spray perme-
ates the air. I have already plowed through 300-plus
prompts on James’s Magna Carta–length question-
naire (Do you have a tendency to cry easily? Do you have
cracked heels? How often do you eat salmon?), but my nutri-
tional spelunking is only just beginning. After I endure two
weeks of a no-grain, no-sugar, no-dairy Paleo diet to “clean
out my system,” the next step is a round of lab tests to evaluate
my neurotransmitter and mitochondrial function, among
other things, in order to assess my body’s metabolic processes.
Triple-certified in nutrition, cogitative behavioral therapy,
and functional medicine—the buzzy field that examines the
interaction between a person’s genetic, environmental, and
120 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
lifestyle factors—James is part of a new wave of experts
subjecting clients to a battery of blood, saliva, gut, and urine
tests that take personalized nutrition to the nth degree. Practi-
tioners measure things like telomeres—the protective caps on
chromosomes that supposedly reveal one’s biological age—to
locate the source of an ailment or those last stubborn pounds.
For me, it all comes back to a protracted case of shingles and
frequent carb binges, which I tell James as she grills me on the
exact times of day I eat and sleep. Calorie counting this is not.
“If you’re not testing, you’re guessing,” says Katie Mark,
R.D., M.P.H., a Miami-based sports dietitian for all levels of
athletes, including pro cyclists and NFL players, H E A LT H >1 2 4
EAT SMART
NEW DIETARY STRATEGIES GO BEYOND CONVENTIONAL WISDOM TO
INCLUDE ADVANCED DIAGNOSTICS AND, IN SOME OFFICES, COGNITIVE
BEHAVIORAL THERAPY. ILLUSTRATION BY AMY ROSS.
V L IFE
who rejects the analog mentality of simply eating well and
exercising. “When I incorporate specialty functional testing,
I’m able to help keep a happy gut, increase immunity, decrease
inflammation, and improve symptoms related to food sensi-
tivities, from migraines to digestive issues,” agrees Los Angeles
sports dietitian Meg Mangano, R.D.N., C.S.S.D., whose
elite roster has included the LA Clippers and the U.S. Men’s
National Soccer team. “It’s the future of nutrition,” she says.
This kind of attention does not come cheap. Consultations,
which can start in the hundreds of dollars and climb upwards,
are usually not covered by insurance, nor are many of the
corresponding labs. At my initial visit with James (a mere
$525), assistants’ phones buzz with texts from clients, many
of whom are not sick but stressed, fatigued, and unable to
focus—the vague ailments of modern life often referred
to in these circles as “F.L.C.,” or “feel like crap,” syndrome.
James prods my abdomen, still puffy despite my Paleo-
induced five-pound weight drop. “If it’s bothering you,” she
says, “we’ll run a gut-microbiome test.” This will detect the
amount of good bacteria in my system, which can then be
bolstered by certain foods, she explains. Columbia University–
trained, blonde, and bicoastal,
the Aussie sees a gaggle of Vic-
toria’s Secret models, as well as “If you’re not testing, you’re
actresses such as Margot Robbie. guessing,” says Katie Mark,
She scans my urine and saliva
results. My mood- and digestion- a sports dietitian who rejects
regulating serotonin levels are the analog mentality of simply
high, but motivation-related
dopamine is “suboptimal,” which eating well and exercising
can result in fatigue. Also: Patient
exhibits cortisol spikes throughout the day. (Constant dead-
lines and travel, a young child, and city life come to mind.)
Twenty-four hours later, a lengthy menu arrives via email, full
of cortisol-calming ingredients: bitter greens for vitamin C,
magnesium-rich nuts and seeds for “emotional regulation,”
oily fish for omega-3s. Just reading through the plan is
exhausting. But what if it works?
I’m not alone in my intrigue. The popularity of functional
medicine and a trifecta of lifestyle trends (interest in genetic
tests; a surge in food allergies, whether real or imagined; and
millennials’ preference for personalization) have converged
to make an appointment with someone like James hard to
come by. There’s also an increased faith in the power of food as
health remedy; consumption of once-fringe comestibles, such
as medicinal mushrooms that can reportedly lower cholesterol
and boost immune response, has more than doubled since last
year. If you haven’t heard of reishi and chaga yet, you will.
T
o do my due diligence—and out of morbid
curiosity—I sign up for another round of tests
as a temporary client of the Santa Monica–
based LifeSpan Medicine, which offers a con-
cierge nutrition service nationwide. For the
requisite labs, my veins are tapped from the
comfort of my Brooklyn couch by a pink-cheeked nurse,
and my blood markers are tested to see how they respond to
specific food proteins. I am then overnighted a heaving tome
124 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
that uses my results to divide seemingly every known food
into categories: green (approved), yellow (foods that can be
judiciously integrated), and red (inflammatory foods to avoid,
which, alarmingly, includes all dairy, plus oats, avocado, and
coffee). The company follows up with recipes based on my
sanctioned diet, and for four weeks, I dutifully make zucchini
pesto noodles and quinoa cod lettuce wraps. Physically,
all is well—great, even. I lose two more pounds, my skin is
sparklingly clear, and I am sleeping better. My mental state,
however, is a different story. I don’t look forward to meals; I
avoid social situations because I don’t want to restrict myself;
I miss my morning oatmeal. I start drinking coffee again after
a week, but I do largely stick with the program, reasoning that
if the tests are specific to me, maybe the results will be, too.
Using genetics to determine metabolic predispositions may
sound like pseudoscience, but the research is there. Variations
in at least 38 genes have already been linked to one’s ability to
process alcohol, fatty acids, lactose, vitamin C, and caffeine,
which is why people with certain genetic variants thrive on
diets high in “good” fats or wheat, while others do not. A 2015
study found blood-sugar levels varied wildly among 800 sub-
jects who had eaten completely
identical meals.
Having this information at
your fingertips can be a power-
ful tool for staying on a nutrition
program, says Robert C. Green,
M.D., M.P.H., a geneticist and
professor of medicine at Harvard
Medical School. “In some cases,
people really are motivated by
hearing about something from their own DNA. We all know
we have to eat better,” he says, explaining that it may help to
think, “This is my data that’s been analyzed, and this is some
risk information that really applies to me.” That has certainly
been my experience. The hyperspecificity of my plans from
James and LifeSpan—Salmon, yes! Corn, no!—acted as an
incentive to stop eating processed food, to be mindful that
sugar gives me vertiginous mood swings, and to take a more
active interest in my health.
Buyers should still beware, though, says Green. “DNA has
this cachet of critical scientific thinking and deterministic
precision, but when you mix up the profit motive with early
science, you get some companies doing a very responsible job,
and some that aren’t.” Those gut-microbiome tests, for exam-
ple, can be effective, but the research, he notes, is still emerging.
It’s crucial to do your homework, agrees David Alpers, M.D.,
codirector for the Center for Human Nutrition at Washington
University School of Medicine. “Ask for strong scientific
evidence—in humans, rather than animals,” he insists. And if
you’re told to make a significant lifestyle change, Alpers adds,
seek a second opinion from an expert not tied to a product.
As for fitness routines, once a reliable bastion for improving
your health, even James isn’t ready to count them out. During
a recent appointment, she examined my puffy abdomen again.
“Does your stomach usually grow larger throughout the day?”
she asked. No, I told her. She was silent for a minute before
finally replying, “You might just need Pilates.” 
E F F YJ E W E L R Y. C O M F I N E J E W E L R Y E S T. 1 9 7 9
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 November 2018

15
PH OTOGRAPHE D BY ALE X W EB B OF MAGN UM P HOTOS

YEARS OF THE
CFDA/VOGUE FASHION FUND
MIGHT SEEM LIKE A LONG TIME TO SOME. TO US, IT’S SIMPLY AN
AMAZING BEGINNING. WE ASKED SOME ALUMS TO LOOK BACK—
AND POINT THE WAY FORWARD FOR THIS YEAR’S CLASS.

127
128
 I
n 2003, the filmmaker Douglas Keeve set
out to capture the inaugural class of the
CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund. He spent
most of a year training his cameras on
thirteen energetic young designers in
need of money, mentoring, and the
elusive magic that comes from being
anointed “the future” in an industry be-
sotted with what’s next. For any direc-
tor, this assignment should have been
the stuff of magic: cool kids, beautiful
clothes, gorgeous models, celebrated
judges, and celebrity talking heads—
cinematographic proof that Warhol
was right and happiness really is a job in
New York. But the resulting documentary, Seamless, told a
different story (and the footage on the cutting-room floor was
even more devastating). Doo-Ri Chung, a 2006 winner, lost
her studio when her parents’ dry-cleaning business in New
Jersey burned to the ground. Alexandre Plokhov of Cloak, a
2004 runner-up, found himself in the dark—literally—with
a collection to finish when his alt-folk, cello-playing business
partner went on tour with a punk band without paying the
electric bill. Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez of
Proenza Schouler, winners in 2004, struggled to keep their
personal and professional partnership intact in ways that
were heartbreaking to behold. Why would anyone want to
be a designer, anyway? It all seemed so insurmountably hard.
Of course, this was exactly why the CFDA/Vogue Fashion
Fund was created fifteen years ago: to make the Ameri-
can fashion community more caring, more creative, more
conscionable. At Vogue, we had seen how 9/11 toppled the
businesses of an entire generation of new creators and had
tried to help by funding group shows and solo efforts under
the rubric An American View. We had forgone the oppor-
tunity to participate in reality-television shows where, by
design, entertainment would trump talent. We wanted to
face the hard truths of our industry: that the so-called young
designers were then in their 40s; that diversity was nonexistent
and not discussed; that the gap between the haves and the
have-nothings was not only wrong but also fundamentally
deadening to a community based on vibrancy. Plokhov was
not the only one shrouded in gloom: The lights were going
out on American fashion.
And what a difference a competition makes. Fifteen years
and 150 finalists later, the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund prize
has created global stars, local heroes, a must-watch New York
Fashion Week, and, most important, a true sense of com-
FIRST STRING munity among designers of all ages and backgrounds—all
Model Imaan Hammam with differing aesthetic and commercial aspirations—who
sports a kinetic look, communicate, collaborate, and essentially care for one an-
lush with frond prints,
by 2007 Fashion Fund other through the fun and not-so-fun times. (As Keeve saw
runner-up Phillip Lim in his lens, creativity is never easy, business is always going to
and a pair of hoops by be challenging, and life will whack you sideways.) The small
2012 runner-up Jennifer
Meyer. For Lim, qualifying
comfort of knowing they are not alone has given American
for the fund was “like designers the freedom to think bigger, bolder, and more
winning the design beautifully for the world they dress—for all of us, basically.
lottery.” Meyer found it Fifteen years later, we are all winners.—SALLY SINGER
equally revelatory: “The
most important people
in fashion,” she realized,
“actually want to help you PHOTOGRAPHED BY MIKAEL JANSSON
and see you succeed!”
Fashion Editor:
Tonne Goodman.
129
PRECIOUS CARGO
The four designers
behind Vaquera, a
2017 finalist, prove
that sequins do indeed
pair well with corduroy.
Hammam finishes
off the look with hoop
earrings by Pamela
Love, a 2010 finalist
whose Fashion Fund
experience mixed bliss
and panic—with an AC
malfunction the day of
her studio visit firmly
in the latter camp. “We
had to run to Home
Depot and buy a new
one,” she says. “It was
barely installed when
the Fashion Fund team
walked in the door.”
WARM AND FUZZY
Hammam wears The
Elder Statesman’s
sumptuous knitwear—
and Marc Alary rings on
each finger. “I know this
sounds canned,” says
The Elder Statesman’s
Greg Chait, a 2012
winner, “but all the
judges and the people
were a treasure chest.”
Alary, a runner-up
the next year, most
enjoyed checking out
the competition to
see “what the other
finalists came up with.”
FLOUNCE AND
FISHNET
Kendall Jenner pairs
an Altuzarra dress
(Joseph Altuzarra was
a 2011 winner) with Paul
Andrew ankle boots,
while Hammam opts
for Tabitha Simmons
sandals with a Rodarte
dress. “Our first
presentation with the
panel was so scary,”
say 2006 runners-
up Kate and Laura
Mulleavy, of Rodarte.
“We practiced questions
about business on note
cards.” Shoe designer
Paul Andrew, a 2014
winner, describes the
entire affair as “surreal.”

133
EASY STREET
Jenner nods to the
nineties in a sporty
look by 2006 finalists
Rag & Bone, while
Hammam appears
monochromatic-chic in
last year’s winner, Telfar
and, for good measure,
Jennifer Fisher’s rings.
For Fisher, a 2012
finalist, picking the
competition’s pinnacle
was easy: “When Anna
walked up to me to
say, ‘Good job.’ ”
 THE GREAT LACE
Hammam smolders in
a crushed-velvet slip
dress by 2015 winner
Jonathan Simkhai
and dangle earrings
by Irene Neuwirth,
a 2008 finalist.
BEAUTY NOTE
Amp up the wow factor
with a head-turning
silhouette. L’Oréal Paris
Elnett Satin Hairspray
Extra Strong Hold
Precious Oil locks
strands in place while
delivering a soft,
luminous finish.
OFF THE CUFF
Hammam adds some
additional air to her
Thom Browne pants.
A 2005 runner-up,
Browne feels he owes
much to his competition.
“The professional and
personal relationships
I made during the
Fashion Fund,” he
says, “are the most
incredible thing to me.”

136
 WINNING BY A NECK
Jenner is every bit the
lady in Brock Collection’s
prairie-floral frock and
Eddie Borgo earrings. “I
can’t imagine establishing
Eddie Borgo without the
support of the fund,”
says the jeweler, a 2010
runner-up. Laura Vassar
Brock—who, along with
her husband, Kristopher
Brock, founded 2016
winner Brock Collection—
says, “We spoke to a few
friends who had gone
through it, and they all
said the same thing: that
the Fashion Fund is a
life-changing experience.
And indeed it was!”
MANE EVENT
Predator or prey?
One is never a fashion
victim in Proenza
Schouler. Jenner
sports a tie-dye-and-
macramé look by the
design duo–the fund’s
first-ever winners—and
a faux-fur cloche by
Albertus Swanepoel.
Of the process,
Swanepoel, a 2008
runner-up, admits, “The
whole thing was pretty
scary—and this was
before social media!”
 BLUE IS THE
WARMEST COLOR
With a coordinating
beaded skirt, Prabal
Gurung’s Nordic
knit gets a cocktail-
hour touch. To quell
stage fright, Gurung,
a 2010 runner-up,
“taped up photos of
all of the judges in my
apartment,” he says,
“so I could practice
in front of them.”
IN STEP
Jenner wraps a Gypsy
Sport–clad arm around
Hammam, in an
Alexander Wang look.
Though Gypsy Sport’s
Rio Uribe admitted he
began the Fashion Fund
with “no expectations,”
he took the prize in
2015. Another winner,
2008’s Alexander
Wang, remembers
that “seconds before
my name was called
saying that I won, my
phone started ringing—
awkward! My phone
stays on silent now.”
 RED ALL OVER
Jenner contrasts a
Derek Lam silky faille
dress in the most
sumptuous color with a
pair of beaded Brother
Vellies gladiators. “I
made it through with
some semblance of
dignity, I hope!” says
Lam of the fund’s
inaugural class. Brother
Vellies designer Aurora
James, meanwhile—a
2015 winner—says that
without the fund, “I’m
not sure I would have
expanded my business.”
In this story: hair, Shay
Ashual; makeup, Mark
Carrasquillo. Details,
see In This Issue.
PRODUCE D BY N O RTH SIX
 MEET THE CAST
BACK ROW: Matthew Adams Dolan, Christian
PH OTOGRAPHE D BY ALE X W EBB

Cowan, Hunting Season’s Danielle Corona, Luar’s

Raul Lopez, Pyer Moss’s Kerby Jean-Raymond,
and Jonathan Cohen. FRONT ROW: Rebecca de
O F MAGN UM PHOTOS

Ravenel, Scosha’s Scosha Woolridge, Bode’s Emily

Adams Bode, and Batsheva’s Batsheva Hay. In this
story: hair, Hiro + Mari for Bumble and Bumble;
makeup, Susie Sobol for Marc Jacobs Beauty.
Photographed by Alex Webb.
Sittings Editor: Jorden Bickham.

142
2018 FINALISTS
“IT’S FASCINATING TO SEE THAT there is no single path
to success in fashion,” says Bode designer Emily Adams
Bode—and while that is undoubtedly true, the CFDA/Vogue
Fashion Fund certainly gives one a leg up. The Atlanta-
born designer is among the ten finalists of the 2018
class, with Batsheva’s Batsheva Hay, Christian Cowan,
Hunting Season’s Danielle Corona, Jonathan Cohen, Luar’s
Raul Lopez, Matthew Adams Dolan, Pyer Moss’s Kerby
Jean-Raymond, Rebecca de Ravenel, and Scosha’s Scosha
Woolridge rounding out the list.
Last year, Bode became one of the few women to show-
case at New York Fashion Week: Men’s—because, one could
say, she knows what the boys want (irreverent two-piece suits
and patterns tinged in a ’70s sepia). De Ravenel has also
been making a splash with her bold drop earrings, which
helped usher in a return to the statement earring—and
the Bahamian-and-Parisian-bred designer is now doing
ready-to-wear.
Lopez, of Luar, caters to cool kids of all genders and all
ages with his anything-goes approach—high heels, spaghetti
straps, and belts that cinched the waists of everyone who
walked down his most recent catwalk. (It’s the same inclusive
philosophy the Williamsburg, Brooklyn–born designer
brought to Hood by Air, the label he cofounded with Shayne
Oliver.) Other New York natives include Jean-Raymond and
Hay. For the former, it’s diversity above all else. “At its core,
Pyer Moss is about giving a voice to the silenced,” he says. In
his last collection, Jean-Raymond featured embellishments
and prints of moments in black lives, celebrating the quo-
tidian goings-on that have often been disrupted by racism.
Hay, unusually, is almost an accidental designer—she was
a Georgetown-educated lawyer before she left that job to
make Victoriana dolly dresses for grown-ups.
British designer Cowan’s self-titled label, beloved for
high-watt glitter suits and barely-there bodysuits with gigot
sleeves for a nineteenth century–meets–1980s feel, has a red
carpet–friendly fan base that includes Cardi B, Lady Gaga,
and the sisters Jenner—not bad for someone just two years
out of Central Saint Martins and London College of Fash-
ion. (Cowan, like so many before him, calls the Fashion Fund
his “fashion rite of passage.”) Miami-born, Bogotá-based
accessories maker Corona, meanwhile, has been producing
handmade crossbodys and elegant satchels since 2006, when
she debuted her label Hunting Season.
Cohen, who launched his label in 2011, has been steadily
gaining clout for his feminine, easy-breezy pieces, which make
getting dressed as simple as zipping into one of his printed
mididresses. And at Woolridge’s Brooklyn studio, environ-
mentally minded jewelry is crafted with ages-old metalsmith
techniques. The well-traveled, Australian-born designer
imbues each of her wares with a piece of the world—her
braided charm bracelets are enough to evoke wanderlust.
Closer to home, at a time when patriotism can invite dis-
comfort, Dolan embraces Americana with smart sportswear
and a lot of denim. Can his fashion save the day? We’ll have
to wait and see. (The Fashion Fund’s winner, along with two
runners-up, will be announced this month.)—LILAH RAMZI

143
ALEXANDRIA OCASIO-CORTEZ
stands five feet and four—almost
five—inches tall. In meetings, she takes
notes in a large, canary-yellow Mole-
skine notebook. She is a lefty, by which
I mean a left-handed person, but since
she’s running as a Democratic Socialist
in New York’s Fourteenth District, the
other meaning is also correct. On her
wrist she wears a thin hair band, using
it to pull her hair back the way another
politician might roll up shirtsleeves (af-
ter TV appearances, on long car rides,
talking to constituents). Her round
glasses and elevated, slightly hunched
shoulders give her the look of some-
one vying to win not a congressional
seat, having already defeated a 20-year
incumbent, but a school science fair—
which, by the way, she also won back
in high school.
I first meet Ocasio-Cortez at The
Daily Show, on Eleventh Avenue,
at that cross-section of New York
where horses-and-buggies coexist
with luxury-car dealerships. When
Trevor Noah drops by Ocasio-
Cortez’s greenroom, he seems like the
starstruck one, trying on various forms
of praise. “Congratulations on your
journey!” he says, shaking her hand.
“Congratulations on being the most
hated person on the right!”
A month earlier, the 28-year-old
former Bernie Sanders organizer de-
livered the biggest upset of the 2018
midterms when she unseated Demo-
crat Joe Crowley, rattling the political
order with a progressive platform that
calls for a $15 minimum wage, Medi-
care for All, tuition-free public college,
and the abolishment of ICE. Meghan
McCain suffered a meltdown on The
View, warning against Ocasio-Cortez’s
“dangerous” policies. Ron DeSantis,
a Florida Republican, described
her as “this girl . . . whatever she is.”
Ocasio-Cortez has gotten so used to
the attacks that she’s developed a bit
IN THE HOT SEAT
imitating her critics. “We’re not scared
Ocasio-Cortez, the
of you,” she likes to say in a nasal, Steve Democratic candidate for
Urkel voice. “We’re laughing at you!” New York’s Fourteenth
Noah jokes that the anchors over at District, in a Victor
Glemaud sweater, at
Fox News have formed a crush on her. her Bronx apartment,
“Jesse Watters was like, ‘She’s a star, which she shares with her
and she’s attractive, and she’s tall, and boyfriend, Riley Roberts
she’s good-looking, and she’s a Social- (LEFT). Hair, Orlando Pita;
makeup, Fulvia Farolfi.
ist, and she’s beautiful. . . .’ I was like, Details, see In This Issue.
‘Are you still talking about policy?’ ” Sittings Editor:
Backstage Ocasio-Cortez reviews Tonne Goodman.
notes in her yellow Moleskine and
Scenes from a
Revolutı̇on
As young women on
the political left storm
the gates of government,
Irina Aleksander reports
on a game-changing
election and the
progressive movement’s
new star, Alexandria
Ocasio-Cortez.
Photographed by
Annie Leibovitz.
 sips from a can of lemon LaCroix. As
Noah introduces her, she performs her
signature audience greeting—both
arms out, with a little jazz-hands wave.
Come November, she’s almost certain
to become the youngest woman in
Congress. By now, Noah has refined
his welcome. “Congratulations on be-
ing both the dream of half the country
and a nightmare of another half!”
Ocasio-Cortez flashes a big, dim-
pled smile. “I’ll take it.”
All through the primaries, pundits have
been declaring 2018 the year that wom-
en have finally decided to storm the
gates of government. Maybe it was
#MeToo or the marches—or “the
Republican party increasingly look-
ing like a scene from The Handmaid’s
Tale,” as Steve Schmidt, the political
THE NEW WAVE
Ocasio-Cortez campaigning in New York, photographed by Leibovitz. OPPOSITE: Lauren
Underwood, a Democratic challenger in Illinois, photographed by Gregory Halpern.
strategist, tells me—but a record 529
women announced they would run for
Congress this year. Another 61 filed to
pursue governorships. According to
Kirsten Gillibrand, who’s running for
reelection in the Senate—and yes, for
now that is all she’s running for—“It’s
officially a pink wave!”
As of this writing, 273 women have
secured nominations. In Massachu-
setts, Ayanna Pressley is positioned to
be the first African American wom-
an to represent the state in Congress.
In Texas, Gina Ortiz Jones, a former
146
Air Force intelligence officer, could
become the first openly gay, Asian
American House member. In Geor-
gia, Stacey Abrams is the first black
woman to secure the nomination for
governor. In New Jersey, Mikie Sher-
rill, a former Navy pilot and federal
prosecutor, is likely to replace a 23-
year House Republican. In Vermont,
Democrats nominated Christine
Hallquist, who would become the
nation’s first transgender governor.
In Minnesota, Ilhan Omar is poised
to be among the first Muslim wom-
en to enter Congress. (Michigan has
nominated Rashida Tlaib.)
When I reach Elizabeth Warren,
who describes her 2012 Senate run as
“a little like jumping off a high dive
and hoping there’d be water when I
hit,” she recalls her surprise when Katie
Porter, a former student, told her she
intended to run. “My response was,
‘What?!’ She’s terrific, but an elected
official?” Warren says. “It didn’t fit in
my brain, and yet it made perfect sense.
She’s passionate and determined, and
that’s what we need—people who don’t
fit the mold, who say, ‘I’m in this.’ ”
Porter has now secured the Democratic
nomination in California’s deeply red
Forty-fifth District.
But of all the impressive women
running, it’s Ocasio-Cortez who has
emerged as the anti-Trump. He’s from
Queens; she was born less than fifteen
miles away, in the Bronx. He inherited
a family business; she was bartending
as she mounted a campaign for office.
If Trump is the last gasp of the baby
boomers, then Ocasio-Cortez is the
first emphatic cry of the millennials.
But each arrived as an insurgent, skill-
fully lassoing populist fervor to topple
establishment politicians.
In recent months, Ocasio-Cortez
has been traveling the country to elect
fellow progressives across Kansas, Mis-
souri, and California. The day after we
meet in New York, I’m to follow her
to Michigan, where she’s campaign-
ing for gubernatorial candidate Ab-
dul El-Sayed. But we get waylaid by
a rainstorm. Every flight out of New
York City on this muggy Friday is can-
celed. In the end, El-Sayed’s campaign
charters a jet, and Ocasio-Cortez, after
traveling all night, spends the day rally-
ing thousands across the state.
The next time I see her is for break-
fast in Dearborn. “Do you want to talk
about your schedule?” her bodyman,
Daniel Bonthius, asks.
She shakes her head. “I’m cattle,”
she says. “Just tell me if there’s some-
thing alarming happening.”
For all of the national attention
Ocasio-Cortez has received, her staff
remains a small collective of like-
minded young people. Until just a day
ago, Bonthius, a 33-year-old theater
grad who signs emails with his pre-
ferred pronouns (“he/him”), juggled
his duties with a job at a supper club.
His wife, Alisha Giampola, also 33, is
an unpaid volunteer. Ocasio-Cortez’s
press secretary is Corbin Trent, 38,
who operated a pair of food trucks in
Tennessee, processing his own steers,
until he heard the gospel of Bernie and
decided to volunteer. Trent answers
most questions with a “Yes, ma’am,”
doesn’t sleep, seems to subsist entirely
off a vape pen, and has a slight limp
from falling 45 feet onto pavement
under circumstances that he will only
describe as “doing stupid shit.”
I wasn’t going to tell you what
Ocasio-Cortez is wearing—because it’s
2018—but then I learn a by-product
of her becoming a national story is
that she’s caught flak for, of all things,
repeating outfits. Since a friend got her
a Rent the Runway subscription, she’s
taken to ordering clothes on the go.
Today, that’s a draped Helmut Lang
blazer paired with a thrifted black
jumpsuit, which she describes as “like
pajamas but appropriate for politics.”
The previous night Ocasio-Cortez
had dinner with Nick Hayes and
Naomi Burton, the young filmmakers
behind her viral campaign video fea-
turing the shot of her changing into
heels on a subway platform. The cou-
ple, who left corporate jobs to found
a production company focused on
progressive causes, have since become
so in demand that they’ve been turn-
ing down candidates they deem not
radical enough. Ocasio-Cortez has a
similar approach to selecting those
worthy of her endorsement, who, in
addition to El-Sayed, include Pressley
in Massachusetts, Cori Bush in Mis-
souri, and James Thompson in Kansas.
“There’s a base level of progressivism
required,” she says. Another factor is
whether a district can be flipped. “And
that’s according to our analysis, not
. . . ” she pauses. “I really need a new
word for establishment! It sounds so
tinfoil hat–y.”
“Can we just call it the patriarchy?”
Giampola offers. Despite her
“But it’s the patriarchy, it’s the oli- endorsements,
garchy . . . ” Ocasio-Cortez says.
“It’s all an archy,” Trent says. “It’s
Underwood did not
the malarkey-archy.” start out as an
Ocasio-Cortez cracks up. “The
malarkey-archy!”
establishment
As if on cue, Trent is distracted by candidate—“I’m a
an alert on his phone: “Dukakis warns 31-year-old black
Democrats that exaggerating Ocasio-
Cortez victory is a serious mistake.” woman,” she says.
“Dukakis?” Ocasio-Cortez asks.
“Michael Dukakis?” She turns back
“No one was like,
to me. “Here’s what’s so silly,” she ‘Girl, you’re the one’ ”
says. “No Democrat is exaggerating
my victory. Not a single incumbent is
like, ‘Oh, my God, I’m so happy she’s
here. . . .’ ”
It’s true that the digs have come
not just from Republicans but from “I think we’re scared of things we’re “But I think there’s like a dream
leaders in her own party. Nancy Pelosi not familiar with, that show power,” 2028, or dream 20. . . .”
dismissed her win as a local phenom- she says. “If a spaceship landed in your Here Bonthius interjects, “Well, in
enon. Alcee Hastings, a Democratic backyard, it’s like, ‘What the fuck is 2028, you’ll be 35, so. . . . ”
Congressman from Florida, declared, that? Is it going to hurt me?’ ” “Never,” she says. “I want to be Ber-
“Meteors fizz out.” Joe Lieberman When I wonder who, if anyone, nie Sanders but never run for president.
warned that Ocasio-Cortez is “likely would be her dream 2020 candidate, I want to be the kooky old lady who
to hurt Congress, America, and the Ocasio-Cortez sighs. brings her cats to the floor of Con-
Democratic Party.” He urged voters “We don’t have one, TBH,” she says, gress and says, ‘Here’s the right thing
to choose Crowley, who, in a fluke employing social-media speak for “to to do.’ I just want to be chilling with
of election laws, will still appear on be honest.” “There are several that are Sonia Sotomayor, wearing gold hoop
the ballot. good enough. But I can’t say names.” earrings with a big old FU and a pretty
I ask Ocasio-Cortez why establish- “You can’t say names,” Trent necklace.”
ment politicians are so spooked by her. confirms. The past C O N T I N U E D O N P A G E 1 8 4

147
Battle
With two tough-
as-nails roles, the
dauntless Claire
Foy sheds her
crown for a new set
of armor. Nathan
Heller witnesses the
transformation.
Photographed by
David Sims.

Royal
 REBEL BELLE
From the queen to
Lisbeth Salander,
Foy is a study in
contrasts. THIS PAGE:
No pearls for her—the
actor, in a Gucci dress,
clutches a chain-link
Janis Savitt necklace.
OPPOSITE PAGE: She
mixes an Alexander
McQueen delicate
leather-eyelet dress and
zippy jacket. Ear cuffs by
Anita Ko and Maria Tash.
Bracelets by Hermès
and John Hardy.
Fashion Editor:
Camilla Nickerson.

trange as it sounds, Claire Foy knows
the London canals intimately, she tells me, having once steered
a boat through the longest of their tunnels and somehow
come out the other side. The two of us are standing on an em-
bankment in Camden, in north-central London, toward the
summer’s end. In another age, a stroll along this waterfront
would have been a gritty passage. Now it’s calm and scenic,
dampened only by the weather. A refreshing cloudburst,
heavy and cool, is drenching the city after weeks of lazy and
uncomfortable heat.
“I went on a hen do once,” Foy says, recalling a friend’s
floating bachelorette party on the canal. “No one else was
brave enough to operate the barge, so I did. Ridiculous.” She
bursts into incredulous laughter under the umbrella we share.
In a navy raincoat, a nautical blue-and-white-striped sweater,
and crisp trousers, Foy projects a hint of the Britannic polish
she perfected playing Queen Elizabeth II in The Crown—the
role that, in its delicate control, made her famous. (“She has
incredibly keen eyes for the small details which inform the
bigger story,” her costar Matt Smith says.) The tour boat
we’ve been waiting for has begun boarding, and she lets a
family on an ill-fated sightseeing outing pass ahead. Rain is
pouring in sheets off the sides of an awning overhead as a
guide named Lee murmurs over a PA.
“There used to be bikes and trolleys and, you know, the
odd corpse that you’d find in the canal,” Foy notes cheerily,
after the boat sets off. “Now they’ve cleaned it up.” She smiles.
“Sit back, relax, and enjoy the rain.”
For Foy, now 34, the boat ride is a chance to relish London
again after spending six long weeks convalescing: What had
started out seeming like a simple flulike ailment had dragged
on and on, transforming into an infection involving occa-
sional, terrifying spikes of fever. Day after day, she traveled to
and from the hospital for tests. Antibiotics had no effect; the
doctors scratched their heads. Exhaustion had at first seemed
a probable cause, if not a precise explanation. She had been
working steadily since shooting the first season of The Crown
just four months after the birth of her daughter, Ivy Rose,
in 2015. The rush of success that followed culminated, last
winter, in a period of intense physical and mental preparation
150
for her upcoming role in the latest iteration of Stieg Larsson’s
Lisbeth Salander saga, The Girl in the Spider’s Web. Around
the same time, she added the stress of major life change by
separating from her husband, the actor Stephen Campbell
Moore. “You can keep yourself going for a long time, and
that’s what I’ve pretty much been doing since I gave birth,”
Foy explains. “My body has paid the price.”
It wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago that doctors put
her right, citing a combination of infection and fatigue.
Foy and her daughter left for a holiday in France with her
older sister. (On her wrist Foy wears a friendship brace-
let to commemorate the trip that spells out, in beads,
j-u-n-e—her sister’s nickname for her, from “Junior.” “I’d
sort of much rather be called June,” she confesses.) After a
long summer of darkness, Foy is coming alive again.
“Everyone is very friendly on the canal,” she says, and,
like a veteran boatwoman, raises a hand to passersby, none
of whom appear to register they are being waved at by the
queen. (“There are days and weeks and months when no-
body recognizes me at all,” Foy reports, with something
like delight. “It’s mainly in airports that it happens.”) Foy,
who trained at the Oxford School of Drama, tends to grow
into her roles, accruing manners, accents, whole ways of
being in the world like layers of makeup. (She loves to play
the piano and often thinks in terms of music; she makes a
different playlist for each character—for Salander, the list
included LCD Soundsystem, Stromae, and the Swedish
singer Beatrice Eli—and never revisits a compilation after
the shooting ends.) Today her chestnut hair is cropped into
a stylish pixie that’s just starting to grow out. She is not
tall—five feet four—and seems even smaller with her body
cast into a sinewy, athletic form.
This version of Claire Foy partly reflects the rigors of
rapid and recent change. In First Man, a movie by Damien
Chazelle that opened this year’s Venice Film Festival, Foy
plays Janet Armstrong, wife of Neil, the lunar astronaut
(played by Ryan Gosling). In the film, Janet struggles with
loss and the emotional labor of holding together a family
that’s increasingly eclipsed, as it were, by the moon. The
role of Salander—Larsson’s socially maladaptive vigilante,
engaged in a long, fearless fight against men who hurt wom-
en—was last played by Rooney Mara and is also notoriously
strenuous: It required Foy to train with focus at the gym
for the first time in her life. “So much of it was about being
physically able to do the stunts,” she recalls. “Suddenly I was
like, ‘I can do ten press-ups.’ I could run. I could lift weights.”
The part was doubly challenging because the director, Fede
Alvarez, sought to minimize the use of computer effects.
When Salander looks to be shivering in subzero weather, Foy
herself was freezing. When Salander teeters on a cliff, Foy
was really there, strapped perilously into place. “It definitely
wasn’t a walk in the park,” Alvarez says.
“Sometimes in those circumstances, you’re not acting any-
more,” Foy explains as we drift through eccentric Camden,
whose slate-gray skies suggest Stockholmian chill. For the
film, Salander undertakes a car chase in a Volvo, coordinates
a small-scale jailbreak, dives into a bathtub for shelter from
an explosion. “Fede is just like, ‘Go! Go! Go! Go!’ And I’m
like, ‘Huh! Huh!’ ” She mimics panting. (“Actors always talk
about how tough it is, and I roll my eyes,” Alvarez says. “She
was a total trouper.”) “When I read the script of Spider’s
Web,” Foy says with a laugh, “I did think, I don’t know
anyone who would take this on.”
And yet she did. This is, one comes to realize, a pattern
with Foy, who describes herself as a quailing British “fatalist”
(“Disaster is always round the corner!” she chirps) but who
reliably does whatever must be done. “When you meet Claire,
you couldn’t think anyone was more different than Lisbeth
Salander,” Alvarez says. “But when you get to know her a
little more, there’s a lot of fire in her.”
That dauntless Foy was the one who, a few years ago, saved
the day on this very canal. The bachelorette party was for a
friend who used to work for the European Court of Justice,
so the vessel was filled with “lawyers and doctors and really
practical, clever women,” Foy recalls. No one wanted to steer
the ship through a narrow tunnel almost 250 meters long. “It
took the actor to be the one who had no shame to go, ‘Oh,
I’ll do it! I’m game!’ ” She commandeered the heavy tiller
and navigated through.
“At one point, we got lodged to the side, and the girls had
to push off with their feet,” she says. One is tempted to draw
parallels—with a shy and private woman who accedes to duty
and leads an empire, say, or with a capacity to adapt to the
most unanticipated challenges, such as watching a husband go
to the moon.“This is the big guy, I think,” Foy says, squinting
ahead as a tunnel looms into view. The sides of the canal are
lined with blackberry brambles and flowering bushes. “There
it is!” she cries with a mix of delight and horror. “This is the
one that I steered the bloody beast down!”
Crisis and mastery have been themes in Foy’s life since her
childhood. Growing up in Buckinghamshire, she was the
youngest of three precocious children. Her sister, the eldest,
was unruly but brilliant, frequently playing hooky from
school but usually emerging at the top of her class. (“You
know Jilly Cooper books—sort of soft porn for middle-aged
women?” Foy says. “My sister was reading them when she
was seven.”) Her brother, in turn, was “a mathematical
genius.” Foy was the arty one, enamored of her piano and
dance lessons. She was a glutton for the limelight: She and
two of her cousins used to put on family shows, complete
with original songs. “I was really loud—like, really loud,”
she recalls. “I remember being told off a lot.”
When Foy was seven, her father moved out; when she was
nine, her mother realized that she could no longer afford to
keep their house, and transferred them to a smaller place. “We
almost all killed each other,” Foy says of the close quarters.
“I think Mum hadn’t seen her life going in that direction,
and it felt very much out of her control. She was having to
make decisions for us that she wouldn’t want.” Her sister,
then a teenager, began acting out. Foy, still a child, reinvented
herself as the canny family problem-solver. “I used to draw
plans of what we could do with the rooms for my mum, to
try to make her a bit excited about it,” she says.
Foy describes herself as an awkward high-school student:
a somewhat shy goody-goody whose arthritis disqualified
her from sports and whose looks, she thought, disqualified
her from a lot of other things. “I looked shit, I was shit at
everything, and my life was going to be a disaster—that’s
definitely what I felt,” she says. She was at an all-girls school,
with a boys’ school opposite: a fine recipe for insecurity.
“There was so much heartbreak,” Foy recalls.
And then, instead of getting better, things got worse.
During Foy’s last year, a tumor was found behind one of her
eyes. She had surgery and steroid therapy while waiting for a
biopsy to learn whether the tumor was cancerous. All at once,
her generalized teenage anxieties focused. When I ask her
what she was afraid of, she doesn’t flinch. “Dying,” she says.
The tumor ended up benign, news good enough to get
her through the worst effects of treatment. “With steroids
come all sorts of things an eighteen-year-old girl shouldn’t
have to think about, like putting on loads of weight and this
thing called ‘moon face,’ where you gain water in your face
and become almost unrecognizable. And acne, and having
a massive eye with black stitches in it.” She shakes her head.
“I didn’t care, because I was alive.” The brush with mortality
marked a turning point. She saved all the money she could,
deferred university for a year, and bought a ticket to New
York, where she stayed with a friend in a youth hostel in
Harlem and toured the big city by foot for hours every day.
At university, in Liverpool, on a whim, she enrolled in
an acting workshop. During a carpe diem moment in her
final semester, she took every role
she could. “We put on, like, three,
four plays,” she says. A teacher in-
quired after her plans. “The words “When I read
came out of my mouth: ‘I don’t the script of
know—I’d quite like to go to dra-
ma school,’ ” she says. “I remember Spider’s Web, I
thinking, I can’t believe I’ve just
said that! Now I have to, because
did think, I don’t
he’s going to check up on me.” know anyone
The rest was comedy, tragedy,
history. Foy came into broad public
who would take
view in Britain in the title role of this on”
Little Dorrit, a fourteen-part BBC
adaptation that aired in 2008. But it
was her interpretation of famous queens that turned heads
(even as, in some cases, the queens lost theirs). In 2013, in
the West End, she earned acclaim for playing Lady Macbeth
not as the usual devious, power-hungry sexpot but as a wom-
an desperate and broken after failing to bear a child. Her
understanding of the character had come all at once, with
certainty. “I auditioned my bum off for that role, because I
only saw her one way,” Foy explains. “In my head, they never
intentionally thought to kill someone. It just spiraled out of
control.” Then, in the BBC’s 2015 adaptation of Wolf Hall,
she played Anne Boleyn, whose confidence she found harder
to understand. “I question myself a thousand times a day,”
Foy says. “I think Anne really only questioned herself when
she was in the tower.” She adds, “I find it much easier to play
the weirdos of life.”
Foy’s current home, in Wood Green, in North London, is a
two-floor terraced brick house, with flowering vines climbing
around the windows in the front. When she and Campbell
Moore bought it, a few years ago, she was pregnant. They
were semi-desperate to find a place, but Foy fell in love with
this one from the moment she saw the front door. “I was like,
‘I can’t possibly live here. This is a proper grown-up house.’ ”
It had a large backyard, which Foy, a gardener who loves the
sun, could make her own.
The house will need to be sold soon, owing to the
151
LEATHER WEATHER
Foy and her Girl in the
Spider’s Web costar
Sverrir Gudnason
evoke Nordic noir in
all black. On Foy: Miu
Miu jacket, Prada
skirt. On Gudnason:
Saint Laurent by
Anthony Vaccarello
jacket and jeans.
 separation. Foy is trying to decide whether to continue living
in London (where her friends are) or move to the country
(where she could garden amply and, she thinks, find peace).
In the meantime, the house has been transformed into a
monument to attentive motherhood. Toys fill the living room,
the dining room, the kitchen. A three-year-old’s paintings
are proudly taped to the walls.
It was only after Foy became a mother that her career
really took off. That was not, perhaps, coincidence. Foy
had approached The Crown reluctantly when the part of
Queen Elizabeth was finally offered. “I was just a bit like,
‘I’m going to have a baby. That’s bigger than anything else,’ ”
she says. “And the weird thing is, Netflix was like, ‘Yeah, no,
we know it is.’ ”
Today, despite a very public exposure of the pay disparity
between her and Smith (“I went through so many different
states of being either kind of upset about it or ashamed or
annoyed or angry or defensive,” she says, “but my feeling
now is that something good will come out of it”), Foy speaks
with esteem of Netflix, which got its queen by investing, in
logistical ways, in her motherhood. “No one had ever said
to me that I could ask for anything before, that I could say
that I needed a trailer with a bed in it,” she says. “That was
completely new to me.” Her daughter
was four months old at the time, and
“I question that meant Foy “had to understand
that someone else would be giving her
myself a a bath and putting her to bed, which
thousand times was breaking my heart,” she confesses.
“But then, on the other hand, I went
a day. I find it back to work and I had a life outside.
much easier That was also really, really import-
ant.” In September, when Foy won
to play the her first Emmy, for The Crown, she
weirdos of life” expressed gratitude for “a role I never
thought I’d get to play.”
Now, healthy and in the midst of a
break in her work, Foy can spend days with her daughter—
and does. “It’s amazing seeing them discover everything for
the first time,” she says. “She’s very like a border collie. She
needs to run outside. She loves pulling faces. And then every-
body goes, ‘Oh, another actor in the family?’ ” Foy winces. “I
don’t want people to put that on kids. I mean, when I was a
kid I was just told to shut up—it was quite nice.”
Right after she finished The Crown, she and her daughter
planted a fig tree in her garden. Ivy Rose named the tree Matt,
in honor of Smith. (“He’s a fig tree, which I’m sure he doesn’t
really appreciate. But he’s very abundant,” Foy notes.) Her
daughter, she says, has only the sketchiest idea of her job
and has never seen her mother on-screen: Foy does most of
her movie-watching on airplanes and is not one to fire up
streaming services at home. But Ivy Rose did come to visit
the set of The Girl in the Spider’s Web, where Foy struggled
to explain the goings-on. “For weeks afterward she went,
‘Mummy, your hotel exploded?’ And I was like, ‘No, I wasn’t
living there. It was just pretend.’ ” Foy admits, “I think she
just thinks I’m a bit strange.”
Foy and Campbell Moore trade off time with Ivy Rose to
suit the exigencies of each other’s schedules. “I’m incredibly
lucky that I have a child with someone I deeply love and who
is my best friend,” Foy says. While she was filming the second
154
season of The Crown, Campbell Moore was diagnosed with
a brain tumor: “That’s Stephen’s thing to talk about, really,
but he’s doing really well, which is a miracle.” Foy is single
when we speak, and not dating. “I’m 34, and I genuinely can’t
even think about anything apart from taking care of myself
and taking care of my daughter, to be perfectly honest,” she
says with a shake of her head. “But you never know.”
The canal’s long tunnel empties out into Little Venice, whose
banks are lined with whimsically named houseboats (Ziggy)
and floating doghouses: a more domestic setting. Robert
Browning, the esteemed Victorian poet, lived here for 25
years, and an island is named after him. The rain, miracu-
lously, has stopped. The morning has a brisk, expectant air.
Foy is telling me about the domestic scenes in First Man,
in which her character, Janet, grapples with the pressure of
trying to lead a normal life under increasingly abnormal
circumstances. Neil and Janet struggle with the death of their
two-year-old daughter years before the moon landing, and
when they decide to move to Houston so that Neil can work
for NASA, Janet is hopeful. “It’s a fresh start,” she says. The
farther Neil travels, though, the more haunted he becomes.
Janet “was able to understand that she was in pain, but she
couldn’t understand whether Neil was,” Foy says, explaining
what attracted her to the character. “Sometimes when you
get to the end you’re a very different person to when you
were in the beginning. And that’s what happened in their
marriage, in a way.”
“Claire approaches every scene with a machete and im-
mediately starts hacking away at the clichés,” Gosling says.
“She was constantly exploring new ways to communicate
not only the complex dynamics inherent in any marriage,
but also the experience of someone living something so
singular that it’s hard to even imagine, let alone relate to.”
Her character, as Chazelle describes her, “had to have this
quiet, inward conviction, but in a very unassuming way.”
On shore, we make our way toward the Quince Tree café,
inside the Clifton Nurseries, a gardening shop selling potted
flowers. We order tea made with fresh ginger, mint, and
lemon. (Foy has been off caffeine for a couple of months.)
She adds a green juice, a prawn salad, and a side of sweet-
potato wedges with chili dip. She furrows her brow. “This is
probably not enough,” she says. She looks “like a skeleton”
S E T DES IG N, MAX B ELL HOUS E ; PRO DUC ED BY LAURA HO LMES PRODUCTION .
on account of her illness, she explains, and has been trying
to gain weight. Halfway through lunch, she flags down the
waitress and orders one more side plate of potato.
When The Girl in the Spider’s Web comes out, this month,
it is likely to be received as a Time’s Up–era film: the heroics
of a powerful young feminist vigilante who works to punish
predatory men. Foy bristles at that idea. “The movement
can’t be something just used as a tool to market a movie,” she
says. “I’d be ashamed.” For one thing, she points out, such
a framing is at odds with history: Larsson created Lisbeth
Salander nearly two decades ago—long before the current
reckoning. “It’s not ‘of the moment,’ ” she says of the film’s
approach. “That massively diminishes what activists and
feminists have been saying all along. It just so happens now
people are listening.” For another, she thinks that Lisbeth
is—well, much too weird to hang a movement on. “Lisbeth
finds the world very confusing, and finds emotional rela-
tionships with people incredibly C O N T I N U E D O N P A G E 1 8 6
RED TAPE
Despite the very public
exposure of the disparity
in pay between Foy and
The Crown costar Matt
Smith, she speaks highly
of Netflix. Her feelings
about the dispute now?
“Something good will
come out of it.” Foy
smolders in a Louis
Vuitton jacket and dress.
In this story: hair, Duffy;
makeup, Lucia Pieroni
for Clé de Peau Beauté.
Details, see In This Issue.
O
ne night in 2012, the English play-
wright Jez Butterworth and his
partner, the actress Laura Don-
nelly, were watching a television
documentary about the “Disap-
peared”—the people in Northern
Ireland who had been abducted,
killed, and buried, their where-
abouts unknown, by the IRA,
mostly during the 1970s and 1980s.
When the focus turned to one of the victims, Eugene Simons,
whose body was discovered in a bog three years after he’d van-
ished in 1981, Donnelly turned to Butterworth and casually
said, “That’s my uncle.” Butterworth had no interest in writing
about Northern Ireland; he was mulling over a play about fam-
ilies and the harvest. But after he accompanied Donnelly and
her mother to the funeral of a sixteen-year-old boy whose body
had just been found after more than 40 years—something
he recalls as “the most distilled situation of pure drama I’ve
ever been in”—it was only a matter of time. “The whole thing
started to snowball,” he says, “and before I knew it I couldn’t
get out the way of it—I just had to hang on for dear life.”
Now, fresh from an ecstatically received and sold-out
London run—and seven years after his magnificent Jeru-
salem conquered Broadway—comes The Ferryman, Butter-
worth’s ferocious and enthralling tale of a sprawling Irish
family caught in the slipstream of tragedy, directed by Sam
Mendes and featuring a cast of 21 (plus babies and livestock)
led by Donnelly and Paddy Considine. Set in rural North-
ern Ireland in 1981, the nearly three-and-a-half-hour play
bursts at the seams with characters and story lines marked
by Butterworth’s hallmark humor, ambition, and a feel for
how history and myth live on in the present.
The story centers on Caitlin Carney (Donnelly), who, after
the disappearance of her husband, has been forced, along with
her son, to live with her brother-in-law Quinn (Considine),
his fragile wife, and their extended, eccentric clan. When
the body of Caitlin’s husband turns up, preserved and still
wearing his wedding ring, ten years on, it’s clear that—after
a lot of dancing, drinking, betrayal, and thwarted romantic
longing—there will be blood. “These are people who are

HAIR ASSO CIATE , HE LE N KE AN E; MAKEUP, C E LINE N O NON , SUSAN YATES.

trying to bury their dead,” Butterworth says, “and that seems
to go to the heart of what being human is and the heart of
drama, which is dignity, and the cost of trying to preserve
that or survive its absence.”
Butterworth is in awe of Considine—you may know him
as the treacherous Father Hughes on the BBC 1920s crime
drama Peaky Blinders—who is making a revelatory stage
debut. “He feels incredibly vulnerable at the same moment
that he feels incredibly tough,” he says. “You’ll walk a long
way till you find something that raw.” But Butterworth can
FULL HOUSE
be forgiven for being particularly moved by Donnelly, who
The play’s ensemble cast—with
did her entire six-month run of the show on the West End Paddy Considine and Laura
pregnant with their second child, and whose luminous, Donnelly at center—in wardrobe.
heartbreaking performance earned her last year’s Best Actress Costume and set design,
Rob Howell; associate costume
Olivier. “She’s so truthful, which you can see from the back designer, Lucy Gaiger. Prop stylist,
row,” he says. “When an audience can’t tell the difference Sam Overs. Hair, Darren Fowler.
between what she’s doing onstage and what I’ve written Sittings Editor: Phyllis Posnick.
on the page—for a playwright, that’s as good as it gets.” 
 trouble &
strife
An Irish family spilling with children—and commotion—is at the
center of Jez Butterworth’s The Ferryman, which hits Broadway this
month after an acclaimed West End run. By Adam Green.
Photographed by Annie Leibovitz.
 Performing Miracles
Tony-winning actress Cynthia Erivo makes the giant leap
from stage to screen in two new thrillers out this fall.
Hamish Bowles tries to keep up.
Photographed by Ethan James Green.
THE FEARLESS performer Cynthia
Erivo has arrived at her no-nonsense
SoHo gym with her Maltipoo puppy,
Caleb, in tow. The risible idea is that
I will work out alongside her, but I
should have known better. After all,
this is an actress whose dream it is to
play Serena Williams (“There’s this
fiery, determined champion, and then
there’s this really gorgeous, almost
Marilyn Monroe–esque siren—some-
thing really quite ethereal”) and some
sort of fictional superhero (“I think
I’d really enjoy being able to just go
for it, to be honest”). Two exercises
in, I’m a crumpled mess, but at the
end of the grueling session Erivo,
who has barely broken a sweat, shows
off a bit, swinging about on the high
bars with the power and control of
an Olympic gymnast.
Erivo’s pugilistic skills and sump-
tuously muscled five-foot-one body
are put to good use in Steve Mc-
Queen’s Widows, a taut crime thriller
based on Lynda La Plante’s 1980s
British television series of the same
name, which showcases a stellar cast
of powerful women playing power-
ful women—including Viola Davis,
Michelle Rodriguez, and Elizabeth
Debicki along with Erivo. “No one had
to be a shrinking violet,” Erivo says.
CROSSOVER Her character, Belle, feisty and tender,
STAR arrives late to the story but makes an
“I like surprising indubitable impact. Erivo, who had
people,” Erivo
says. Simone longed to work with McQueen, is up-
Rocha dress. lifted that it has happened so soon in
Tiffany & Co. her on-screen career. “He’s got this
Elsa Peretti drop
really gentle sensibility,” she says of
S E T DES IG N, JU LIA WAG NE R
earring. In this
story: hair, Vernon her fellow Briton. “I felt that he really
Scott; makeup, only wanted the best of us and for us.”
Joanna Simkin. Her other new film, Drew God-
Details, see In
This Issue. dard’s Bad Times at the El Royale,
Sittings Editor: is set in the 1960s in a mysterious
Phyllis Posnick. establishment that straddles Nevada
and California. Erivo plays Darlene
Sweet, a soul singer with a beehive wig,
Barbie-pink nails, and a dark secret.
(She didn’t know she was going to be
the star until she was signing the con-
tract.) And after that: the title role in
Kasi Lemmons’s Harriet, about Har-
riet Tubman, who escaped slavery to
become a powerful abolitionist.
After the gym, Erivo goes home
to change; I go home to collapse. A
couple of hours later we meet again
at her Brooklyn apartment build-
ing, where she has changed into an
eye-popping dress from Öfuurë by
Tehilah of brilliant cobalt-blue Afri-
can cotton printed with neon-orange
writhing vines. “There’s been an in-
flux of really cool African designers
making pattern and print modern,”
explains Erivo, who was born in South
London to Nigerian parents. She has a
tiny Vuitton pochette slung on a lariat
across her chest, shaded 1970s-looking
sunglasses, orange Nike trainers, gold
hoop earrings, and a galaxy of tiny
studs nestling in her earlobes.
As we walk up the slopes of a nearby
park, we pass throngs of hipsters mill-
ing about. “It’s Soul Summit,” some-
one explains helpfully. “House music,
dance.” Soon the throbbing bass is
kicking in, the crowd thickens, and
every now and then, someone spots
Erivo. “That voice, girl!” one woman
cries out before telling her that every
day she sings along to a YouTube clip
of Erivo singing the powerfully as-
sertive anthem “I’m Here,” from The
Color Purple, on The Late Show with
Stephen Colbert in 2016—and has the
lyrics written down on a scrunched-
up piece of paper in the depths of
her purse. Erivo initiated the role of
Celie for the musical’s U.K. premiere
at London’s C O N T I N U E D O N P A G E 1 8 6
 CAPRI SUN
“Each terrace is treated a little
bit like a room of its own,” notes
Laura Sartori Rimini of the
many veranda spaces carved
into the rock surrounding her
Caprese home. Pictured here:
the house-facing main terrace,
which features a chestnut pergola
and a 600-year-old olive tree.
Sittings Editor: Hamish Bowles.
PassionPerched atop a cliff in Capri,
Laura Sartori Rimini and Roberto
Peregalli’s dramatic retreat was
created for two demanding clients:
themselves. By Hamish Bowles.
Photographed by François Halard.

Project

C
apri’s allure had bewitched the philos-
opher architect Roberto Peregalli ever
since he first visited the mystic island as
a child. Meanwhile, his partner in de-
sign, Laura Sartori Rimini (who forms
the pragmatic half of their alchemi-
cal architecture and interior-design
practice, Studio Peregalli), knew the
island mostly from the boating holidays she spent with her
parents, and was daunted by its oppressive soaring rocks.
So a decade ago, while the two were visiting Capri for
a client’s project, Peregalli suggested they take a walk to
explore the poetic landscapes beyond the madding crowds
in the bustling heart of town. “I was trying to convince
Laura that Capri was magic, a place of sea sirens, gods, and
goddesses!” he recalls. “From the sea it seems like a fortress,
with its very high rocks, but at the top you have lemon
trees and vines: There is a sweetness and a toughness that
is quite strange.” They eventually arrived at the far-flung
restaurant Le Grottelle, high above Curzio Malaparte’s
famed 1938 modernist villa, the Arco Naturale, and the
fabled caves of Grotta di Matromania, with amphithe-
ater-style seats that could have been hewn for Emperor
Tiberius at the turn of the first century. From this dramatic
vantage point, Rimini spotted an isolated 1950s cottage,
affording gull’s-eye views down the plunging cliffs to the
rocky coves far below.
162
PARADISE FOUND
The living room
showcases an affinity
for the eclectic:
Antique Neapolitan
tiles from Parma, a
17th-century painting
of Prometheus,
and a book-laden
Louis Quinze–style
desk are only some
of the treasures
housed there.
“The house was like the prow of a ship,” she recalls. “That
is the only house I would love to own on Capri,” she told
Peregalli. The place, as Peregalli and Rimini soon discovered,
had an unusual history. In the 1940s, a free-spirited Danish
woman arrived on the island and promptly fell in love with
this remote spot—and with a local fisherman. She bought the
land, and they built two modest houses, one to live in and the
other to run as a bar, which attracted such patrons as Ernest
Hemingway. Her amorous fisherman eventually fell for a
Dutch woman with whom he had a daughter, and for a period
all of them lived together in the spirit of a 1960s commune.
Years later, the adult daughter herself fell for a Caprese
man and returned to the island but found the house, with its
vertiginous drops, unsuitable for her two small children—
which is how it became available to Rimini and Peregalli.
The pair liked the idea of a place that would give them the
opportunity to apply their symbiotic sensibility without
exigent clients. Unlike the streamlined Swan sailing boat in
which Rimini and her husband, lawyer Emanuele Rimini,
chart the high seas with their children, or their family’s chalet
in Celerina, in the Engadine valley, this folly would provide a
bucolic extension of Studio Peregalli’s crowded Milan studio
that could be used as an evocative showcase of the partners’
powerfully historicist sensibility.
Rimini remembers thinking, “This is fate—as though it
was calling us.” Since they couldn’t change the footprint of
the house, they decided to rationalize its rambling layout and
 TO SAIL BEYOND THE SUNSET
“Nature gives you energy,” Rimini says, “a way to
meditate away from your everyday life.” ABOVE: a
lower terrace with a papyrus-filled water trough paved
in antique Neapolitan ceramic tiles. RIGHT: A view
from the folly faces the sparkling Gulf of Salerno.

A DOOR OPENS
LEFT: Flanked by French shutter doors and Moorish
windows, the dining room reveals a yellow-marble
table that grounds the space. ABOVE: Rimini’s
bedroom, with a view to her dressing room. paneled
in unique 18th-century chinoiserie engravings.

163

create a modest retreat—with two master bedrooms, one for
Peregalli and the other for Rimini, and an additional room for
guests or for her children, Vittoria and Cesare. The designers
took inspiration from storied island houses, including the
Villa San Michele, created at the turn of the nineteenth cen-
tury by Swedish writer Axel Munthe; the decadent aesthete
Jacques d’Adelswärd-Fersen’s exuberant Villa Lysis; and the
work of the engineer and preservationist architect Edwin
Cerio. As a result, they transformed the undistinguished boxy
house by adding Moorish windows and the vaulted ceilings
that were a feature of Caprese architecture in the eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries. These high-ceiling rooms now
provide, as Peregalli notes, a “sensation of grandeur, even
if the proportions are those of a small pavilion.”
The construction was complicated by the island’s rigor-
ous zoning, archaeological, and landscape protections, and
the practicalities of working here. “It was like Fitzcarral-
do,” says Peregalli, sighing. “I really felt it was something
irrational,” adds Rimini, “because everything had to be
brought up on the shoulders.” The dining room’s yellow
marble table might have raised logistical questions, but
the mature palm tree that Peregalli had set his heart on
presented an even greater challenge: It took a dozen men
to haul it in on ropes on a rain-dashed day.
The look of the interiors, meanwhile, took form on a foray
to the fabled antiques fair in Parma, where Peregalli and
Rimini found two young brothers selling beautiful antique
Neapolitan tiles. It turned out that they had brought only a
164
HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW?
LEFT: Peregalli’s bedroom, inspired by the
first-century Villa Poppaea in Oplontis,
enjoys a signature Caprese vaulted ceiling.
ABOVE: Rimini, in a custom Stephan Janson
dress made from hand-embroidered
Studio Peregalli textile, and a Stephan
Janson Moroccan vintage straw hat.
small selection with them; the designers soon bought almost
their entire stock, using hand-painted patterns on the floors
and skirting panels (where they are set flush with the walls).
For Peregalli, they are like carpets that are cool underfoot.
The eclectic furnishings and pictures betray Studio Pere-
galli’s taste for materials and textiles with patina and dra-
ma. In the living room, a seventeenth-century Neapolitan
painting of Prometheus chained hangs above a Regency
sofa upholstered in panels of brick-red Fez antique embroi-
dery. Peregalli’s bedroom is inspired by the Villa Poppaea in
Oplontis—a remarkably intact survivor of the Pompeiian
era. It is a leitmotif of his work: One of his earliest proj-
ects was the improbable transformation of a gloomy 1960s
tower-block bedsit into a remarkably convincing Pompeiian
fantasia, complete with a ceiling trompe l’oeil of the sky
above. Rimini’s room, meanwhile, allows for the twenty-first
century via a landscape by Alex Katz and a resin sculpture
by Ashley Hicks, and opens to a dressing room paneled in
eighteenth-century chinoiserie engravings.
The bookish Peregalli spends his time indoors and on
the upper terrace, conceptualizing projects with Rimini
and working on tomes including Grand Tour: The Worldly
Projects of Studio Peregalli (Rizzoli), which documents
ten of the designer-architects’ projects around the world.
Rimini, meanwhile, was drawn to the idea of creating a
garden of her own like those she remembered from her
childhood, and missed in her Milan apartment life. “Na-
ture gives you energy,” she explains, “a way to meditate
 DEEP ROOTS
The ancient olive tree on
the main terrace, says
Rimini, gives the property a
feeling of strength. “When
you come in and see it, you
really feel you have arrived
somewhere,” she says.
away from your everyday life.” The pair drew on the skills
of their friend the writer and botanist Umberto Pasti to
transform the terraces amid the steep rock face. “It was very
important that you don’t sense these terraces too much,”
says Rimini, “that instead you feel a sort of diagonal green
land—everything a little bit masked and hidden.” From the
sea this is now just the effect, with the gardens disappearing
into the unkempt surrounding landscape of pines, carobs,
cypresses, and prickly pears. As you take the precipitous
steps down, however, the subtlety of Pasti’s romantically
overgrown plantings reveals itself: “Each terrace is treated
a little bit like a room,” Rimini explains.
The house’s broad main terrace, now paved with slabs of
volcanic stone, is shaded by a rustic chestnut-wood pergola
and by the giant branches of a protective olive tree that is
purported to be 600 years old. “When you come in and see
it,” says Rimini, “you really feel you have arrived some-
where; it gives such a feeling of strength.” The herbs and
vegetables of Rimini’s potager are conveniently planted for
the kitchen—she aims eventually to become more or less
self-sufficient here—while a protected cave now serves as
a conservatory that is cool enough to showcase a begonia
theater. Sweet-scented old China and English roses flourish
on the level below, and there is a Middle Eastern feeling to
the orchard of almond, plum, apricot, and lemon trees on
a terrace farther downhill. A path has been hacked through
the tangle of blackberry bushes to make the trek to the azure
waters a little less demanding.
“What I love the most is to see, touch, and smell the chang-
ing of the seasons,” says Rimini exultantly as she surveys her
domain, “and at night to not hear any noise, and not see any
lights—unless some boats decide to moor down in the bay.” 
165
 Ms. Popularity IS CHRISSY TEIGEN—UNFILTERED,
HILARIOUS, ADORABLE—THE MOST LIKABLE
PERSON ON THE INTERNET? JASON GAY REPORTS.
PHOTOGRAPHED BY GILLIAN LAUB.
“I FEEL LIKE I would be annoyed by me if I weren’t me,”
Chrissy Teigen says. “I feel that all the time.”
It’s a late-summer afternoon, and the 32-year-old Teigen
is stepping into the kitchen of the Los Angeles home she
shares with her husband, the award-hoarding musician
John Legend. The couple’s two-year-old daughter, Luna,
is rambling around nearby; their recent arrival, Miles, is
cooing in a bassinet. A bulldog named Paul cozies at my feet.
The house is a knockout. It’s atop the hills and has the kind
of alpha-lion view you fantasize about when you fantasize
about owning a home in L.A. Rihanna used to live here;
Teigen has joked about opening Rihanna’s mail. There’s a
piano in the foyer with a shelf showcasing Legend’s bursting
collection of Grammys, plus his Oscar and his Tony—he’ll
win an Emmy in September, entering the rare club known as
the EGOT. Teigen will post an Instagram video of Legend
putting the Emmy atop the shelf, looking like a proud Little
Leaguer back from the playoffs.
Teigen returns with glasses of rosé for us. It’s from Legend’s
winery, LVE. It’s good. What do I look like, a sommelier?
I have come to see Teigen because I believe Teigen has
important answers for the universe. You know her as a model,
a television personality (Paramount Network’s Lip Sync
Battle), and the author of the best-selling cookbook Cravings
and its recently published sequel. You know her as one half
of one of the most appealing couples on earth—seriously,
they’re so both adorable you want to pinch them.
But it’s my unscientific opinion that Teigen’s greatest con-
tribution to the planet is her presence on social media. Chrissy
Teigen may be the Last Likable Person on the Internet.
We all know how it is. These days, social media feels like a
fistfight inside a garbage can inside a septic truck. And yet
Teigen wittily navigates the digital fray. Here’s a Teigen tweet
on marriage: “I always have a note in my pocket that says
‘John did it’ in case I’m murdered because I don’t want him
to remarry.” Here’s another, on childbirth: “No one told me I
would be coming home in diapers, too.” Here’s one on food:
“Truffle oil is vile.” Buzzfeed once collected a list of her 100
funniest Tweets as if they were lines from Dorothy Parker. I
worship this droll masterpiece: “My favorite part about my
anniversary dinner was the girl who came to our table who
John used to bone and also the sea bass.”
It’s nearly impossible to find a subject Teigen hasn’t
discussed on her exploding, eight-figure social-media chan-
nels (Instagram: 20.4 million followers and counting; Twitter:
10.7 million), or that she considers out of bounds. She’s been
praised for breaking conversational taboos around fertility
(her children were conceived via IVF), postpartum depres-
sion (she’s suffered from it), and the body-image pressures
perpetuated by Instagram.
“Instagram is crazy,” she posted earlier this year. “I think
it’s awesome people have killer bodies and are proud to show
them off (I really do!!) but I know how hard it can be to forget
what (for lack of a better word) regular ol’ bodies look like
when everyone looks bonkers amazing.”
“Chrissy is real and authentic,” says her friend Kim
Kardashian West. “She’s so open and honest with her
audience . . . she also has the best sense of humor.”
When I mention to friends I am working on a story about
Teigen, the response is universal: OMG Chrissy Teigen. It’s
like telling people I’m writing a story about a warm basket
of puppies. It’s why big companies like Target and Procter &
Gamble have lined up behind her. Everybody seems to love
Chrissy Teigen. (Well, except the president of the United
States. We’ll get to him in a minute.)
But now, in her home, Teigen’s trying to talk me out of
it. She’s making the case she’s not so likable—or liked—on
social media.
Come on. You’re so self-deprecating. . . .
“That becomes unlikable, too,” she insists, sitting down
on the couch. She’s dressed in jeans with a white T-shirt and
black cardigan. “I get made fun of all the time. People are
like, ‘We get it, you like pizza.’ ’’
Famous people are not supposed to care about such things.
Teigen does. Likewise, they’re not supposed to read the
comments. She does that, too.
“I’ll read a thousand of the sweetest comments—‘You have
the cutest family, I love your book’—and then one person
is like, ‘You look like the Bride of Chucky’ and I’ll be like,
PRODUCE D BY P RE ISS C RE ATIV E
‘Oh my God, @paulh7114620 thinks I look like Chucky.’ ”
“A lot of people are really smart about staying out of
it,” she adds. She mentions Kardashian West. “I’ll send
something to Kim—a screen grab of the Daily Mail, like
some ridiculous headline, and she’ll be like, ‘Is that what’s
happening?’ And I’m like, ‘Kim, this is the biggest story
of the week right now!’ Then I’ll C O N T I N U E D O N P A G E 1 8 7
 NEVER TUTU MUCH
Teigen at home in
Los Angeles with her
daughter, Luna, and
bulldog, Paul. Marni
dress. Jennifer Fisher
earrings. Hair, Nikki
Providence; makeup,
Sarah Tanno for Marc
Jacobs Beauty. Details,
see In This Issue.
Fashion Editor:
Tonne Goodman.
 THE CAT’S
PAJAMAS
How does a house like Louis Vuitton
follow up collaborations with the likes of
Yayoi Kusama, Cindy Sherman, and Jeff
Koons? That’s easy—with a monogram
littered with Grace Coddington’s cheerful
sketches. Take a closer look and you’ll
spot Grace’s famous Persian cats,
Pumpkin and Blanket, along with Léon,
the pup belonging to Nicolas Ghesquière,
Vuitton’s artistic director of women’s
collections. And though the same print
decorates leather and canvas bags of all ANIMAL INSTINCTS
shapes and sizes, we’re most fond of its Model Andreea Diaconu
appearance on this printed silk top and wears a Louis Vuitton x Grace
matching pants. The neat contrasting Coddington pajama top and
piping adds a touch of finesse—and pants; select Louis Vuitton
grants you the approval to wear them stores. Loewe rucksack.
when you’re not sleeping—while the Gucci sneakers. Shinola
bicycle. Hair, Esther Langham;
blousy fit allows an ease of movement for makeup, Romy Soleimani.
the active set.—LILAH RAMZI Details, see In This Issue.
Photographed
by Cass Bird.
Fashion Editor:
Jorden Bickham.
168
PROP ST YLIST, HANS MAHARAWAL.
PRODUCE D BY PRODN AT ART AN D COMME RC E.

MOMENT OF
THE MONTH
BEYOND THE PALE
Cold as fire, hot as ice:
A touch of shearling
gives cool, summery
whites the warmth
and weight they need
to make it through the
winter. THIS PAGE: A$AP
Rocky wears a Tom
Ford jacket. Helmut
Lang jeans. Raf Simons
boots. OPPOSITE PAGE:
Imaan Hammam wears
a Loewe coat; Loewe,
Miami. Louis Vuitton
dress and boots; select
Louis Vuitton stores.
Fashion Editor:
Camilla Nickerson.
 Faking It
More and more houses are forgoing animal skins
in favor of chic shearling and faux fur—seen here on
A$AP Rocky and model Imaan Hammam.
Photographed by Bibi Cornejo Borthwick
ONE STEP CLOSER
A double-layered coat goes
tête-à-tête with the wild and
the woolly, imparting an
understated romance to the
muted camel palette. THIS PAGE:
On Hammam: Paco Rabanne
faux-fur coat; Barneys New
York, NYC. Hermès dress;
Hermès, NYC. Maison Margiela
sneakers. On Rocky: Saint
Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello
shearling coat. AWGE X Under
Armour SRLo sneakers.
OPPOSITE PAGE: On Hammam:
Stella McCartney faux-fur coat,
$2,195; Stella McCartney, NYC.
Acne Studios top, $1,150;
Acne Studios, NYC. Unravel
skirt, $1,233; barneys
.com. Louis Vuitton
sneaker boots. On Rocky:
Loewe shearling jacket.
Ann Demeulemeester
pants. Sacai boots.
GOING FOR THE GOLD
It takes two to tango—and
matching neutral basics
and fetching accents
to do so in style. On
Hammam: Yves Salomon
shearling coat, $3,310;
Yves Salomon, NYC.
Eckhaus Latta top, $400;
eckhauslatta.com. Louis
Vuitton skirt; select Louis
Vuitton stores. Coach
1941 sandals. On Rocky:
Maison Margiela puffer
jacket. Helmut Lang tank
top. Raf Simons pants.
 EMBRACEABLE YOU
The pas de deux
continues—in cozy,
oversize outerwear and
a prim pleated skirt. On
Hammam: Salvatore
Ferragamo shearling
poncho; Salvatore
Ferragamo stores.
Sacai skirt, $1,035;
Barneys New York, NYC.
Louis Vuitton sneaker
boots. On Rocky: Louis
Vuitton shearling
jacket. Tom Ford pants.
Raf Simons boots.
STANDING TALL
In saturated
yellow and an
unapologetically
fabulous outer layer,
swagger is part of the
accessorizing. Calvin
Klein 205W39NYC
wool-lined parka,
tank top, and pants;
Calvin Klein, NYC.
 Rock Steady
THE MAN WE KNOW AS A$AP Rocky was born Rakim
Mayers, named after one of New York’s most prolific MCs.
“I have hip-hop in my blood,” he says with a cheeky grin
and a shrug. Judging by his earliest childhood memories,
Rocky, who’s now 30, has always had his finger on the pulse
of fashion, too. Picture, if you will, the rapper as a four-year-
old boy styling himself for Easter Sunday in Harlem. “My
mother dressed me in dungarees, but I didn’t like the way they
fit on the hip,” says Rocky. “It was all too baggy, so I started
crying.” (Mom and son would ultimately settle on a T-shirt
and a more tailored pair of jeans.) “I think figuring out what
you don’t like—what doesn’t look good on you—is key.”
To be fair, there isn’t much that doesn’t look good on
Rocky. His audacious fashion sensibilities have earned him
a reputation as one of the best-dressed men in the front row,
and he’s on first-name terms with designers ranging from
Raf to Rick to Kim Jones, the new Dior Homme artistic
director. “He doesn’t imitate,” Jones says. “He knows what
he wants and wears it however he wants.” In other words,
Rocky can make even the most unlikely menswear trends sing:
Think man bags (oversize and logoed, usually Gucci or Louis
Vuitton) and his current jewelry obsession: pearls. “I got this
from Kris Jenner’s jeweler in Beverly Hills,” he says, pointing
toward a sizable diamond-studded pearl ring on his finger.
Rocky and his A$AP Mob cohorts are also responsible
for spawning what’s known as the “cozy boy” movement,
an approach to dressing that’s as luxuriously comfortable
as it sounds. That alone makes him ideally suited to the chic
shearling outerwear he’s wearing here opposite Imaan Ham-
mam. He certainly has no trouble making faux fur look as
good as the real thing, either. (Fun fact: He designed a faux-
fur teddy-bear jacket with JW Anderson, one of countless
fashion collaborators on his roster, which includes Guess
Originals and, most recently, Under Armour.) “My aesthetic
is collabs; it’s a metamorphosis. I’m under construction,”
says Rocky. It’s an ethos that explains not just his style but
the concept underlying his latest album, Testing. “That’s just
how my life is.”—chioma nnadi

177
 PASSING FANCY
In this film still, a graphic
dress and coat lend enough
elegant pop for a walk-
away to remember. On
Hammam: Givenchy faux-
fur coat ($3,490) and dress;
Givenchy, NYC. Brother
Vellies boots. On Rocky:
Helmut Lang shearling
vest. Raf Simons pants.
180
S E T DES IG N, N IC HOLAS DES JARDINS. PRO DUC ED BY AL EXIS PIQUERAS FOR ROSCO PRO DUCTIO N.

GO BOLD OR GO HOME
Rocky and Hammam walk
the walk, with flashes of
fluorescent orange giving
her shearling coat and
his sleeveless fleece a
kind of don’t-miss electric
glamour. On Hammam:
Calvin Klein 205W39NYC
coat; Calvin Klein, NYC.
Louis Vuitton boots. On
Rocky: Louis Vuitton parka.
Calvin Klein 205W39NYC
tank top. Tom Ford pants.
Off-White c/o Timberland
boots.In this story: hair,
Recine for Rodin; makeup,
Dick Page. Menswear
Editor: Michael Philouze.
Details, see In This Issue.
 14

their cool.
cozy knits done

tones fend off the

up in muted pastel
HAIR, TOMO JIDAI; MAKEUP, SUSIE SO BOL. PRODUCED BY THAT ONE PRODUCTION.
17: LIAM G OO DMAN . ALL OTHE RS : COURTESY OF BRAN DS/W EBSITES. D ETAILS, S EE IN THIS ISSU E.
 3

1. CVC STONES CHARM BRACELET;

BARNEYS NEW YORK, NYC. 2. KUMI
KOOKOON EYE MASK, $69;
ONEKINGSLANE.COM. 3. LAND OF
DISTRACTION POLO, $325; BARNEYS
.COM. 4. HELLESSY PANTS, $820;
NET-A-PORTER.COM. 5. SISLEY-PARIS EYE
CONTOUR MASK, $145; SISLEY-PARIS
.COM. 6. STINE GOYA SOCK, $30;
MODAOPERANDI.COM. 7. LORO PIANA
SWEATER; LORO PIANA, NYC. 8. WE ARE
KNITTERS KNITTING KIT, $99;
WEAREKNITTERS.COM. 9. UGG SLIPPER,
$100; UGG.COM. 10. SHUPACA THROW,
$129; ONEKINGSLANE.COM. 11. LOUIS
VUITTON FEUILLES D’OR CANDLE, $185;
SELECT LOUIS VUITTON STORES.
12. JF CHEN ARMCHAIR; THELINE.COM.
13. JIMMY CHOO FLAT, $750; JIMMYCHOO
.COM. 14. BINU BINU SOAPS, $18 EACH;
BINU-BINU.COM. 15. SANTA MARIA
NOVELLA CITRUS BATH OIL, $80;
SMNOVELLA.COM. 16. THEORY SKIRT,
$395; THEORY.COM. 17. AMERICAN EAGLE
SWEATER, $50; AE.COM.

8
10
 SCENES FROM A
REVOLUTION
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 147
few weeks have been hard, she adds.
“It’s just not a normal human expe-
rience I’m going through. There’s so
many cameras on me out of nowhere.
Like, I’m not media-trained——”
“We can’t say that anymore,” says
Trent, who’s media-training her. “It’s
not helpful.”
“OK, sorry, sorry,” Ocasio-Cortez
says. “I’m just overwhelmed. I’m a
normal person, and people treat me
now like I’m this two-dimensional
caricature that they project narratives
onto. It can be emotionally taxing.
Like, what do you do with young
brown women who are intelligent and
whose faces are symmetrical? You
paint them as a narrative.”
Most narratives begin with the fact
that Ocasio-Cortez is a “self-described
Socialist,” which to conservatives is
code for visually appealing automaton
put forth by the Democratic Socialists
of America. In reality, she didn’t at-
tend a DSA meeting until the summer
of 2017. “It’s not like I grew up reading
Noam Chomsky,” she tells me. “I grew
up scrubbing toilets with my mother.”
Ocasio-Cortez was born in the
Parkchester neighborhood of the
Bronx, and it’s where she lives now,
in a one-bedroom apartment with
her boyfriend, Riley Roberts, an
easygoing redhead who works in
web development. Her mother, an
Evangelical Christian born in Puerto
Rico, cleaned houses. Her father, who
was born in the borough and became
an architect, died of lung cancer at
48. Ocasio-Cortez was then a soph-
omore at Boston University, where
she read not Karl Marx but Martin
Luther King Jr. and Howard Thur-
man. A classmate she’s still close to
is Alexandria Lafci, the cofounder
of New Story, a San Francisco start-
up experimenting with 3-D-printed
homes in the developing world. Then
there’s Roberts, whom Ocasio-Cor-
tez met—“in true nerdy fashion,” she
says—at a weekly Friday-afternoon
conversation hosted by the dean at
BU. He later moved from Arizona
to be with her. When I irst met him
backstage at The Daily Show, he was
casually citing tax rates in the 1950s.
Ocasio-Cortez graduated with de-
grees in international relations and
184 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
economics and could have gone to
work for Wall Street. But: “I just phys-
ically couldn’t do it. I knew it would
kill me on the inside. It’s not like I felt
enlightened waiting tables, but I knew
I couldn’t do the other thing.” She
got a job at Flats Fix, a restaurant in
Union Square, and volunteered for
Sanders in 2016, later attending rallies
for Black Lives Matter and Standing
Rock. After the election, at the urging
of progressive activists, she decided
to run. The national chapter of the
DSA did not formally endorse her un-
til June 2018, the month she won her
primary. In fact, “there was a strong
vocal contingent saying I wasn’t So-
cialist enough.
“I think it’s real bougie to grow
up with a deined political ideology,”
she adds. “You need to have college-
educated parents for that, with a polit-
ical lexicon. My mother doesn’t even
have an English lexicon! When people
say I’m not Socialist enough, I find
that very classist. It’s like, ‘What—I
didn’t read enough books for you,
buddy?’ ”
We’re en route to a rally in Ypsilanti
when I ask if positions like abolishing
ICE and passing Medicare for All
could gain traction in the Midwest, and
especially Michigan, which Trump won
in 2016. She reminds me that Sanders
won the Michigan primary and more
than doubled his lead over Hillary
Clinton in Kansas. “We’re not out here
with a hypothesis,” she says. “I’m not
going places where the progressive mes-
sage lost. I’m going places where the
progressive message won and then the
Democrats lost.”
Ocasio-Cortez believes that the
Democratic Party has spent far too
long in a defensive crouch. All the
while the electorate has grown more
and more demoralized. “Like, are
Democrats just the not-racist party?
Are they just the not-sexists? I mean,
seriously. I’m embarrassed when the
brand of the Democratic Party is just
LGBT rights. Sure we need to fight
for those things. But how far have we
gone that we’re the party of women’s
rights? I just think they’re not coura-
geous enough. When we don’t fight
for people, people don’t ight for us.
And that’s why we’re losing. I don’t
think we’re losing because we’re not
moderate enough.”
It’s moments like this that talking
to Ocasio-Cortez can feel like being
confronted with the sort of idealism
that most of us who are past our 20s
can’t muster for our personal lives, let
alone our politics. “I wouldn’t have the
energy to do this if I was ighting for 10
percent better,” she says. “I couldn’t go
up in front of 5,000 people in Kansas
and be like, ‘Deport less!’ ”
The rally is at a Methodist church.
When we arrive, it’s already so packed
that people have spilled into the park-
ing lot. They look a lot like Trump
voters: mostly white, working-class
Midwesterners ranging in age from
seven to 70. Inside there is pink car-
peting and no air-conditioning. Most
are fanning themselves with lealets,
growing sleepy. But then Ocasio-
Cortez speaks, and something hap-
pens. She talks about Dr. King and
the new New Deal and the “they”
who “didn’t see us coming.” And
pretty quickly, the audience is with
her, calling out to her.
“They said, ‘Alexandria, don’t
come to Michigan!’ ”
No! Why?
“They said, ‘The Midwest isn’t
ready for Medicare for All!’ ”
Boo!
“Can you believe it?”
We’re ready!
At this point she’s just winging it,
but the crowd loves her. (“The less
prep she does, the better she is,” Trent
tells me. “But she doesn’t believe
that.”)
Then she tries something new. “I
want you to take your left foot and
stomp it once,” she says to a loud
thud. She asks them to do the same
with their right. “Now, one, two,
three!” she says, and the room shakes
three times.
“That’s an army!” she says over
crashing applause. “That’s an army.”
While Ocasio-Cortez roused troops
near Detroit, about 300 miles west,
in northern Illinois, Lauren Under-
wood, now 32, was vying to become
the first woman of color to repre-
sent her mostly white, conserva-
tive-leaning district. Though both
are running as Democrats in the
Fourteenth Districts of their states,
Underwood’s platform veers more
to the center. A registered nurse and
a former senior adviser under Presi-
dent Obama at U.S. Health and Hu-
man Services, Underwood wants to
improve the ACA, reform ICE, and
make college more affordable. She
has been backed by the Democratic
Congressional Campaign Commit-
tee, Emily’s List, Planned Parent-
hood, and Obama—none of which
have endorsed Ocasio-Cortez. If that
doesn’t make clear where each fits
into the Democratic establishment,
here’s how Senators Kamala Harris
and Gillibrand responded when I
asked about the candidates:
Gillibrand on O-C: “She has a lot
of passion, and I think she ran a great
campaign.”
Harris on O-C: “I think she’s en-
ergetic and a great addition to the
party.”
Gillibrand on Underwood: “I
think she’s an amazing candidate.”
Harris on Underwood: “I think
Lauren is phenomenal.”
Underwood’s campaign office is
located in a strip mall in St. Charles,
bookended by a boxing gym and a
Dunkin’ Donuts. Illinois-14 spans
1,500 square miles and seven coun-
ties, a mix of bucolic suburbs and
cornields. Historically, the district
tends to swing. In 2016, Bernie won
the primary, but Trump won the
election. The average household in-
come is $114,000, and unemploy-
ment is low.
When I visit in August, it is 99 days
to election. Underwood has already
defeated six white men in the prima-
ry and is now closing in on Randy
Hultgren, a four-term Tea Party Re-
publican who opposes abortion and
gun control. Polling is close. Lately
he’s taken to hosting town halls in her
district after not holding any in more
than a year. “It just lets me know that
what we’re doing is working,” Under-
wood tells me. “He literally would not
show up for us, and now he’s feeling
the heat.”
Underwood, a former Girl Scout,
speaks in short, deliberate sentenc-
es that stick to her talking points.
She travels the long distances of her
district with a Nike backpack and
a backseat illed with snacks. Under-
wood likes to say she didn’t run be-
cause of Trump but that his election
changed her life. After working to
implement the ACA, she chose not
to stick around D.C. as his transition
team began dismantling it. Instead,
she moved back to Naperville, where
she planned to buy a home. But then
Hultgren reneged on his promise to
support a version of the ACA that
protected those with preexisting
conditions—Underwood has supra-
ventricular tachycardia, a chronic
heart condition—so she moved in
with her parents and used the house
money to launch a campaign against
him. “The average millennial can’t
aford to run for Congress,” she says.
Despite her collection of endorse-
ments, Underwood did not start out
as an establishment candidate. “I’m a
31-year-old black woman,” she says.
“No one invited me. No one was like,
‘Girl, you’re the one.’ ” She doesn’t
accept corporate money and has suc-
ceeded with grassroots organizing,
deploying a robust volunteer network
to canvass overlooked communities.
“We had farmers tell us that no Dem-
ocrat has knocked on their door in ten
years,” Underwood tells me. “Not just
congressional—no Democrat, period.”
Underwood warmly refers to her
fellow female candidates as “the girl-
friends around the country,” but she
is wary of being lumped in with a
movement. “I don’t talk about the
blue wave here,” she says. “It’s not
about that.” She tells me the question
of what kind of Democrat she is arose
only during the primary. “Like, fill-
in-the-blank Democrat—are you a
progressive, are you centrist, are you
Socialist? I said, ‘I’m just a Demo-
crat!’ And back in the day that used
to mean something.”
Underwood rarely brings up race,
gender, or social justice. Instead, she
emphasizes health care, schools, and
jobs, hoping to ind an in with mod-
erate Republicans and those who
don’t vote in of-year elections. “Even
for people who walk around in their
maga hats, there’s a defiance,” she
says, “and underneath that there’s an-
ger and confusion, that’s not like, ‘I’m
so happy, we have a great leader!’ ”
In the evening, Underwood heads
to a volunteer recruitment event at
a local bar. She is there to energize
them, but when an Asian American
physician from Naperville thanks
her for running in a district that’s 85
percent white, Underwood is having
none of it.
“It’s not about diversity,” Under-
wood says. “I want to be real clear.
I’m from Naperville. This is my com-
munity. I am not somebody who
picked this district out of a map and
thought I would set up shop and run
for Congress.” Then, perhaps feeling
she responded too sharply, she adds,
“I’m not really pushing back. I just
want to reframe for this group who I
am and why I’m in this space.”
A week after Michigan, Ocasio-
Cortez and I meet in Los Angeles. In
the meantime, she has dashed through
San Francisco and Orange County,
hosting several 800-person arena
fund-raisers starting at $10 a person.
The next day, she’s of to New Orleans
to headline a Netroots Nation rally,
where she’ll be a crowd favorite, speak-
ing after Senators Warren, Harris, and
Cory Booker, and telling the audience,
“If it looks like I’m tired, I am. If it
looks like I have no makeup on, I
don’t. If this is the fifth time you’ve
seen me in this dress, deal with it.”
The chiding of Ocasio-Cortez by
liberals and conservatives has kept
coming—for barring press from a
town hall; claiming solidarity with cab-
drivers while using Uber; and saying
nice things about John McCain after
his death. On any given day, no one
can agree if she is the next Sarah Palin,
the next Obama, or a Venezuelan dic-
tator. By Labor Day, Ocasio-Cortez
posts an Instagram video, speaking
directly into her phone, as she likes to
do, in the courtyard of her building:
“The thing that’s hard is that you’re
supposed to be perfect all the time on
every issue and every thing. What peo-
ple forget is that if we want everyday
working-class Americans to run for
office and not these, like, robots, then
we have to acknowledge and accept
imperfection and growth and human-
ity in our government.”
It’s worth noting that within weeks
of her primary win, Gillibrand, War-
ren, and Mayor Bill de Blasio all ad-
opted her Abolish ICE platform.
(Harris called for reforms but also
stated, “We need to probably think
about starting from scratch.”) In late
July, The New York Times reported
that Gillibrand had aligned with four
of Ocasio-Cortez’s core positions,
and that she was now comfortable
being called a populist. Even earli-
er, Warren, Harris, and Booker had
embraced Medicare for All and a
federal jobs guarantee, and rejected
corporate PAC donations in their
reelection campaigns.
“Everybody calls themselves a pro-
gressive now,” C O N TIN U ED O N PAG E 1 8 6
185
 Ocasio-Cortez says when we meet for
a drink at the Ace Hotel in downtown
L.A. “But, like, ‘Health care for all’
doesn’t mean anything. Medicare for
All is a bill on the loor of Congress.”
This reminds me of something she’d
said in Michigan about the pres-
idential hopefuls whose names she
couldn’t name. “It’s like, you have all
these 2020 contenders,” she said. “On
paper, they all start adopting these
positions, but there are some that are
the real deal, and I think others need
the brand. And here’s the thing: Do
you want to be president or do you
want to change the country? They’re
not necessarily mutually exclusive.
But you have to want to put one on
the line for the other.”
Democratic senators I speak to
deny that there’s a split in the party.
Harris says she rejects “these little
boxes.” Gillibrand tells me this is “a
made-up issue.” But when I ask if
Ocasio-Cortez, running as a Demo-
cratic Socialist, has initiated a tiptoe
to the left, they bristle. “She can call
herself whatever she wants,” Gilli-
brand says, “but the idea of Medicare
for All—I ran on it twelve years ago.”
Harris laughs before answering. “No,”
she says. “The views I hold, I hold re-
gardless of who’s elected.”
Technically, Ocasio-Cortez hasn’t
been elected yet. She will be 29 by the
time she enters Congress, and 31 by
the 2020 presidential election. A recent
defector from the Republican Party is
Schmidt, the strategist who previously
worked on the campaigns of McCain
and George W. Bush. When I ask him if
a Democratic Socialist agenda can ap-
peal to voters nationwide, Schmidt says
no way. “This is not a Socialist country,”
he says. “And it never will be.”
Schmidt, like many moderates,
believes that a push to the left will
alienate the mythic swing voter and
guarantee Trump a victory in 2020.
“It’s one thing when you’re a 28-year-
old congressional candidate. Presiden-
tial candidates should know better.”
He adds, “It’s entirely possible the
party nominates a Democratic So-
cialist–ish candidate, but by the time
they’re done with the primary, Trump
will be as happy as when he got his
irst golden toilet.”
Ocasio-Cortez doesn’t buy much of
the dogma put forth by political con-
sultants, and she’s been pretty good at
tuning out the noise. Returning late
186 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM
one evening from D.C., where she met
with a few of her future congressional
colleagues, she wore her jumbo head-
phones on the Amtrak train, blast-
ing Cardi B’s “Best Life,” featuring
Chance the Rapper. (“I told y’all, I’m
livin’ my best life/I told y’all, I said I’m
livin’ my best life.”) In August, she and
Roberts took a vacation to Acadia
National Park in Maine, where she
posted a photo of a sunset on Twitter.
In L.A., she explains why she dis-
agrees with the centrists. “People think
swing voters are political moderates.
They’re not. It’s not that the candidate
has to accommodate the swing voter.
It’s that if the candidate is compelling
enough, the voter will swing to that
candidate’s politics. That’s how you
get Obama-to-Trump voters.”
Though she rarely addresses Trump
directly, Ocasio-Cortez understands
the value of performance in today’s
politics. “Have you read Ininite Jest?”
she asks, referencing the David Foster
Wallace novel about entertainment
and corporatism run amok. “We are
living in the ‘Year of Perdue Chick-
en.’ We’re looking at our phones until
we literally lose consciousness. If our
leaders don’t learn to communicate in
an engaging manner, our entertainers
will become politicians. That’s what
we have now.”
Abdul and Bush end up losing. But
in Kansas, Thompson wins, as do
Tlaib in Michigan and Omar in Min-
nesota. By September, more political
earthquakes hit as Andrew Gillum is
nominated for governor in Florida, and
Pressley wins in Massachusetts. When
I check in with Lauren Underwood
again, she’s confident. The previous
week, Paul Ryan had swooped into
her district to campaign for Hultgren,
who admitted he was “nervous.” “You
can’t write off any districts, you can’t
write of any candidates based on de-
mographics,” Underwood says. “I hope
the powers that be recognize that there’s
a lot of homegrown talent and people
willing to serve and do the work. And
they may not it traditional molds.”
For her part, Ocasio-Cortez has
little interest in being the sole spokes-
person for the progressive movement.
Again and again she tells me that no
one person can save us, that we’ve
already made that mistake. “I don’t
think Obama failed us, because in
many ways we failed him,” she says.
“We were like, ‘OK, we elected the
irst black president; go for it, Barry!’
We elected him and then we were no-
where to be found in 2010, in 2012, in
2014 . . . and that’s on us.
“People see our movement as a
mania,” she says. “But what are you
supposed to answer Trump with, like,
‘Settle down . . . ’? You hear all this
stuf about how we’re moving too left,
but what’s the plan? If not this, what?
I’m open. Tell me.” 
BATTLE ROYAL
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 154
confusing,” Foy explains. “Her sense
of justice is more than most people’s.”
Foy currently has no ilming sched-
ule in her sights, a liberty that has freed
her up for other pursuits. This evening
she’s going to the National Theatre to
see Vanessa Kirby (Princess Margaret
in The Crown) in the title role of Ju-
lie, by playwright Polly Stenham—a
modern adaptation of August Strind-
berg’s Miss Julie. (Foy would love to
return to the stage, perhaps in New
York, she says, but plans to wait un-
til her daughter is older. Theatrical
directing is also the only kind she’d
ever dare to do.) She was tied up with
work through the past couple of holi-
day seasons, and hopes to make a big
deal of this one at home. “I’m going
to go festively mental. I love twinkling
lights. Decorate the whole house!” she
says. “Christmas becomes less exciting
as you become older. Then suddenly
when you have a child you go, ‘You’re
excited! It’s great!’ ”
For now, though, there’s the gar-
den to think of. As we exit the Quince
Tree café, into the nursery outside, Foy
begins wandering among the potted
lowers, fruit trees, and vines. “I’m go-
ing to be here for hours,” she says, and
takes a lower in her hand. 
PERFORMING MIRACLES
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 159
small but mighty Menier Chocolate
Factory; when the opportunity came
to transfer to Broadway, director John
Doyle insisted that she come, too—
and her electrifying onstage presence
was rewarded with the Tony for Best
Actress in a Leading Role in a Musical.
It was a triumphant arc for a woman
who started out studying music psy-
chology before realizing that it was
not for her. On the advice of theater
director Rae McKen, she applied to
London’s storied Royal Academy of
Dramatic Art and was accepted. “It
was an accident I ended up doing this,”
she recalls. “I just knew that singing was
something that I could do—and that
this was another way to express my-
self and to tell other people’s stories.”
She left RADA to perform in Simon
Stephens’s Marine Parade in a regional
festival, and worked more or less steadi-
ly before she was approached to read
for the Celie understudy—but Erivo
didn’t want to be an understudy; she
wanted to audition for the part itself.
“That was the role that was going to
change my life,” she says, “and so I
fought and fought and fought.
“People still message me about how
it changed their lives—how they got
the strength from Celie changing her
life to change their own,” says Erivo.
“If that is what a show, a play, can do,
it is astounding.” She channeled the
transformative experience into work
with the Hetrick-Martin Institute,
which provides empowerment and
education to LGBTQ youth, and has
also lent her voice (literally) to other
causes, including the Brady Center to
Prevent Gun Violence and the Robin
Hood Foundation, which provides as-
sistance and education to New York-
ers living in poverty.
Though Erivo admits that it is “sur-
real” to go from stage to ilm, it might
be even more so for her boyfriend, actor
Mario Martinez, whom she met the day
after she won the Tony. Not only had
he not seen her performance, he had
no idea she could even sing until, some
six months into their relationship, she
took him to an Oprah Winfrey gospel
brunch in Montecito, California, where
she sang “Stand” with BeBe Winans.
“I remember looking at him and seeing
this What? look,” Erivo says. “It took
him, I think, a couple of days to process
what had happened,” she adds. “But he
also hasn’t seen me act on the stage—he
hasn’t seen any of this!” She’s looking
forward to taking him to her ilm. “I’m
going to be watching for his reaction,”
she says. “I like surprising people.” 
MS. POPULARITY
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 166
feel bad because she’s probably been
saving her sanity by not reading this
stuff, and meanwhile, I’m like ‘Look
at this!’ ”
In person, Teigen is immediately
disarming—you feel you know her be-
cause you kind of do know her. (I’ve
seen her fridge on Instagram! I know
those counters!) But she confesses that
it all sometimes gets to her.
“Much stronger people are like ‘I
don’t care what you think,’ ” she says.
“I genuinely do care. I think it’s funny
when people are like, ‘I love how you
just don’t give a fuck.’ I’m like, ‘Oh,
my God. I give so many fucks.’ I want
to be liked.”
None of this is new to her. As a teen-
ager in the Seattle area, Teigen—the
daughter of a Thai mother and an
American father of Norwegian
descent—became a regular on, of all
things, message boards for the city’s
baseball team (as Marinersgirlchrissy).
She was early into MySpace (“I was a
Top 8 girl,” she says, referring to the
defunct site’s ranking system). She got
obsessed with NeoPets, a digital com-
munity where players care for virtual
animals. Her IM handle, if you need to
know, was MsChrissy85.
“I remember loving the advice
boards,” she says. “I would take to the
internet to ask so many questions.”
Later, Teigen would get discov-
ered—she was working in a surf shop
in Huntington Beach when a photog-
rapher asked her if she’d ever con-
sidered modeling—and embark on
a career that, by her own admission,
never made her one of the runway elite.
She did Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit
issue a few times, but “I never had a
dude following . . . it was never me next
to Kate Upton on the Venn diagram.”
She did, however, meet her husband on
the set of a music video.
Twitter and Instagram are where Tei-
gen exploded into a phenomenon. She
was already in the public eye, but the
24/7 platforms were a perfect showcase
for Teigen’s wit and devil-may-care in-
souciance. The internet is a cathedral to
her social musings (10+ Times Chrissy
Teigen Was Too Funny for Twitter to
Handle; 17 Chrissy Teigen Food Tweets
That Are Relatable AF).
Legend’s own Twitter bio says it all:
CHRISSY’S HUSBAND. He conirms
the Chrissy of social media is, in fact,
the real Chrissy. “First of all, she’s fun-
ny,” he tells me later. “And she’s candid.
I think her candor is what’s so appeal-
ing—and makes her distinct from other
celebrities people pay attention to. She
tells it like it is.”
This has become Teigen’s brand. For
all of her roles, her main occupation is
a very modern one: the person who,
by sheer force of social-media appeal,
is a business. The internet has a word
for this—influencer—but, I’m sorry, a
lot of influencers are insufferable. By
contrast, Teigen is someone you want to
sit next to, who’s as relatable as anyone
who lives in Rihanna’s old house can
be relatable. It’s what inspired her book
editor, Francis Lam, to reach out, cold,
about doing a cookbook.
“I kept noticing this person on Twit-
ter who was hilarious and really into
cooking,” Lam tells me. “I didn’t have
an idea of what sort of cookbook she
would write, I just knew she was super
funny and into food.”
Both of Teigen’s Cravings cookbooks
have been hits—the more recent arrived
in September. Teigen’s passion for food
and entertaining is genuine—she’s now
being positioned as a next-gen Martha
Stewart. Target has a line of Chrissy
“Cravings” kitchen products, including
her own serrated knife. Her role with
Procter & Gamble is as a “creative con-
sultant” for Pampers Pure. You can ind
Teigen’s Pampers Pure Instagram ad
in which she jokes about feeding Luna
healthy meals—and herself Hot Pock-
ets, which is not actually a joke.
I ask her if these brand relationships
give her pause before logging on. We’ve
seen countless others have A Bad Day
on Twitter—and lose it all.
“I think about that,” Teigen admits.
“How quickly your life can turn.” She’s
a fan of Jon Ronson’s book So You’ve
Been Publicly Shamed, which chron-
icles the aftermath of social-media
implosions.
Teigen and Legend had a ringside
seat for Kanye West’s controversial
rumspringa with the alt-right, in which
he professed affection for President
Trump and theorized on TMZ that
slavery sounded “like a choice” (a com-
ment he later walked back). Legend was
one of several West friends who tried to
intercede—West at one point posted text
exchanges with Legend in which the two
men went back and forth on politics.
“The thing with Kanye is that
his opinions have always been super
strong,” Teigen says, lifting Miles to her
lap. “He’s never been the guy to push
them on you, but he will say what he
wants to say. Same with John. That’s
why I loved that they were able to have
this civil discourse. Kanye learned a lot
in the months after that. John did, too.
“You can’t C O N TIN U ED O N PAG E 1 8 8
187
 just believe you’re the right one all
the time. That’s what makes us hor-
rible,” she continues. “Trust me: My
views are super liberal, and I’m like,
How could anyone not think this
way? But people are also entitled to
their opinion.”
Which brings us to President Trump,
who has taken the dramatic step of
blocking Teigen on Twitter, meaning
she cannot see any of his Tweets. Tei-
gen was critical of Trump long before
he became president, but it was a rath-
er tame tweet—“Lolllllll no one likes
you”—that immediately preceded her
ban. (The White House press office
did not respond to my request for
comment.)
Te i g e n h o l d s u p h e r p h o n e,
where the screen is set to Trump’s
@realdonaldtrump page. Instead of
a timeline, there is this message: “You
are blocked from following @real
donaldtrump and viewing @real
donaldtrump’s tweets.”
I know: It sounds like heaven. But
Teigen says the blocking can create
anxiety. The average day in America
now begins with a lurry of presiden-
tial tweets, which she is barred from
looking at. Worse, Teigen sees people
freaking out and responding—and has
no idea what they’re talking about.
“Do I get in the bunker or not?” she
says.
A federal judge recently declared that
Trump’s tweets are part of the presiden-
tial public record, and therefore block-
ing users is unconstitutional. But his
blocking of @chrissyteigen continues.
There are workarounds—Teigen can
follow the @RealPressSecBot, which
posts all of Trump’s tweets as official
statements, or she can simply look at
her husband’s phone.
“I still don’t know why I’m not
blocked,” Legend says. “I have said as
many bad things about him as she has.
Maybe it’s because I’m a man; I have
no idea.”
Teigen’s combat with Trump has
provoked an uptick in abuse from
Twitter’s more unhinged corners—
right-wing conspiracy theorists have
placed her and Legend at the center of
any number of dafy hypotheses—but
she has tried to convert this notoriety
into a positive. In June, she and Leg-
end marked Trump’s seventy-second
birthday by donating $72,000 for each
member of their family ($288,000 to-
tal) to the ACLU, and encouraging
fans to donate amounts of $7.20 or
$72. The push wound up raising more
than $1 million in two days.
There have been other moments in
which Teigen has been able to take her
influence and weaponize it for truth.
Last winter, as the public began to

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Schouler bag, $1,895;
Proenza Schouler, NYC.
The Elder Statesman
cashmere socks, $145;
elder-statesman.com. 130:
Vaquera corset (price upon
request) and pants ($684).
Corset at vaquera.nyc. Pants
at Opening Ceremony, NYC.
The Elder Statesman hat,
$475; elder-statesman.com.
Pamela Love earrings, $435;
Barneys New York, NYC. 3.1
Phillip Lim sandals, $695;
31philliplim.com. 131: The
Elder Statesman cashmere
sweater ($1,358), scarf
($650), shorts ($995), hats
($275–$400), and socks
($187); elder-statesman
.com. Marc Alary rings,
$1,500–$3,900; marcalary
.com. 132–133: On
Jenner: Altuzarra dress,
$1,995; saksifthavenue
.com. Irene Neuwirth
earrings, price upon request;
Irene Neuwirth, West
Hollywood. Wolford tights,
$53; wolfordshop.com.
Paul Andrew boots, $945;
farfetch.com. On Hammam:
Rodarte dress, price upon
request; modaoperandi
.com. Marc Alary necklaces
($1,750–$9,950); Dover
Street Market New York,
NYC. Monique Péan
necklace, $43,860;
moniquepean.com. Eddie
Borgo necklace, $415;
eddieborgo.com. Jennifer
Meyer ring, $2,225; (310)
230-1271. We Love Colors
tights, $10; welovecolors
.com. Tabitha Simmons
shoes, $825; Barneys
New York, NYC. 134: On
Hammam: Telfar leather
jacket ($1,995), top ($235),
and leather pants ($1,195)
shop.telfar.net. Oakley x
Alexander Wang sunglasses,
price upon request;
alexanderwang.com. Pamela
Love earrings, $435; Barneys
New York, NYC. Jennifer
Fisher rings, $160 each;
jenniferisherjewelry.com.
Rag & Bone sneakers, $295;
rag-bone.com. On Jenner:
Rag & Bone T-shirt ($150),
knit top ($450), and pants
($495); rag-bone.com.
Adidas Originals sneakers
($120) and socks ($10);
adidas.com. 135: Jonathan
Simkhai dress, $1,695;
jonathansimkhai.com. Irene
Neuwirth pink tourmaline
drop earring, price upon
request; Irene Neuwirth,
West Hollywood. Jennifer
Meyer diamond earring,
$10,500; (310) 230-1271.
Monique Péan ring, $38,790;
moniquepean.com. 136:
Thom Browne sport coat
(price upon request), shirt
($330), pants ($2,830), tie
($500), and shoes ($980);
Thom Browne, NYC. 137:
Brock Collection dress,
$2,375; modaoperandi
.com. Eddie Borgo earrings,
$290; eddieborgo.com.
The Elder Statesman
cashmere socks, $145;
elder-statesman.com.
138: Proenza Schouler
dress ($2,450) and top
($595); proenzaschouler
.com. Albertus Swanepoel
faux-fur hat, $250;
albertusswanepoel.com.
Pamela Love earrings,
$380; Barneys New
York, NYC. 139: Prabal
Gurung sweater ($1,995)
and skirt ($3,995);
Bergdorf Goodman, NYC.
Irene Neuwirth earrings,
price upon request;
West Hollywood. Krewe
sunglasses, $295; krewe
.com. 140: On Jenner:
Gypsy Sport dress
($595), shirt ($195),
belt ($110), and socks
($35); gypsysportny.com.
Jennifer Fisher earrings
($495) and rings ($160);
jenniferisherjewelry.com.
Paul Andrew boots, $1,395;
farfetch.com. On Hammam:
Alexander Wang sleeveless
shirt (price upon request),
pants ($2,200), and safety
pin–embellished neck scarf
($1,495); alexanderwang
.com. Jennifer Fisher
earrings ($395–$400);
jenniferisherjewelry.com.
Tabitha Simmons shoes;
tabithasimmons.com. 141:
Derek Lam dress, $5,450;
Derek Lam, NYC. Brother
Vellies sandals, $1,250;
brothervellies.com. In this
story: Manicure, Adam Slee.
Tailor, Della George.
SCENES FROM A
REVOLUTION
144–145: On Ocasio-
Cortez: Cardigan ($495)
and top ($395); Saks Fifth
Avenue stores. Rag & Bone
jeans, $225; rag-bone.com.
In this story: Manicure, Yuko
Tsuchihashi. Tailor, Lucy Falck.
BATTLE ROYAL
148: Leather jacket
($5,930), dress ($9,695),
and choker ($680);
Alexander McQueen, NYC.
Anita Ko ear cuff, $2,050;
anitako.com. Maria Tash
ear cuff, $1,425; mariatash
.com. Hermès leather wrap
bracelet ($790) and silver
bracelet ($1,300); select
Hermès stores. John Hardy
bracelet, $995; johnhardy
.com. 149: Dress, $2,980;
select Gucci stores. Chain,
$315; janissavitt.com. 152:
On Foy: Leather jacket,
$5,325; select Miu Miu
stores. Skirt, $1,980; select
Prada stores. On Gudnason:
leather jacket ($4,990) and
jeans ($690); Saint Laurent,
NYC. 153: Leather dress,
$2,890; select Miu Miu
stores. Chrishabana ear cuff,
$400; chrishabanajewelry
.com. John Hardy earring
($250) and bracelet ($695);
johnhardy.com. Hermès
leather wrap bracelets,
$790 each; select Hermès
stores. 155: Jacket and

188 NOVEMBER 2018 VOGUE.COM

 realize the harrowing scale of the sex- point that I’ll pay the bill,” Manly said. I ask Legend if he’s ever tempted to
ual abuse perpetrated by former USA “It empowered her.” throw Teigen’s phone in the pool.
Gymnastics team doctor Larry Nas- Teigen downplays the whole episode, “No,” he says. “People think she’s,
sar, Teigen went public with an offer saying that all she wanted was to sup- like, somehow out of control. She
to pay any ine incurred by Team USA port Maroney. “It just seemed like the knows what she’s doing. She could give
gymnast McKayla Maroney, who had most obvious thing to do,” she says. us all lessons in social-media strategy
signed a nondisclosure agreement with She knows that her online life sets and execution.”
USA Gymnastics preventing her from her up for scrutiny—and not just her. I agree. I inish my rosé, say goodbye,
addressing the matter. Teigen’s children and husband and even and I’m out the door and down the
“The entire principle of this should Paul the bulldog live partly in public hills to the rest of my unfollowed life.
be fought—an NDA to stay quiet (one current headache: brands send- Teigen, meanwhile, has a dress itting
about this serial monster with over ing unsolicited clothing for Luna and for the Emmys, and a flight to Lon-
140 accusers, but I would be absolute- Miles, which Teigen passes along to don to catch for the British GQ awards,
ly honored to pay this fine for you, charity). She and Legend say there are and later, the kickofs of her cookbook
McKayla,” Teigen wrote. boundaries to what they’ll reveal and tour and her Target line. She will attend
Within a day, USA Gymnastics that they always discuss what to put out (and mock) John’s fantasy-football
announced it would not enforce the for public consumption. draft. She’ll weep at Crazy Rich Asians.
NDA. Maroney’s attorney, John Man- “I believe I have every right to be But you already know this because
ly, tells me that Teigen’s offer had an happy with my daughter’s first-day- she told you, in her Chrissy Teigen way,
impact. of-school photo just like anyone else,” which was much more fun.
“McKayla was really grateful she Teigen says. “But I also know we’re in Just do her a favor, though, and let
stepped up and said (A) I believe you the public eye and people are going to her know if she needs to go down to
and (B) silencing you is wrong to the see it in diferent ways.” the bunker. 

dress, priced upon request;
select Louis Vuitton stores.
In this story: Manicure,
Ama Quashie. Tailor, Della
George.
PERFORMING
MIRACLES
158: Dress, $2,995;
Simone Rocha, NYC. Tiffany
& Co. Elsa Peretti Diamonds
by the Yard sprinkle drop
earring, $11,000 for pair;
tiffany.com. In this story:
THAN THE AUTHORIZED STORE, THE BUYER TAKES A RISK AND SHOULD USE CAUTION WHEN DOING SO.
$870; gucci.com.
Bicycle, $2,950; shinola
.com. In this story:
Manicure, Dawn Sterling.
Tailor, Leah Huntsinger.
FAKING IT
170–171: On Rocky:
Jacket, $7,590; select
Tom Ford stores. Jeans,
$320; helmutlang.com.
Saint Laurent by Anthony
Vaccarello necklace,
$2,295; Saint Laurent,
173: On Hammam: Hermès
bracelets, $485–$600;
select Hermès stores.
Sneaker boots, price upon
request; select Louis Vuitton
stores. On Rocky: Jacket,
$4,350; loewe.com. Pants,
$1,974; anndemeulemeester
.com. XIV Karats Ltd custom
necklace, price upon
request; XIV Karats Ltd,
Beverly Hills. Saint Laurent
by Anthony Vaccarello
necklaces, $445–$1,595;
$195–$465; undercoverism
.com. Coach 1941 necklace,
$275; coach.com. 175: On
Hammam: Coat, $7,500.
Sneaker boots, $1,171;
select Louis Vuitton stores.
On Rocky: Jacket, $11,400.
Maison Margiela tank top,
$360; maisonmargiela.com.
Pants, $1,550; select Tom
Ford stores. Boots, price upon
request; rafsimons.com.
176–177: Parka ($5,500),
tank top ($350), and pants
Louis Vuitton stores. Tank
top, $350; Calvin Klein, NYC.
Pants, $1,550; select Tom
Ford stores. Boots, $1,050;
off---white.com. In this
story: Manicure, Megumi
Yamamoto.
INDEX
182–183: 1. Bracelet,
$4,200. 7. Cashmere
turtleneck, $2,650. 12.
Armchair, $7,300.
On Champion: Sweater,

Manicure, Gina Oh-Parker. NYC. Boots, price upon Saint Laurent, NYC. Boots, ($850); Calvin Klein, NYC. $975; select Michael
ME NTIO NE D IN ITS PAG ES, WE CANN OT GUARANTE E TH E AU THE NTICITY OF MERC HAN DIS E SO LD

Tailor, Cha Cha Zutic. request; rafsimons.com. On $1,205; Dover Street Market 178–179: On Hamman: Kors stores. On Minher:
BY DISCOU NTE RS. AS IS ALWAYS THE CAS E IN PURC HAS ING AN ITE M FRO M ANY WHE RE OTHE R

Hammam: Coat, $7,990. New York, NYC. 174: On Dress, $10,785; Saks Fifth Knit bodysuit, price upon
A WORD ABOUT DISCOUNTERS WHIL E VOGUE THOROUGH LY RES EARC HES THE COMPAN IES

MS. POPULARITY
167: Dress, $7,990; Marni
stores. Earrings, $395;
jenniferisherjewelry.com.
In this story: Manicure,
Kimmie Kyees. Tailor, Susie
Kourinian.
MOMENT OF
THE MONTH
168: Pajama top and
pants, priced upon request.
Rucksack, $2,650;
Loewe, Miami. Sneakers,
Dress (price upon request)
and boots ($2,053).
172: On Hammam: Coat,
$8,550. Dress, $16,400.
Sneakers, $895. On Rocky:
Coat, $8,990. Dunhill
leather pants, $2,095;
dunhill.com. XIV Karats
Ltd custom ring, price
upon request; XIV Karats
Ltd, Beverly Hills. Under
Armour SRLo, presented
by AWGE and A$AP Rocky
sneakers, $250; ua.com.
Hammam: Skirt, price
upon request; select Louis
Vuitton stores. Harwell
Godfrey talisman, $720;
brokenenglishjewelry.com.
Sandals, price upon request;
similar styles at select
Coach stores. On Rocky:
Jacket, $5,995; Maison
Margiela, NYC. Tank top,
$320; helmutlang.com.
Pants, $1,350; Barneys New
York, NYC. Undercover by
Jun Takahashi necklaces,
Avenue stores. Boots, $380; request; select Louis Vuitton
brothervellies.com. On Rocky: stores. Earrings, $650;
Vest $1,795; helmutlang tiffany.com.
.com. Pants. $1,350; Barneys
New York, NYC. Saint Laurent FIRST LOOK
by Anthony Vaccarello 190: Hat ($770) and
bracelets ($295–$395) and turtleneck ($1,060); select
ring ($295); Saint Laurent, Prada stores.
NYC. Coach 1941 ring, $95;
similar styles at coach.com. LAST LOOK
180–181: On Hammam: 194: Boots; select Louis
Coat, $9,500. Boots, $2,053; Vuitton stores.
select Louis Vuitton stores. On
Rocky: Parka, $14,300; select ALL PRICES APPROXIMATE

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189
First Look

DOUBLE TAKE FAS H ION ED ITOR : KATIE BU RNE TT. PRO DUC ED BY CL EV ELAN D JON ES FO R 360PM. IN THI S STORY: HA I R , TA M AS TUZES ; M A KEUP, SA LLY BRA NKA . DE TA I LS, S E E I N THIS ISSUE .
BEAUTY IS LIFE’S EYE SHADOW
IN MOUNTAIN PLAYS IT COOL
AGAINST BOBBI BROWN’S LIP
COLOR IN BURNT RED. PRADA
HAT AND TURTLENECK.

Two for the Road

Blue eye shadow had settled in the dustbin of the eighties when a young Christina Ricci turned up in 1998’s weird,
winding Buffalo ’66. Paired with a baby doll dress and glossy russet lips, her cornflower eye makeup gained newfound
currency among grunge-era ingenues. Twenty years later, the runways signal a fresh wave of pastels—and again, the
message is soft, not sweet. For Hugo’s Berlin club kid–inspired collection this summer, makeup artist Thomas de Kluyver
doled out pale-blue lids and brick lips, the off-kilter twist on crimson that’s primed for a comeback; here, Sally Branka
offers a road-tripping spin, as seen on model Maartje Verhoef. That juxtaposition—diffused color anchored by a
rebellious mouth—is a nod to the way forward this fall: optimistic vision with a determination to speak one’s mind.
P H OTO G RA P H E D BY G R EG H A R R I S

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After last season’s Archlight sneakers (tennis shoes with a Triomphe-like arch at the middle) caused a tizzy,
Louis Vuitton’s Nicolas Ghesquière thought to fall-ify the footwear and whipped up the Archlight Flat
Chelsea Boot. With a sole of rubber and a body of buttery calf leather, these slip-ons should be considered among
that rare breed of fashion pieces that are at once sublime, statement-making—and supremely sensible.
P H OTO G RA P H E D BY E R I C B O M A N

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