JAN

NAOMI
OSAKA
A CHAMPION
REINVENTED

PLUS: FRANCES
MCDORMAND
PALOMA ELSESSER
ROSALÍA
AND 18 MORE PEOPLE
DRIVING CHANGE

DRESSING
FOR THE FUTURE
FASHION
THAT MATTERS

VOGUE
VALUES 2021 NEW YEAR, NEW WORLD
 JAN

ROSALÍA
POP WITHOUT
BORDERS

PLUS: FRANCES
MCDORMAND
NAOMI OSAKA
PALOMA ELSESSER
AND 18 MORE PEOPLE
DRIVING CHANGE

DRESSING
FOR THE FUTURE
FASHION
THAT MATTERS

VOGUE
VALUES 2021 NEW YEAR, NEW WORLD
 JAN

PALOMA
ELSESSER
FASHION’S
ROLE MODEL
PLUS: FRANCES
MCDORMAND
NAOMI OSAKA
ROSALÍA
AND 18 MORE PEOPLE
DRIVING CHANGE

DRESSING
FOR THE FUTURE
FASHION
THAT MATTERS

VOGUE
VALUES 2021 NEW YEAR, NEW WORLD
 JAN

FRANCES
MCDORMAND
HOLLYWOOD
ICONOCLAST
PLUS: NAOMI OSAKA
PALOMA ELSESSER
ROSALÍA
AND 18 MORE PEOPLE
DRIVING CHANGE

DRESSING
FOR THE FUTURE
FASHION
THAT MATTERS

VOGUE
VALUES 2021 NEW YEAR, NEW WORLD
 In the spring of 2020, just as the COVID-19 pandemic was taking hold, Vogue asked designers,
photographers, artists, editors, and models (and a few celebrities) to reveal what their lives looked like
under lockdown. The result was an extraordinary series of self-created images, interviews, and
essays, now brought together in one volume. Postcards From Home marks a moment
of profound change and serves as a stunning document of creativity thriving through crisis.

BY THE EDITORS OF VOGUE FOREWORD BY ANNA WINTOUR

rizzoliusa.com

Available Wherever Books Are Sold

chanel .com ©2021 CHANEL®, Inc., B®
 January 2021
12 44
Editor’s Letter Against the Tide
Model Paloma Elsesser
16 is challenging the
Contributors fashion community
to do better.
18 By Janelle Okwodu
Making News
Savannah Guthrie and 48
Kristin Welker have emerged The Real World
as steadfast anchors for As an actor, Frances
a new era. By Michelle Ruiz McDormand is as
chameleonic as she
22 is unfailingly herself.
Small Miracles By Abby Aguirre
Chloe Schama gives
downsizing her 52
day-to-day bag a whirl State of the Art
These six creatives
30 made the most
Face Value of a strange moment
A quick nip and tuck may
do even more for the 58
soul than for the visage, A Fresh Start
writes Maya Singer A crop of rising
photographers captures
34 the new year’s forward-
Growing Strong looking fashions
In the affecting new film
Minari, Yeri Han blossoms 70
The Time Is Now
36 Model Precious Lee felt
Leading by Example destined for the world’s
This summer, tennis greatest runways.
champion Naomi Osaka Then the world came
found another way to express around. By Lynn Yaeger
herself. By Rob Haskell
78
40 Index
No Boundaries Accessories for an
Rosalía’s next album exciting new year
aims to prove just how
88

FAS HI O N ED I TO R: TO NN E G O O D MA N . HA I R , LUCAS W ILSO N; MA K EU P, GRAC E A H N.

far pop music can
travel. By Julyssa Lopez Last Look

P RO DUC ED BY W I LLI A M GA LUS HA . D E TA I LS, SE E I N T HI S ISSU E .

Cover Look In Their Elements

SHAPING UP
MUSICIAN AUDREY NUNA WEARS A SACAI TOP AND SHORTS.
MOUNSER BRACELET. RINGS BY MEJURI, JENNIFER FISHER, JENNIFER MEYER,
AND ESTABLISHED. PHOTOGRAPHED BY STEFAN RUIZ.
For this issue, Vogue chose four cover stars spanning the worlds
of sports, music, fashion, and film. from left: naomi osaka:
Louis Vuitton dress. rosalía: Burberry dress. paloma elsesser:
Michael Kors Collection dress. frances mcdormand: Fear
of God suit and hoodie. Vela earring. Details, see In This Issue.
Photographer: Annie Leibovitz.
Fashion Editors: Jorden Bickham, Gabriella Karefa-Johnson,
and Carlos Nazario.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Due to a misunderstanding in an
interview, Harry Styles and his sister, Gemma Styles, were
mischaracterized as having different fathers in the
December 2020 cover story. Vogue regrets the error.

8 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM

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Letter From the Editor

VOGUE
VALUES
A YEAR AGO the global editions of Vogue came together to publish a mission statement about
our values. It was the first time in history all Vogue editors had spoken with one voice.
Words matter, but only if they’re followed by action—and I’m proud of the work Vogue has
done around the world this year, the stories we’ve told, the images we’ve published, the
new talents we’ve brought in. I’m especially thrilled to have four amazing women on our covers
this month—Naomi Osaka, Rosalía, Paloma Elsesser, and Frances McDormand. In their
individuality and leadership they suggest the thrilling changes we can expect in the new year:
in sports, in fashion, in culture and the arts, and of course in politics, with a wonderful
new American president. This is, frankly, a year we’ve all been looking forward to, and as it
approached, the 26 Vogue editors around the world came together again to reassess
and reiterate what matters most to us. You can read our statement below.—ANNA WINTOUR

A NEW YEAR, A NEW BEGINNING—and a time to recommit

to our values. Vogue believes in joy and optimism. We strive to
live sustainably and advocate for independence, individuality, and creativity.
We honor meaning and craft in fashion. We insist on inclusivity
and respect—and will hold ourselves accountable to those ideals. We will
endeavor every day to discover and support new talent. We believe
in the power of communities and families of all kinds. Our work matters.
ALL THE EDITORS IN CHIEF OF VOGUE

12 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM

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o put a newfound spin on
T our favorite looks from the
spring season—see the buoy-
ant stripes-filled portfolio
“A Fresh Start” (page 58)—we called
upon eight photographers, most of
whom were entirely new to our pag-
es. As we were closing this issue, we
asked each of them to tell us a bit
about their time on set.
Of his photo of model Mayowa
Nicholas, Philip-Daniel Ducasse, 32,
who grew up in Port-au-Prince, Haiti,
said, “I wanted this image to take us
back to where we both came from.
As Africans and Afro Caribs, we love
color—it lifts our moods and com-
plements our skin.” Jody Rogac, 39,
16 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM
from Vancouver, Canada, also want-
ed the essence of her subject (model
Grace Elizabeth) to shine through:
“I didn’t want her to transform into
anything other than what she natu-
rally is.” Meanwhile, the highlight for
22-year-old Myles Loftin (who has
shot for Vogue once before, in our Sep-
tember 2020 issue), from Accokeek,
Maryland, was “watching Camilla
[Nickerson, the fashion editor] help me
and my team shovel sand so we could
secure our backdrop in the ground.”
Rahim Fortune, 26, from Tupelo,
Oklahoma, opted to shoot within an
old house: “The clothing resembled the
curtains, and the hoodie played off of
the wallpapers,” he says.
BEHIND THE LENS
TOP ROW: JACKIE FURTADO, MYLES LOFTIN,
AND RAHIM FORTUNE. MIDDLE ROW: ZORA
SICHER, BRAD OGBONNA, AND JODY
ROGAC. BOTTOM ROW: PHILIP-DANIEL
DUCASSE AND ASHLEY PENA.
Some of the images were taken at
Brookfields Farm in upstate New
York. “Riding in the tractor with the
crew was hands down the most mem-
orable thing,” says Jackie Furtado, 30,
who is from the suburbs of Chicago
and is currently obtaining her MFA
in photography at Yale School of Art.
The sylvan scenery was highly ap-
preciated by Brad Ogbonna, 32, from
St. Paul, who recalls “a lot of cows,
horses, and great hills. It was great to
have that experience right before do-
ing a fashion shoot.” Other photos
were set on Long Island’s beaches. A
DUCASSE : SA LVATORE DE MA I O; A LL OT HERS: COU RTESY O F SUBJECTS.
painted wall by the shore came to life
for Ashley Pena, a 20-year-old New
York University student (who has shot
for Vogue twice before). “It’s as if I had
two models: Vanessa Aguasvivas and
the yellow stripe on the wall.” Zora
Sicher, 25, from Brooklyn, says the lo-
cation allowed her “to explore a beach
in New York I had never been to.” It
was a workday, yes, but also quite lit-
erally a day at the beach for the entire
cast and crew.
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SPECIAL DELIVERY
Guthrie and Welker
wear a Valentino dress
and an Altuzarra suit
selected by Fashion
Editor Tonne Goodman.
Hair, Jimmy Paul;
makeup, Dotti. Details,
see In This Issue.

MAKING
NEWS
With their stewardship of
the presidential town hall and final
debate, Savannah Guthrie
and Kristen Welker emerged as
steadfast anchors for a new era.
By Michelle Ruiz. Photographed
by Ethan James Green.
 ive minutes before NBC

F called the 2020 election for

Joe Biden, Kristen Welker
was sprinting. After rising
at 4 a.m. and coanchoring Week-
end Today in New York, the White
House correspondent darted into a
car and began racing back to her post
at Biden campaign headquarters in
Wilmington, Delaware. Welker knew
Pennsylvania would be called immi-
nently, and she risked missing her
historic live shot if she was stuck at
a gas station in New Jersey when the
race was decided.
“It was out of a movie,” Welker,
44, said of arriving at Wilmington’s
Chase Center at the final hour. (Her
producer later scored a TikTok vid-
eo of her dashing onto the set to the
Rocky theme.) “I made it in time to get
a sip of water, hear the special report
start to gear up, and we were on.”
One hundred and twenty miles
north at 30 Rock, and in Welker’s
earpiece, Savannah Guthrie official-
ly projected Biden to win the presi-
dency. The Today coanchor had been
on-air for more than 29 hours since
Election Day. (Guthrie’s husband,
communications consultant Michael
Feldman, who had been looking after
their six-year-old daughter, Vale, and
four-year-old son, Charley, sent sup-
plemental clothes and contact lenses.)
She had steered the network through
a series of unprecedented events—like
President Trump’s 2 a.m. speech on
Wednesday baselessly claiming victo-
ry. During that speech, Guthrie had to
cut in to inform viewers that several of
his statements were, frankly, not true.
“It gives me and it gives our net-
work no pleasure to interrupt the pres-
ident of the United States,” Guthrie,
49, told me about a week after the
election, at an outdoor café near her
Tribeca apartment, an ever-present
Starbucks cup close at hand. But let-
ting lies stand on national television
would not have been acceptable: “A
politician’s spin is expected. A false
statement is not. There’s a difference.”
In a season of political tumult,
amid an increasingly polarized and
partisan media landscape, Guthrie
and Welker have emerged as pillars
of the fourth estate—two roundly
tough-but-fair network newswomen
determined to hold leaders of both
parties to account. For viewers > 2 0

VOGUE.COM JANUARY 2021 19

 raised on voice-of-God, elder-states-
man anchors, they are redefining
who occupies the seats of power in
television media. Against the back-
drop of the Trump administration’s
attacks on the free press, Guthrie and
Welker delivered two of the more
improbable journalistic feats of the
2020 election cycle: Guthrie’s inter-
view with President Trump at NBC’s
controversial town hall in Miami in
October and, one week later, Welker’s
moderation of the final presidential
debate. “They prepare like no oth-
er people that I’ve met in this pro-
fession,” said their colleague NBC
News chief foreign-affairs corre-
spondent Andrea Mitchell. “They’re
extremely self-confident on camera—
unshakable, despite the pressure.”
From the start, Guthrie was up
against not just the challenges of
engaging with President Trump,
but ill will toward the event itself.
NBC had triggered outrage when it
slated the town hall with Trump at
the same time as a Biden event on
ABC. Critics accused the network,
the former home of The Apprentice,
of turning what should have been an
honest conversation into a ratings
war. (Trump, who had revealed he’d
been diagnosed with COVID-19 two
weeks earlier, had refused to attend a
virtual debate.)
“I was aware early on that some
people didn’t like that NBC had
offered a town hall to the president,
but almost immediately I shoved
all of that out,” Guthrie said. Her
hair is in a pert high ponytail, and
she is wearing two gold necklaces,
with C and V charms, for each of
her children’s initials. “It’s not the
first time I’ve had that experience,
where there’s controversy swirling
around something that I’m involved
with at work, so that’s a muscle I’ve
learned to flex—the muscle of put-
ting my head down and trying to just
focus.” She holed up in her Miami
hotel room, buried in policy papers
and Post-Its. “I joke I was like Car-
rie from Homeland,” Guthrie says,
able to laugh in hindsight. “I had no
idea until it was over how a certain
segment of our population was really
mad at NBC and maybe mad at me.”
The backlash wouldn’t last. With
a delicate mix of authority and relat-
ability, Guthrie salvaged the town
20 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM
hall with sharp, straightforward
questions and unrelenting follow-ups.
In the Florida heat, she asked an
evasive Trump no fewer than three
times whether he tested negative for
COVID-19 before the first presiden-
tial debate. “It reminds me of being
in high school, coming home after
my curfew, and my mom saying, ‘Did
you buy cigarettes?’ and she wouldn’t
let me get out of it until I gave her the
answer,” Guthrie said with a smile.
(Before the town hall, Guthrie and
NBC received their own assuranc-
es that Trump was not contagious,
including a test independently con-
ducted by the National Institutes of
Health.) When the president defend-
ed retweeting QAnon conspiracy
theories about Biden, Guthrie memo-
rably quipped, “You’re the president,
not, like, someone’s crazy uncle.”
Many consider Trump to be a
notoriously tricky subject—not
Guthrie.“I’ve interviewed a lot of
people who are hard to interview,”
she said, shrugging. “In point of
fact, I thought the president was very
respectful.” (She declined to mention
that after the town hall, Trump called
her “totally crazy” at a rally in Fort
Myers, Florida.)
Critics applauded Guthrie’s grill-
ing: “It was like somebody putting
a roadblock right in front of the
bs,” Salon television critic Mela-
nie McFarland told me. But as an
impartial journalist, Guthrie is loath
to be hailed as a Trump-slayer: “It’s
more important than ever that jour-
nalists recognize that we are on no
one’s side,” she asserted, her usu-
ally chipper tone intensifying. She
aims to challenge subjects of both
parties, prodding Biden last year
in Iowa, asking him about his son
Hunter Biden’s business dealing with
Ukraine. “He did not enjoy that ques-
tion,” she noted. Objectivity, in this
moment, can seem like a dying art.
“I don’t see a lot of people looking
for neutrality and straight reporting,”
she said. “I do see a lot of people and
politicians wanting press coverage
that reflects their worldview.”
Guthrie has been honing the art
of dispassionate interviews since she
began her career in 1993. After study-
ing print journalism at the University
of Arizona and spending more than
five years as a local TV reporter, she
earned her law degree from George-
town University in 2002, before
returning to broadcasting as a trial
correspondent for Court TV—a cir-
cuitous path for the eventual face of
NBC News. “The fact that I’m here
is shocking to me,” Guthrie mused
across the table. “I’ll never be over it.”
After the town hall, Guthrie jetted
back to New York, enjoying a vodka
soda with extra lime on the plane. But
“every time I thought about Kristen,
I felt sick to my stomach, because I
knew her work was in front of her.”
elker studied Guth-
W rie’s town hall close-
ly as she prepared to
moderate the final
presidential debate in Nashville one
week later, calling it “a gift and a
guide.” When NBC made Welker a
White House correspondent in 2011,
she followed Guthrie, who became a
friend. “When she was preparing for
her debate, I would just text or call
her and say, ‘You were born for this
moment,’ ” Guthrie said. “There is no
way in heaven or Earth that anyone
was going to work harder than Kris-
ten. Fairness is in her bones. She has
such a lovely way about her, but she’s
nobody’s shrinking violet.” Known
for her unflappability, Welker went
viral last year for plowing through
a live report from the White House
even as a gale-force wind knocked
towering light stands into her path.
Welker was raised in Philadelphia
by a mother who ran for City Coun-
cil, establishing the importance of
“good government.” Welker’s earliest
assignment: interviewing her stuffed
animals for a homemade newspa-
per. While studying at Harvard, she
interned at Today, spending the sum-
mer of 1997 assisting Katie Couric
and toiling in the NBC library, doing
research for segments on Gianni Ver-
sace’s murder. She ascended the ranks
with Mitchell as her mentor (Welker
calls her “my D.C. mom”) and with
guidance from the late Gwen Ifill, who
took Welker to dinner when she first
arrived in Washington. Covering the
Obama and Trump administrations,
Welker never lost a sense of won-
der: “If you walk through the gates
of the White House and you don’t
feel awestruck, it’s time to get a dif-
ferent job.” C O N T I N U E D O N PA G E 8 0
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 Small Miracles
If we’re not going anywhere or doing anything, why do our bags
still need to be so big? Chloe Schama gives downsizing a whirl.

he first step was to empty my wallet, with its grave- For years I have been a large-bag person—not only to

T yard of receipts that had last seen the light of day accommodate this brick of a wallet but to make sure I
A RT D I RECT I ON BY NI C BU RD E KI N.

in pre-pandemic times, loyalty cards from aban-
doned coffee shops, 17 NYC MetroCards carrying
unknown currency. Cash!? I hadn’t handed over a fistful of
filthy bills since you could still call a certain Mexican beer
by its proper name without a second thought. And the salt
in the wound: a reloadable Fun Card from Deno’s Wonder
Wheel. Where is Deno’s Wonder Wheel? (Coney Island, it
turns out. See you in the summer of 2022.)
could handle all manner of mishaps: laptops that had lost
their charge, episodes of low blood sugar, blotchy > 2 4
MIXED BAGS
A suite of miniature Chanel bags fits a moment in which our
phones (and face masks) are all we need to get by.
Bags and badge holder at chanel.com. Photographed by
Lucas Lefler. Details, see In This Issue.

22 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM

 VS.
If you have never tried an Oatgurt before,
you may feel like you need to compare it
to something similar, like say regular
yogurt, in order to help you decide if you
would like to try it.
The problem with that approach is that
Oatgurt is not yogurt, because yogurt is
made with dairy and has no oats, while
Oatgurt is made with oats and has no dairy.
So unfortunately you are out of luck by
subjecting Oatgurt to a traditional com-
parison model. However, once you’ve tried
it and realize it’s pretty hard to tell the
difference from regular yogurt, then you
have all kinds of options to compare our
Oatgurt to each other. For example, black
cherry is my personal favorite.
 skin, a westerly wind. There is nothing sexy about this
Mary Poppins mode, as evidenced by the well-worn Pros-
pect Park Alliance tote in which I carried all this junk.
Once it was a fresh and creamy color; it now resembles
the terrain it honors.
But many months into the pandemic, my orbit has shrunk
mostly to the blocks surrounding my Brooklyn home. It’s
almost a cliché at this point to say that the pandemic has
prompted us to streamline our lives, but when my oldest
son’s school sent home a note saying that backpacks would
not be necessary this year (they were limiting what came in
and out of the building for as long as in-person classes were
allowed), I found myself wondering: If a first-grader could
free himself from excess baggage, couldn’t I?
And the moment seemed right. For years now, Jacque-
mus’s micro bag, about as tall as my pinky finger, has been
more of an ubiquitous photo prop than practical vessel.
But there has been a proliferation of purses that range
from dainty—like Gucci’s mini Jackie bag—to the truly
petite, like several of Paco Rabanne’s slinky chain-link
sacs for spring 2021. The new Loewe
bucket “bag” from their spring collec-
tion is shrunk to a doll-sized pouch,
worn around the neck (Chanel, too,
“You must optimize
recently reinterpreted its classic 11.12 your life so you don’t
as a necklace), while Off-White’s per-
forated “Meteor Logo” carrier has
ID-card dimensions you might asso-
ciate with something usually attached
to a lanyard.
have to carry things
around,” a friend tells
me. Holly Golightly,
I reach out to a friend whose dain- she adds, kept her
ty clutches I’ve always admired for
her advice. “You must optimize your
lipstick in her mailbox.
life so you don’t have to carry things “Smart thinking!”
around,” she tells me. “Everything
should have a place, and there’s a
place for everything.” Holly Golightly, patron saint of
sprightly urban dwelling, my friend reminds me, kept
her lipstick in her mailbox—“smart thinking!” It seems,
though, that I’m a bit late to formulate a “live lightly”
philosophy when it comes to what we carry. “Most people
would agree that a phone is their most essential item,” says
Stuart Vevers, the executive creative director at Coach. “It
supports so many functions now that we need to carry a
little bit less overall.” The timeless baguette, Silvia Venturini
Fendi informs me, was born out of her conviction that
“women just wanted a small bag that could hold all the
deemed essentials.”
“Take what you need and leave the rest up to chance,”
says Brother Vellies founder Aurora James. “Go quickly.
Don’t hold on to the things that don’t serve you. Maybe
take a mask.”
With these admonishments in mind, I set out to test a
few models that I never would have considered in my prior
pack-mule life. First up is James’s own creation, Brother
Vellies’s Lijadu Billfold, a structured rectangle with a few
warm hand-carved Kenyan hardwood loops accenting the
strap. Of all the purses I have gathered, its precisely ordered
interior does the most to assuage my downsizing anxiety:
It wields multiple credit-card slots, a zippered pocket, even
a mirror stitched into the top flap.
24 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM
The next day before drop-off, I transition to a classic
quilted Chanel flap bag. It’s smaller and more formal than
anything I would usually wear, but I find myself drawn to
the metal-and-leather chain-link strap, which seems like
something a chic librarian on the Upper West Side would
use to secure her reading glasses. The chain glints subtly
in the late fall sun, and I can’t remember the last time I
put on something with a bit of sparkle. The rectangular
base reminds me of the solid, comforting spine of a book,
and out of a vestigial habit born of long subway rides,
I attempt to wedge in a reissue of Jean Rhys’s Voyage in
the Dark, a title that seems appropriate to our times. (No
go—Kindle it is.)
For school pickup later in the day, I transition to Telfar’s
highly coveted, gone-before-you-can-refresh-your-browser
small shopper—the Bushwick Birkin, it’s been called—
looking forward to a fleeting moment of “How did you get
that?” glory. “Do you have any snacks?” my son asks when
I arrive. No, I tell him. This bag doesn’t make room for the
caloric needs of a four-year-old, and anyway I don’t think
Telfar would take it kindly if I returned it
with pretzel crumbs inside. The pint-size
crowd at PS 139 is not impressed.
hat evening, I’m invited to a
T neighbor’s to bite our nails
collectively as we watch elec-
tion returns on a screen that
he’s erected in his yard. An event! The
firepit is crackling; another neighbor
sways in the flickering light with a
baby strapped to her chest; dogs weave
between people’s ankles. For this out-
ing, I’ve chosen Stella McCartney’s card
holder–and–coin purse combo. The two
small pouches are each about the size of
my palm, and I have stuffed one with leftover Halloween
candy to bribe my older kids to tag along in their pajamas
and duffle coats; the other holds my keys and nothing else.
I have no money, no cell phone, no contact-lens drops to
counter the effects of the woody smoke; through a foggy
scrim, I squint and think I see a dim star in the sky.
“That’s funny—I’m finding myself carrying more stuff
than ever before,” a friend says when I tell her about my
new vision, my new levity, my new unencumbered life.
“Masks, wipes, sanitizer....” She’s not alone in responding
to times of turmoil by schlepping more rather than less.
Back in 1918, during the flu pandemic, women—like
today—carried masks and other face coverings, accord-
ing to Melissa Marra-Alvarez and Elizabeth Way, co-
curators of “Head to Toe,” an upcoming exhibition at
The Museum at FIT on the social-cultural significance
of accessories. During World War II, handbags with
special compartments for gas masks were manufactured.
Despite all this, I feel a new commitment to leave behind
the detritus of my old life once the experiment is over—
not with a mournful farewell but with appreciation for
the simplicity in my new life. If that simplicity happens to
take the shape of a delicate Chanel clutch, I’ll take it. In
this new and unpredictable world, a sense of preparedness
comes in all sizes. @
 K8P0V4L
Face Value
Pandemic-era cosmetic procedures are on the rise. But a quick nip and tuck may
do even more for the soul than for the visage, writes Maya Singer.
I
t was a few months into the pandemic—post–Tiger
King, pre–The Vow—when I decided to do something
about my cyst. A small bump tucked into a nasolabial
fold, my cyst was virtually invisible, but it bugged
me, and one night, while watching TLC-star Dr. Sandra
“Pimple Popper” Lee bandage a patient’s face, I realized
there would never, ever be a better time for me to get rid
of the thing. For starters, thanks to social-distancing mea-
sures, I hardly went anywhere or saw anyone other than
my boyfriend. And when I did leave the house, I wore a
mask. The tie-dyed silk facial coverings I’d just ordered
from Kes were both a chic prophylactic against disease
and the perfect post-op disguise. Plus, I told myself, fear
30 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM
P ORT RA I T OF E LE AN OR O F TO LE DO, C.1 5 4 3. O I L O N WO O D, 59 X 4 6 C MS. ©BR ID G EMAN IMAGES.
P HOTO- I L LUSTRAT I O N BY I VA NA CRUZ. A N G OLO DI COSI M O B RO N ZI N O.
of COVID must be keeping the offices of dermatologists
and plastic surgeons empty, right?
Wrong. Demand for cosmetic interventions has gone up
significantly over the course of the pandemic, with providers
reporting a notable surge in bookings. There’s not yet hard
data on this phenomenon, but anecdotally, the experience
of Michigan-based plastic surgeon M. Azhar Ali, M.D.,
seems typical. “It’s been completely insane since we > 3 2
NEW YEAR, NEW NOSE?
With ample opportunity to convalesce at home and conceal
post-op healing underneath a mask, women are seeking out
rhinoplasties—among other plastic surgeries—during COVID-19.
Bioré Brightening products break up dirt, oil and pollution for fresh,
bright, breathable skin. With dull pores revived, your brightest self
can shine through.

*with Bioré Brightening Line use © 2020 KAO USA Inc.

 reopened in June,” Ali says. “The amount of work I have, perfect storm of demand.” While it may not technically be
it’s maybe even double normal conditions.” “We’re getting true that we’ve all aged 10 years in the last 10 months (though
calls nonstop,” echoes Samuel Lin, M.D., a plastic surgeon a wide range of studies has shown that chronic stress can
and associate professor at Harvard Medical School who in accelerate the aging process), it certainly does seem that way,
August noted a 30 percent increase in procedures—specif- especially when sleepless nights are followed by early-morn-
ically eye lifts and rhinoplasties—compared with the same ing video conferences that magnify the bags under your eyes.
time last year. “People aren’t going on vacation, they’re not eating out at
This uptick in business isn’t hard to fathom. Thanks to restaurants, and they’re depressed and panicked and they
the much-reported-upon Zoom effect, wrinkles and jowls want a pick-me-up,” theorizes Ali. Indeed, all the doctors I
and drooping eyelids that never bothered us before are now spoke with for this story mentioned this “feel good” factor.
constantly broadcast back to us on 13-inch LED screens. I would also like to propose boredom as the great un-
Meanwhile, gym closures and stay-at-home orders have analyzed cause of our current aesthetic-enhancement boom,
contributed to quarantine fitness ruts, which are driving and I’ll cite myself as Example A. Shocked out of my usual
interest in body-contouring technologies such as Emsculpt, routine—work, travel, exercise, socializing, et cetera—I’ve
according to Amy Schecter, CEO of Ever/Body, a storefront had time to fixate on stuff like my non-dangerous, virtually
cosmetic-dermatology practice in New York City where the invisible cyst. And once the cyst was gone, fixation shifted
popular nonsurgical muscle-toning device that uses high- to my neck, where—over the course of umpteen Zoom
intensity electromagnetic energy to tighten abs and buttocks calls—I’d noted a couple pale creases along my throat,
has been getting a lot of traction. And for many women— which I promptly sought to address with a session of col-
myself included—you just can’t ar- lagen-stimulating Morpheus8, a pop-
gue with timing. “The minute we ular radio-frequency microneedling
shut down, I was like—oh, my God, “Even the most fortunate device at Ever/Body, where I was
I should get surgery,” recalls Candace
Marino, an L.A.-based facialist who
people...they’ve all lost greeted at the door by a thermome-
ter-wielding receptionist and guided
received her long-desired VASER some level of control over to an ultra-sanitized treatment pod by
liposuction from Beverly Hills plas- their lives, and one way a nurse practitioner wearing an enor-
tic surgeon Charles Galanis, M.D., mous face shield (#pandemiclife).
in May. “There was no way I could of addressing that is by During the painful 45 minutes I was
have fit two to four weeks of recovery finding something to getting needled, I was not bored; but
into my schedule, given the hands-on as soon as I left the clinic, I resumed
nature of my work. My only regret master. That could mean my existential questioning of what
is that I didn’t get a breast lift, too.” learning a new language, I was going to do with the rest of my
Likewise, Shealyn Hernandez, 33, a day, the rest of my strange year, the
patient of Ali’s, had been saving up or it could mean getting rest of my indeterminately on-hiatus
for her “full mommy makeover”— a cosmetic procedure” life. Per usual, I set these thoughts
breast augmentation, lipo, muscle aside, went home, and watched
repair, tummy tuck—but she finally Dr. Pimple Popper.
pulled the trigger this fall because she knew she’d be able to “I think a lot of people are looking for ways to be pro-
convalesce at home. “Before, I would have had to take time ductive over quarantine,” notes SiriusXM Dermatology
off from my job,” she notes. “Now it’s like, I’m not going Show host Evan Rieder, M.D., who is board certified in
to my job anyway….” both dermatology and psychiatry. “Even the most fortunate
people—employed, healthy, with their families—they’ve all
ockdown healing is both convenient and discreet. lost some level of control over their lives, and one way of ad-

L Marino told me that many members of her celeb-

rity clientele have had work done in the past six
months—“everything they’ve been waiting to do,”
she says—precisely because they could recover in secret. That
was my logic, too: Lara Devgan, M.D., the sought-after
Upper East Side surgeon who removed my cyst, sewed up her
teensy incision with a couture-worthy stitch, but the only per-
son aside from me who got to appreciate her fine handiwork
was my boyfriend; masks covered my sutures, and now they
veil an angry-but-fading scar. The fact that many people’s
connection to the world is through FaceTime may account
for the sharp increase in rhinoplasties observed by surgeons
such as Harvard’s Lin and Shaun Desai, M.D., assistant
professor of facial plastic and reconstructive surgery at Johns
Hopkins. “Because the phone selfie is so distorting—you
see your nose as larger than it is, or misshapen—nose issues
seem more urgent.” A barrage of increasingly triggering news
updates has also certainly added to what Desai refers to as “a
dressing that is by finding something to master. That could
mean learning a new language, or it could mean getting a
cosmetic procedure; either way, you feel like you’re making
an investment in yourself.” At last we have the proper re-
joinder to that infuriating meme about Shakespeare writing
King Lear during a plague epidemic: Sure, but did Shake-
speare get an eyelid lift? He looks pretty sleepy-eyed to me.
Speaking of eyelid lifts—a terrifying surgery I’ve been
mulling—Rieder cautions that a side effect of any cosmetic
procedure is “perception drift,” or the tendency for fixation
to travel from the treated area to a non-treated one, as
illustrated by my cyst-neck-eyelid shift. “There’s no cure for
it; you just have to understand that drift happens,” Rieder
says. “We get a pick-me-up from working on ourselves, we
like the way we look, we’re happy with what we did, and
then the glow fades, and we notice something else…. That’s
just how we are as humans, we don’t stay in one place.”
Even during lockdown. @

32 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM

 Growing Strong
I
t’s a Friday afternoon national treasure Youn Yuh-
in Dosan Park, a par-
In the affecting new film Minari, Jung, whom Han affection-
cel of Seoul populated Yeri Han blossoms. ately refers to as sunsaeng-nim,
by smartly appointed the Korean word for “teacher.”
boutiques and manicured “Among the crew, there were
men and women. In a private non-Korean immigrants and
room on the second floor of children of immigrants,” Han
Parnell, a shop-café with recalls. “They said that even
succulents in the window though they couldn’t under-
and superfood smoothies on stand a thing”—much of the
the menu, I am waiting for film is in Korean—“they still
Yeri Han, the South Korean understood everything.”
indie-film and TV star who Of the five main characters,
this month will make her Monica struggles the most
Hollywood debut in writ- with life in Arkansas. “Jacob
er and director Lee Isaac found his dream in America.
Chung’s deeply personal Monica didn’t have a dream;
and semi-autobiographical she simply came with him
film, Minari. I have arrived because of love,” Han says.
20 minutes ahead of our She drew from stories of im-
scheduled meeting, but migrant wives in the ’70s and
Han, 36, slides into the room ’80s, particularly of Korean
promptly at two o’clock with women who left their own
a casual bow. Dressed down families behind, never to re-
in black leggings, a pad- join them, and were expect-
ded green coat, faded blue ed to be subsumed by their
crewneck, a Champion cap, husbands’ families. The char-
and maroon socks stuffed acter initially existed only as
into white Nike sneakers, loose brushstrokes in Chung’s
she smiles sheepishly, con- script. But with Chung’s en-
fessing she’s come from the couragement, Han fleshed out
gym. “My friend said to me, the role into something power-
‘You’re going to meet with SOUTHERN COMFORT ful yet restrained, calling upon
Vogue; don’t you have to A moment from the film: Han in the arms of actor Steven Yeun. the shape of her mother, her
go home and change?’ But aunt, and her grandmother.
I thought,” she sighs and shrugs, “that’s so much work.” “She is so talented and honest, and was able to communicate
She pours herself a glass of tangerine ginger tea and, the depth, resilience, and power of Monica,” says Yeun.
since we’re in Seoul, where such things are possible, removes “She was always truthful as an actor, and I had ultimate
her face mask and lets it hang around her neck on a length trust in her.” The film, which is based partially on Chung’s
of seafoam-green cord. She sits beautifully erect, with the life growing up on a farm in Arkansas, took home both the
same graceful bearing she possesses onscreen, a remnant U.S. Dramatic Grand Jury Prize and the U.S. Dramatic
of the traditional Korean dance training that first led her Audience Award at the Sundance Film Festival. But it was
to acting as a college student. Han grew up in Jecheon, a Chung’s father’s appreciation of her performance that stuck
scenic resort town two and a half hours southeast of Seoul, with Han. “That was the most meaningful,” she says.
where she spent her childhood exploring the network of “To me, Minari asks, ‘What sort of land must people find
lakes and pine-covered mountains. “In winters we went in order to thrive?’” Han says. “In the end, a home can be
sledding in the hills; in summers we went to catch frogs by made anywhere.” She has made her own in Seoul, where
the water,” she says. “Perhaps because I was able to spend she lives in an apartment in the northeastern part of the
the days of my youth like that, I was able to draw on those city with her younger sister and spends her time engrossed
JOS H E TH A N JO HN SON / ©A 24

memories for this project.”
In Minari—the film is named for a wild herb that resem-
bles parsley and grows like a weed—Han portrays Monica,
a young Korean woman whose husband, Jacob, played by
Steven Yeun, drags his wife and two small children to a stretch
of unsettled farmland in rural Arkansas. They are later joined
by Monica’s mother, portrayed by industry veteran and
in films and books—recently Christopher Nolan’s Tenet
and Thoreau’s Walden—or practicing the Korean folk
dances she learned as a child. When asked if she plans to
capitalize on Minari’s success and shift her own home to
the States, she shrugs. “I don’t want to plan too much. I
just want to find good stories, good characters, and let
things grow naturally.” A little like minari.—MONICA KIM

34 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM

LEADING BY
EXAMPLE
She’s won Grand Slams by making statements with her racket.
But this summer Naomi Osaka found another way to
express herself. Rob Haskell meets tennis’s rising champion—
and its conscience. Photographed by Annie Leibovitz.
 TO THE POINT
“I feel like this is
something that was
building up in me
for a while,” says
Osaka of her new
outspokenness.
Nina Ricci dress.
Sittings Editor:
Jorden Bickham.
 used to be so embarrassed to say it,” Naomi Osaka
I recalls.
We’ve been pondering the strange power of Come
on!—which, sometime around when Osaka was born,
23 years ago, emerged as tennis’s prevailing battle cry, an
autocatalytic fist pump in a pair of words. Though its
origins are murky, many historians of the sport believe
it was Lleyton Hewitt, the retired Australian two-time
Grand Slam singles champion, who inoculated the tennis
world with this efficient exhortation. Roger Federer says
it. So does Serena Williams. Some prefer to use their native
tongue: Vamos! Allez! When Osaka was a 10-year-old
learning the game, her father would pay her a quarter every
time she shouted the words. “I hated it. I thought, If I’m
so loud, then I’ll draw attention to myself,” she explains.
“I felt like people would stare at me. But I don’t know. I
guess I sort of got used to it.”
In the two short years since Osaka became an interna-
tional tennis phenomenon by defeating Serena Williams
in a contentious U.S. Open final that descended into boos
from the crowd and tears from the newly minted champion,
her disinclination toward decibels has been exhaustively
cataloged. Indeed, her eyes seem to contemplate a roll at
the inventory of descriptors offered up since she became
a Slam winner: shy, naive, timid, inno-
cent, mild-mannered, reticent. But
while lately Osaka has earned a repu- “I’m Black, and I live
tation for bone-dry wit and sometimes in America, and
jarring candor in the press room after
matches, even she occasionally feels I personally didn’t think
compelled to poke fun at her subdued it was too far-fetched
affect. “Happy on the inside on the
outside,” she once tweeted. when I started talking
“That shy label has stuck with me about things that
through the ups and downs of my
career,” she says now. “But I think peo- were happening here”
ple who have watched me grow would
say that I navigate situations better, that I’m better able to
express myself.” Her actual mouth moves from neutral-face
emoji toward a smile. “Maybe.”
It’s a cool October day in Beverly Hills, and Osaka hasn’t
lifted a tennis racket since she won the U.S. Open for the
second time in September, in the echo chamber of an audi-
ence-less Arthur Ashe Stadium. She wasn’t always able
to tolerate long stretches away from the court, afraid she
might lose her touch. She knows better now. The strokes,
first coaxed out of her as a three-year-old, are automatic,
the opportunity for rest precious. Her home, at the top of a
winding road, is a sleek agglomeration of boxes in concrete,
pale wood, and glass. Outdoors, a layer of fog has settled
over the pool, and the surrounding canyon offers its parched,
brush-dotted undulations. The house is immaculate save
for a pile of Nike tennis sneakers in the foyer, evidence that
a fall cleaning is under way (the brand is one of her major
sponsors). Osaka sits opposite the soaring fireplace in orange
joggers. “I’ve had quite a collection of Nike sweats for the
pandemic,” she explains—ideal for sleeping in and playing
Apex Legends. “Just a lot of lounging at the moment.”
Thousands of miles away at the French Open—postponed
by four months—one of her good friends on the tour, the
young Pole Iga Swiatek, is on the brink of winning her
38
first major. Osaka decided to sit it out, but she’s itching to
know the results. She checks tournament scores twice daily,
morning and night, in order to avoid getting consumed. This
tennis season, the goal has been simultaneously to return
to the pinnacle of the sport and to take it just a little less
seriously. Osaka would argue that these are not mutually
exclusive. “As tennis players, we’re so hyper-focused on what
happens on the court, and we think our life is sort of deter-
mined by whether we win a match or not,” she says. “That’s
not true. I think that the pandemic gave me the chance to
go into the real world and do things that I wouldn’t have
done without it.”
Osaka was training in the California desert in March
of last year when the pandemic knocked the season over
like so many dominoes. The Indian Wells Open, tennis’s
biggest prize outside the four majors and the scene of her
first great triumph in 2018, was canceled. Miami followed
suit, then the entire clay-court season, then the grass tour-
naments, including Wimbledon, and most of the North
American hard-court swing. “I’d never had a break like
this before in my life,” Osaka explains, “so I just tried to
clear my mind.” She watched a lot of Netflix—anime,
mainly. In the morning she jogged. She cooked. She got
restless and asked her agent for projects. She started draw-
ing. She picked up the guitar but got
frustrated when the chords didn’t come
together fast enough. She tuned into
the news cycle in a way that the peri-
patetic professional tennis tour makes
next to impossible. In May, George
Floyd was killed by a police officer in
Minneapolis, and for Osaka the event
had a consuming force. In the months
since, she has become tennis’s most
powerful advocate for racial justice.
“I feel like this is something that was
building up in me for a while,” she says.
Osaka was 14 and living in Boca Raton, Florida, when
Trayvon Martin was fatally shot some three hours north.
“I watched the Trayvon stuff go down. For me that was
super-scary. I travel so much during the year that I don’t
always know the news that’s centered in the U.S. But then
when the pandemic hit, there were no distractions. I was
forced to look.” Days after Floyd’s death, Osaka and her
boyfriend of two years, the rapper Cordae, flew to Minne-
apolis to join the protests. She had never been to a rally of
any kind in her life. “I don’t think it matters if you’re shy
or not, or if you’re introverted or extroverted. You’re just
there in the moment. When you see it in real life—so many
cameras filming everyone, police with guns outside the city
hall, the parents of other victims telling their stories—it
kind of hits you differently. You’re able to process it on
your own terms.”
On social media, Osaka posted photos from the protest
that were met with the inevitable hodgepodge of support
and censure. She was told to stick to making statements
with her tennis racket. Someone commented facetiously
on her Instagram: “You’ll loot everything right because
that’s the answer. And don’t give me some speech on why
looting is good or why everyone is rioting…Martin Luther
King would be disappointed in you people.”
 SPEAK NOW
“I think it helped me win,”
Osaka says of wearing
statement masks to the
U.S. Open. Miu Miu top.
Off-White c/o Virgil
Abloh face mask. In this
story: hair, Lacy Redway;
makeup, Autumn
Moultrie. Details, see
In This Issue.
“ ‘You people’? Who is ‘you people’? Just for clarifica-
tion,” Osaka replied, adding, “Just because it isn’t happen-
ing to you doesn’t mean it isn’t happening at all.”
n the calendar year from June 2019 to June 2020, Osaka
I was the highest paid female athlete ever, according to
Forbes, bringing in $37.4 million in combined prize
money and endorsements and eclipsing Maria Shara-
pova and Serena Williams. In addition to Nike, her sponsors
include Louis Vuitton, Mastercard, Beats, PlayStation,
Airbnb, Nissan (cars), and Nissin (noodles), to name a
handful. Last fall she collaborated on a clothing collection
with Adeam, the Japanese-American fashion brand, and a
high-top sneaker with Nike and Comme des Garçons. It may
P RO DUC ED BY P O RT FOL I O O NE ; SE T D ESI G N , M A RY H OWA RD STU D I O.
be the case that Osaka’s own multiracial and multinational
heritage makes her not only a fitting brand ambassador to
an increasingly multiracial and multinational world, but
also the ideal emissary for reform in three dominions—the
United States, Japan, and the world of tennis—that share
an uncomfortable relationship to racial equality.
Osaka herself is as accustomed to being shoehorned
into one category or another as she is to the frustrations of
those who find her impossible to sort (but who somehow
think it is their right to do so). Her mother, Tamaki Osaka,
is Japanese, and her father, Leonard Francois, is Haitian.
The couple met in Hokkaido, and their relationship was
greeted, at first, with harsh disapproval in Tamaki’s family.
Naomi and her older sister, Mari, were born in Japan and
took the surname Osaka for practical purposes, and the
family moved to Long Island, New York, into the home of
Francois’s parents, when Naomi was three. Although she has
lived in the United States ever since, Osaka represents Japan
in tennis (a decision her parents made for her years ago) and
will compete on the Japanese team at the Olympic Games
in Tokyo. “I think I confuse people,” she says, “because
some people label me, and they expect me to stick to that
label. Since I represent Japan, some people just expect me
to be quiet and maybe only speak about Japanese topics. I
consider myself Japanese-Haitian-American. I always grew
up with a little bit more Japanese heritage and culture, but
I’m Black, and I live in America, and I personally didn’t
think it was too far-fetched when I started talking about
things that were happening here. There are things going on
here that really scare me.”
In 1999, Leonard Francois watched Venus and Serena
Williams, then teenagers, compete at the French Open and
was amazed. The following year, with no tennis experience
of his own and following the Richard Williams blueprint
of guidebooks and DVDs, he began to teach his girls the
game. The Williams sisters were the clear and unwavering
paradigm from day one, and when people caught a glimpse
of the young Osakas on Long Island public courts and
asked point-blank if they were the next Serena and Venus,
had Naomi dared to answer, there’s no question that she
would have said yes. “I would say that if Serena wasn’t
there, then I wouldn’t be here,” she offers, “and I think that
a lot of players would say the same thing.”
With her massive serve, rifling ground strokes, and clutch
play under pressure, Osaka draws frequent comparisons
to the younger Williams sister. But C O N T I N U E D O N PA G E 8 0
39
 NO
BOUNDARIES
Spain’s irresistible hitmaker Rosalía draws
influences from everywhere—from flamenco to
reggaeton to hip-hop. Her next album aims to
prove just how far pop music can travel. By Julyssa Lopez.
Photographed by Annie Leibovitz.
 DAMA DE ROJO
“Aw, man, she’s the
future,” says Pharrell,
a close collaborator
on Rosalía’s next
album. The Grammy-
winning pop star
wears Versace.
Fashion Editor:
Carlos Nazario.
 isual excess is nothing new to the Spanish pop This should come as no surprise to anyone who heard

V star Rosalía, whose videos and performances

are so saturated with flaring colors and baroque
imagery that they could have floated off the
pages of art-history books. Yet in mid-October, as I follow
her into a massive, three-floor costume emporium called
Rosalía’s breakthrough 2018 album, El Mal Querer. The
project, which started as her college thesis at Barcelona’s
Catalonia College of Music, exploded onto the music
scene with a startling artistic proposition of old-world
flamenco techniques combined with smoky Timbaland-era
Abracadabra in New York City’s Flatiron District, she’s pop sounds and the bold aesthetics of the sneakerhead
momentarily overwhelmed, like a character in a kitschy, generation. The album hit number one on Billboard’s
haunted Wonderland. Nearby, a gaggle of animatronic Latin Pop Albums chart and won her five Latin Grammys.
clowns smile maniacally while holding chain saws; lush Critics praised it as one of the best albums of that year,
feather boas cascade down shelves like ivy; and the aisles and other artists quickly gravitated toward her. Caetano
twinkle with constellations of accessories covered in rhine- Veloso and David Byrne have been spotted at her shows,
stones and glitter. Rosalía wanders deeper into the shop, and James Blake, Travis Scott, and J Balvin became collab-
collecting its camp and horror like a human satellite. orators. Pharrell, who’s been working with Rosalía as she
She’s wearing white Prada sneakers and Burberry trousers prepares her follow-up, was among her earliest supporters.
and, beneath a pink-lined Burberry trench coat, a present “I just remember thinking to myself, Aw, man, she’s the
for her 28th birthday from her older sister, Pili: an oversized future,” he tells me about seeing one of her first videos.
T-shirt printed with a bubble-gum-colored Lexus. A white “That track was literally just a guitar, but the visual that
KN95 mask lets her glide discreetly past customers too she put to it was so arresting, and she was so sure of it. I
distracted by papier-mâché ghosts and cackling goblins to hadn’t seen that kind of confidence in years.”
notice she’s the Grammy winner who, in the last few weeks Rosalía’s eagerness to experiment is a defining char-
alone, launched a lipstick collaboration with MAC, per- acteristic of El Mal Querer, which she coproduced
formed at Rihanna’s Savage x Fenty show, and with the Spanish producer El Guincho.
appeared in Cardi B and Megan Thee Stal- As rooted as the songs are in flamenco,
lion’s internet-shattering “WAP” video. The “I love things they also play with shadowy R & B hooks,
one giveaway is her voice. A motion-activated
monster roars in her direction, and she war-
that are really swatches of Auto-Tune, even a Justin Tim-
berlake sample. Her newer singles have
bles, “Oooh!” sounding exactly as though she’s structured pushed even deeper into other genres. Col-
ad-libbing on a record.
Going to Abracadabra was her idea, a
or really loose— laborating with J Balvin for 2019’s Latin
Grammy–winning track “Con Altura” and
recommendation from a stylist friend. We’d I’m not really Travis Scott for the recent “TKN” allowed
met in the lobby of the Mercer Hotel, where about finding a her to dabble in reggaeton and hip-hop,
Rosalía has been staying this fall weekend. moves that elicited both fascination and
She’d greeted me coming out of the elevator middle ground. criticism, specifically about identity, priv-
with her assistant, Nicole, and we laughed I like extremes” ilege, and the lines between appreciation
while fumbling through a COVID-appropri- and appropriation. These reflect broader
ate greeting (we ended up shaking hands). On tensions in an increasingly globalized pop
the drive to Abracadabra, Rosalía chattily told me how she market, and as she prepares a new album, they loom espe-
woke up with a craving for Italian food, about her 6 a.m. cially large. How far can an artist travel in her art?
jog along Prince Street, and how she’d considered a Sailor At Abracadabra, a salesperson has found Rosalía her
Moon or Pretty Woman Halloween costume—but had Leeloo costume, a $62 version of the white-bandage
her heart set on Leeloo, Milla Jovovich’s flame-haired bodysuit that Jean Paul Gaultier designed for Jovovich
character from Luc Besson’s 1997 cult classic, The Fifth in the film. She beelines toward the wigs. A man named
Element. Such a transformation shouldn’t be hard for a Tony, who has been working in the wig department since he
global shape-shifter known for slinking across the barriers passed a help wanted sign at the window in 1988, stands
of genre and form. I ask her, as we walk past rows of medi- at a glass counter, guarding a small army of mannequin
eval gowns and sparkly flapper dresses, how she decides heads wearing a full palette of colors. Within seconds,
on her looks, which seem to morph with each video she Rosalía has drawn Tony into a discussion over Leeloo’s
releases—from the fur-clad glamazon in “Aute Cuture” to bright-orange bob. They speak with the determination of
the entranced dancer with a Frida Kahlo unibrow in “A two business negotiators: Rosalía points to Pippi Long-
Palé.” Rosalía speaks softly in Spanish, punctuating most stocking pigtails and asks him in English, “Do you think
of her sentences with an affable laugh, but here her voice that we could adapt that or not really?” “That won’t work,”
takes on a sudden seriousness: “I think about what I’m he responds solemnly. “It’ll be crimped because of the
communicating, what’s underneath,” she says. “What’s hairspray.” So he brings her another option, a neon-or-
the treatment? What ideas are there? Am I going to be ange ’60s wig with flipped ends. “This has a flip, but you
dancing or performing?” She deeply trusts her impulses. could go around it….” Rosalía nods as she makes a scissor
“It’s kind of instinctive,” she says. “It’s about how things motion with her fingers. She thinks out loud in Span-
make you feel when you see them. What colors grab your ish, growing more excited: “I can put sea-salt spray in it
attention, how a texture makes you feel when you touch it. because the girl in the movie was, like, a little more messy,
I love things that are really structured or really loose—I’m right?” Her mind is made up, and she says declaratively,
not really about finding a middle ground. I like extremes.” “I want this one.”

42
 SURE FUEGO
Jacket, pants, and
sandals by The Row.
Ole Ole Flamenco
flower, worn in hair. In
this story: hair, Jesus
Guerrero; makeup,
Susie Sobol. Details,
see In This Issue.
eople close to Rosalía often marvel over her focus.
P Pili, three years older, says she noticed her sister’s
intense dedication to flamenco early. “It was such
a commitment, such an undertaking,” Pili says.
“It wasn’t something simple like, ‘Oh, my friends do this,
so I like it, too.’”
The two girls grew up in Sant Esteve Sesrovires, a
small city outside Barcelona. Their parents encouraged
Rosalía’s love of singing and dancing by buying her a gui-
tar. And while the sisters were each other’s main conspir-
ators, they were close to other kids in the neighborhood
too—many of whom had migrated from Andalusia, the
region where Roma communities popularized flamenco,
a style that mixes Romani, African, Persian, Jewish, and
Spanish influences. Rosalía fell in love with flamenco in
those years, hearing it everywhere, especially blasting out
S ET D ES IG N , MA RY HOWA RD ST UD I O.
of her friends’ cars.
She took up vocal training with a respected flamenco
maestro named José Miguel Vizcaya, or El Chiqui. When
Vizcaya gave up private lessons to focus on teaching at
the Catalonia College of Music, a university that accepts
only one student to its flamenco vocal department per
year, Rosalía dedicated herself to the admissions test
and passed it. “I didn’t feel like I 100 percent belonged
there,” she admits. “I always wanted to experiment making
videos, making shows, with dancing. None of that was
present there. Everything was super technical.”
But Rosalía would perform at bars and restaurants
around Barcelona, often asking Pili for fashion advice
along the way. Now Pili is her creative consultant. The scale
of what they’re doing has changed, but Pili says Rosalía’s
conviction hasn’t. “When she does something, she really
has to believe in it.”
Rosalía laments that the pandemic has kept Pili in Bar-
celona. “My sister is my best friend, and now it’ll be a year
since I’ve seen her.” Her mother was able to visit a few
weeks ago, but otherwise, Rosalía has had to watch the grim
news of Spain’s coronavirus surges while quarantining in
the house she rented in Miami. She’s spent some downtime
bingeing Euphoria, watching Taxi Driver for the first time,
and going back to Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life, one of
her favorite films. But most days, she spends up to 12 hours
in a room that she’s converted into a studio, working on
her new album. The focus has been beneficial: “I needed to
be at home,” she says. “I needed all these hours, just doing
this.” The record, expected out in 2021, is a constant work
in progress; the night before, she was up writing lyrics in
her hotel room.
Rosalía’s inner circle is mostly made up of her team and
collaborators. She trades music with C O N T I N U E D O N PA G E 8 2
43
 IN THE SWIM OF THINGS
“I haven’t overcome
everything,” Elsesser says,
“but I continue to put up
a good fight.” Di Petsa dress.
Fashion Editor:
Gabriella Karefa-Johnson.
AGAINST
THE TIDE
More than simply a sought-after model
and muse, Paloma Elsesser is challenging the
fashion community to do better—and
inspiring a new generation. By Janelle Okwodu.
Photographed by Annie Leibovitz.
 n paper, the idea of fashion insiders hitting up the
O local pumpkin patch seems utterly absurd, but
on a chilly weekend in October, Paloma Elsesser
and her friends find themselves amid an expanse
of Dutchess County farmland nestled deep in the Hudson
Valley of upstate New York, the stuff of grade school field
trips and pastoral postcards. The birthday celebrations for
Elsesser’s friend Camille Okhio, a Nigerian American writer
and fine- and decorative-arts historian, are in full swing.
For many in the group—which also includes design-
er Emily Adams Bode and mixed-media artist Theresa
Chromati—this is a welcome opportunity for some fresh
air while discussing anything that is not work. Talk centers
on the upcoming election, the prospect of apple-cider
doughnuts, and the task at hand. Weeks after the farm’s
first harvest, it seems that the best specimens are already
halfway to becoming either jack-o’-lanterns or pie, so the
band of arrestingly dressed creatives sifts
through what remains, occasionally tripping
over vines and pausing only to film Insta- “Not every part of
gram stories among the foliage. fashion needs to
Then again, the spoils of the trip aren’t as
important as its sense of normality. Months focus on politics
of isolation brought on by the COVID-19 and reality—this
crisis take their toll, and camaraderie can
be hard to come by in a pandemic. Elsesser, isn’t CNN—but
28, serves as a kind of den mother, trekking ultimately, we
through the patch to check in on every-
body. In her black leather cutout blazer all have a level of
from Lourdes and custom Khaite leather responsibility”
pants, she’s at odds with the setting, but the
look feels unpretentious, more the result of
a hastily packed weekender. Three weeks earlier she’d been
jetting through Europe, tackling a most unusual runway
season. Some top models opted to sit things out, but for
Elsesser the positive effects actually outweighed the risks.
“My nerves were quieted because everything else going on
in the world felt so uncertain,” she says. “With a global pan-
demic, a movement for Black lives, fiscal shifts, emotional
and physical changes, anyone will go through emotional
transformations—I certainly did. After five months in
quarantine, I wanted to feel centered in my purpose. Mod-
eling is my livelihood and my career, not my passion, but
that passion is cloaked within what I do.”
Elsesser’s passion can be summed up in one word: com-
munity. Spend five minutes with her and you’re likely to
hear it more than once; the term is at the center of her life,
both personally and professionally. Online, her clique of
industry friends and fans has united over a shared belief
in inclusion, forming a welcoming group that includes
designers, filmmakers, influencers, and anyone else willing
to participate. As the glue holding things together, Elsesser
is keenly aware of what her visibility means—for herself
and for others. “When a size 14 person like myself says no
to doing a show, they may not put anyone larger in that
show—therefore that sample doesn’t go into the editorial
season; other girls my size don’t get shot in looks that aren’t
lingerie or a jacket; there’s a whole cycle happening. My
participation isn’t just about me.”
Though she identifies as a Black multiracial woman, it’s
impossible to categorize her beauty. In one photograph, her
46
combination of curves and composure renders her coolly
sensual; in another image, she’s a freckle-faced girl next
door brimming with cheer. Her background is a mélange of
cultures and experiences—Black, Latinx, European. More
than any other model in recent memory, Elsesser embodies
a new and unique American aesthetic—she’s an Every-
woman capable of representing multitudes. “When she
started, there was no one else like her—especially among
curve models,” says IMG’s director Mina White. As the
woman who helped make Ashley Graham a household
name, White knows the hurdles faced by models whose
bodies deviate from the industry norm. “Everything was
an uphill battle. There wasn’t a ‘cool’ girl—Paloma had to
come in and create her own category.”
Designers have latched onto that. Though the spring 2021
collections were truncated due to travel bans, Elsesser still
managed to walk for marquee shows like Fendi and Fer-
ragamo in addition to locking down a place
in Rihanna’s Savage x Fenty Amazon Prime
special and a lucrative deal with Coach as a
face of the brand’s Originals Go Their Own
Way campaign, alongside Michael B. Jordan
and Megan Thee Stallion. A decade ago, such
work would be the sole purview of rail-thin
Caucasian models, and while there’s no short-
age of beautiful waifs in 2021, women like
Elsesser, Precious Lee (see page 70), and Alva
Claire—all of whom were present on Milan’s
catwalks—are carving out a new niche.
“For a big chunk of my time in fashion,
the industry seemed to celebrate a cold and
emotionless, blank-stare type of modeling,”
says Coach executive creative director Stuart Vevers, who
compares Elsesser to charismatic stars like Hari Nef and
Binx Walton. “Thankfully, what has returned is the idea that
a model should convey personality, warmth, and a sense
of an interior life—the type of look that draws you in and
makes you stop scrolling.” First introduced to Elsesser at
the 2017 CFDA Fashion Awards, Vevers was impressed by
her authenticity. “She’s a very genuine person, and that’s
something you feel instantly.”
rowing up in the predominantly Black Los Ange-
G les neighborhood of Mid-City while attending
mostly white schools in the early 2000s, Elsesser
was constantly motivated by a desire for connec-
tion. The children of an African American mother and
Chilean Swiss father, she and her siblings did not fit neatly
into any categorization. “My mother was this intensely
educated woman who went to Wellesley, graduated at the
top of her class, [but] we didn’t have money,” says Elsesser.
“She always prioritized education, particularly private
schools that catered predominantly to white, affluent
people. That was hard—not being able to define myself,
existing in a larger body since first or second grade, and not
having the privilege of wealth.” L.A.’s culture of celebrity
exacerbated those issues. “You don’t just have rich people
as classmates; you have cool rich people. This person is
so-and-so’s daughter; this person’s dad composed the
theme to Titanic; this person’s dad is James Cameron!
That was strange for me.”
 HALO EFFECT
Schiaparelli top. Mônot
skirt. In this story: hair,
Latisha Chong; makeup,
Susie Sobol. Details,
see In This Issue.
The Elsessers themselves, a close-knit and artistic brood,
are far from typical. “I identify my upbringing as ‘hippie
poor,’” Elsesser says with a laugh. “Both of my parents
were musicians, and my mom was a teacher and writer. I
grew up with Black Methodist grandparents, and we were
all in one household.” The duplex at the intersection of
S ET D ES IG N , MA RY HOWA RD ST UD I O.
12th Street and Tremaine was a hub buzzing with activity.
It’s where she had long talks with her grandfather, a Quaker
and a conscientious objector to World War II, and talked
kickflips with her pro-skateboarder and musician brother
Sage. One of 14 grandchildren, with her cousins, aunts, and
uncles all within a short distance, she was surrounded by
a motley crew of personalities and stories.
“It was weird, but it was also very beneficial,” says Elsess-
er. “Now I see all the ways it presents in my life, how it made
me more informed.” At the moment, she’s in the process
of purchasing a Brooklyn brownstone with Sage and is
looking to pay those lessons forward (she’s also actively
participating in her community via her work with Mutual
Aid’s Community Fridge Program). “It’s the least I can do
for my family and those I consider family,” she says. “We
take care of each other.”
After high school, Elsesser headed to New York
and the New School for a double major in literature and
psychology—and threw herself into all the art, film,
and music the city had to offer. Though she’d relocated to
one of the world’s style capitals, fashion never emerged as a
big interest. “I’d say, ‘Wow, I love that cool brand Low’—I
didn’t know what any of this stuff was,” she says, referenc-
ing the iconic Spanish brand Loewe C O N T I N U E D O N PA G E 8 3
47
 STAND AND
DELIVER
“It’s a weird, ineffable
thing,” says the actor
Holly Hunter about
McDormand’s
uncanny talent. “It’s in
her body.” Gucci coat.
Sittings Editor:
Jorden Bickham.
 THE REAL
WORLD
As an actor, Frances McDormand is as chameleonic
as she is unfailingly herself. And she’s never
achieved anything quite like Nomadland—a stunning
film about life on America’s margins.
By Abby Aguirre. Photographed by Annie Leibovitz.
 am not allowed to tell you where this took place. She
I made this clear at the outset. I can tell you that it was
an unincorporated township known for its natural
beauty. Approached from the east, ridges of towering
redwoods give way to a tidal estuary favored by great blue
herons and snowy egrets. Beyond the lagoon lies the secret
place—a small peninsula on which a loose patchwork of
idyllic farms, rustic homes, and piney-smelling eucalyptus
groves stretches into the Pacific. This Shangri-la is less
secret in the era of geo-tagging, but locals do what they can
to maintain its seclusion (e.g., remove road signs to divert
visitors). Fittingly, the secret place is separated from the
50
North American continent by an active fault. It is literally
on a different tectonic plate.
I met her in the parking lot of one particular beach,
where two miles of rocky shoreline are shielded by a tall
bluff of eroding cliffs. She pulled up at noon sharp in a
sensible hatchback. Walking across the parking lot, she
stopped in her tracks, pulled down her pandemic mask,
and with her free hand pointed comically to her face, as
if to confirm what was already unmistakable: She was
Frances McDormand.
McDormand was dressed in a long denim skirt, a den-
im button-up, and a denim coat, all of which were the

THE NATURAL
McDormand,
photographed in a
CO Collections caftan.
In this story: hair and
makeup, Cydney
Cornell. Details, see
In This Issue.
same shade of indigo. Her shoes were handmade with
sand-colored leather by a Spanish outfit called Satori-
san, so named for a mythical monster of ancient Japan, a
S ET D ES IG N , MA RY HOWA RD ST UD I O.
supernatural creature capable of reading people’s hearts.
I know this because the editor on her photo shoot was so
taken with the shoes, she tracked them down and ordered
them in multiple colors. (I feel confident asserting that
McDormand is the first cover subject to inspire a Vogue
editor to scour the Sundance catalog.) Though each of
McDormand’s clothing items appeared to have been made
in the 21st century, her monochrome silhouette amounted
to something more timeless. From a distance she looked
like she’d stepped out of a 19th-century tintype—Annie
Oakley at 63, had Oakley cropped her hair and traded in
her Marlin rifle for an REI backpack.
At close range McDormand is quite beautiful. Her skin
is rosy and glows with good health, enhanced (I imagine) by
the fresh drinking water she procures from a spring near her
house. In repose her expression tends to be deadpan, except
for her eyes, which are deep blue and have a mischievous
glimmer. But when she tells a story or does an impression—
say, of her husband, Joel Coen, admiring a rather wide-leg
jumpsuit by Ilana Kohn she likes to wear: “SpongeBob
SquarePants!”—her features become elastic. McDormand
has long made it a policy not to manipulate her appearance.
She does not use Botox to flatten her wrinkles or filler to
inflate her cheeks. When she smiles (and she does often),
there are no patches of muscle paralysis. When she furrows
her brow, it actually furrows. These days McDormand avoids
wearing makeup, even on the red carpet. When she accepted
her Oscar for Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri two
years ago, she did so bare-faced.
e made our way down a dirt path toward
W the beach. The sky was cloudless, the
fall sun bright. McDormand is wary of
the press and rarely grants interviews. I
was reminded of this 57 seconds into our walk, when she
relayed the following: The day of the shoot for this story,
she got a splinter in her hand. Then, this morning, the day
of our interview, she got another splinter in her hand. She
was concerned that the two splinters were symbolic: “Is
this a sign? Is this going to be a thorn in my fucking side?”
The reason she was doing any interviews at all was her
new movie, Nomadland, which by now you have probably
seen. It’s a stunning poem of a film, directed by Chloé
Zhao, about a tribe of itinerant workers who live in RVs,
trailers, and vans. These nomads are older than those
usually associated with the #VanLife hashtag, and they are
certainly less affluent. Their movement was spawned not
by Instagram but by the irresolvable clash of rising rents
and flat wages. With no mortgages to pay, they are free to
move around the country with the weather and the work,
from the sugar-beet harvest in North Dakota to the holiday
packing season at Arizona’s warehouses in California. As
Jessica Bruder, the journalist who wrote the nonfiction
book on which the film is based, put it: “They are driving
away from the impossible choices that face what used to
be the middle class.”
Most of the nomads in the movie are real-life nomads
playing some version of themselves. McDormand plays
Fern, a fictional character written into the landscape by
Zhao, who has forged a hybridized style of filmmaking that
combines documentary and fiction—most notably with
The Rider, her 2017 portrait of a Lakota rodeo cowboy
set on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota. She
absorbs the stories of real people and spins partial fictions
from their factual worlds.
Zhao did some of this with McDormand, too. Fern is a
widow who hits the road after the collapse of her company
town in rural Nevada—she is not a world-renowned char-
acter actor who lives in the secret place—but there is some-
thing of Fran, as McDormand is C O N T I N U E D O N PA G E 8 4
51
Ashley James
“I definitely work from a place of
excitement and possibility,” says
James, associate curator of
contemporary art at the Guggenheim.
As the museum’s first Black curator,
she is currently organizing the
exhibition “Off the Record,” which
opens this spring. “The museum
has an opportunity to acquire work
by Black artists on a very high level.
And once additional voices are
brought in, what are new ways that
we can see histories that we thought
we’ve known for so long?”
Alexander McQueen
jacket and pants
($1,480); alexander
mcqueen.com.
Dru. ring.
Fashion Editor:
Tonne Goodman.
 Jo Ellen Pellman
“I hope that seeing The Prom
will get people excited for when
they can go back to live theater,”
says Pellman, who stars in the film
as a high-schooler who wants
to take her girlfriend to the senior
dance. It’s a breakout role for the
25-year-old actor from Cincinnati.
First a Broadway production in
2018, the musical got the Ryan
Murphy treatment with its Netflix
adaptation, out now. “I hope it
will inspire them to keep the live-
entertainment industry afloat.”
Giambattista Valli
dress; neimanmarcus
.com. Mejuri earring.

State of the Art

These six creatives made the most of a
strange moment, continuing their craft despite it all.
Photographed by Stefan Ruiz.
Audrey Nuna
“For me, it’s a weird scrambled
omelet of everything I see in
my life,” Nuna, a 21-year-old
R&B singer based in New
Jersey, says of her musical
inspiration. The artist
dropped her “damn Right”
single last fall—a sarcastic
“So what?” anthem that
quickly hit a nerve. “Even in
the grocery store, if I see
packaging that I like, I’ll take
from that. I see myself as a
vessel, taking things that I love
and putting them through
my own lens.”
Louis Vuitton shirt;
louisvuitton.com.
Rainbow Unicorn
Birthday Surprise
hair clips. Van Cleef
& Arpels earring.
Aya Brown
When people were clanging cookery
each night at 7 p.m. in the streets of
New York City to cheer on essential
workers, Brown, a Brooklyn-based
artist, was making her appreciation
known with pencil and paper. She
sketched Black women employees
of hospitals, schools, and more.
“I want them to feel this,” she says.
“I want to make sure that they see
themselves. That’s what it is for me.
That’s where I find joy.”

Miu Miu top; miumiu.com.

Supreme briefs. Reebok by
Pyer Moss pants, $120;
pyermoss.com. Jennifer
Fisher earrings. Rolex watch.
Giles & Brother bracelet.

55
 Nadia Owusu
“I was cobbling together a living for a
really long time in order to sustain
a creative life,” says Owusu, whose
striking debut memoir, Aftershocks,
is out this month and chronicles
a tumultuous youth spent between
Ethiopia, England, Italy, and
America. “I was a bottle-service girl
in a club; I worked as a fact-checker;
I was a Coors Light girl, giving
out key chains at bodegas.” Owusu,
who now works for a nonprofit
promoting economic justice, doesn’t
see her day job as distinct from
her writing: “I’m asking how
people interact. What allows people
to feel a sense of belonging.
Those are questions that I’m
asking in my creative life as well.”
Dolce & Gabbana jacket;
dolcegabbana.com. Duro Olowu dress,
$1,980; ikram.com.Mejuri earring.
 Mira Nadon
“The last time I danced with
New York City Ballet in
person was last March,” says
Nadon, a 19-year-old Boston-
born ballerina who, even in
the company’s corps, has caught
the attention of critics. “I was
home in California for most
of the summer, just trying to stay
in shape in my living room. In
August, I came back to New York
to be in a piece by Sidra Bell.
She started choreographing over
Zoom; then we had a couple of
in-person sessions, and then we
filmed outside Lincoln Center.
That was really nice—to get to
come home to Lincoln Center.”
Dior dress, bralette, and briefs;
dior.com. In this story: hair,
Lucas Wilson; makeup, Grace Ahn.
Details, see In This Issue.
PRO DUC E D BY WI LL I A M GA LUSHA .
 A Fresh Start
A crop of rising photographers captures the
new year’s forward-looking fashions in dashing
separates and bold dresses crafted with intention.
FUNNY BUSINESS
Model Grace Elizabeth
channels an
elegant playfulness from
a menswear-inspired
Michael Kors Collection
pinstripe blazer
($1,850), caftan ($1,790),
and pants ($890);
michaelkors.com.
Charvet pocket square.
Fashion Editors:
Camilla Nickerson and
Alex Harrington.

58
 LINE ITEM
The graphic print and
considered silhouette of
an Alexander McQueen
knit dress ($1,970;
alexandermcqueen.com),
anchored with a
charming pair of Coach
tennis shoes, present
an altogether elevated
approach to daywear.
Both photographed
by Jody Rogac.
PRODUC E D BY WIL L IA M GA LUS HA .

59
BETWEEN THE LINES
This long, lean (and,
frankly, spectacular)
Christopher John
Rogers dress ($995;
christopherjohnrogers
.com) makes a spirited
case for fashion as a
source of—and an outlet
for—joy. Mayowa
Nicholas wears it with
Balenciaga sneakers.
Photographed by
Philip-Daniel Ducasse.

P RO DUC ED BY A LE XI S P I QU ERAS AT A P ST U D I O.

60
 THE BRIGHT SIDE
With a muchness
reminiscent of the heady
1980s—behold the
bold statement sleeve
and vibrant patterning—
model Vanessa
Aguasvivas’s Louis
Vuitton dress
(louisvuitton.com)
seems an ideal answer
to winter doldrums.
Photographed by
Ashley Pena.
P RO DUC ED BY A LE XI S P I QU ERAS AT A P ST U D I O.

61
 TREAD LIGHTLY
Model Ariel Nicholson
strides purposefully into
the future—which,
at Gucci, means fewer
shows and a gentler
pace of production—in
a many-flowered
dress and sneakers.
Both at gucci.com.
Photographed by
Jackie Furtado.

P RO DUC ED BY W I LLI A M GA LUS HA .

62
 SHORE THING
For spring 2021, Stella
McCartney went
back into her archives,
recycling overstock
fabrics into charming
new creations. Here,
model Eniola Abioro
wears a sculptural ribbed
minidress, $1,150;
stellamccartney.com.
Stella McCartney
Stella Stan Smith
Adidas sneakers.
Photographed by
Myles Loftin.
P RO DUC ED BY A LEX I S P I QUE RAS AT A P ST U D I O I N C.

63
 THE HIGH ROAD
On model Ash Foo, puffed
sleeves and dramatic
lengths of ribbon feel less
frilly and flouncy than
battle-ready—singularly
pretty armor for
whatever waits around
the bend. Simone
Rocha dress ($2,500)
and harness;
simonerocha.com.
Photographed by
Zora Sicher.

P RO DUC ED BY W I LLI A M GA LUS HA .

64
 FULL TILT
Francesco Risso took
his latest collection
for Marni to the street,
with models hovering
over subway grates
and framed by speeding
taxis. Here, too, a top
($870), T-shirt ($1,090),
pants ($790), and
sneakers seem well
suited to life as it’s being
lived. All at marni.com.
Photographed by
Philip-Daniel Ducasse.
PRO DUC E D BY AL E X I S PI QUE RAS AT A P ST U D I O I NC.

65
 FIELD NOTES
Clad in an Eckhaus
Latta top ($395) and a
dizzyingly intricate
crocheted skirt (both
at eckhauslatta.com),
model Sabina Karlsson
is beyond the pale in
the most glorious sense.
Converse sneakers.
Photographed by
Brad Ogbonna.

PRO DUC E D BY AL E X I S PI QUE RAS AT A P ST U D I O I NC.

66
 INSIDE STORY
Model Ugbad Abdi’s
artful Prada sweatshirt
($1,980), turtleneck
($695), and pleated
skirt ($2,550; all
at prada.com) offer
an expressive,
many-splendored
solution to getting
fully dressed without
dressing up.
Photographed by
Rahim Fortune.
PRO DUC E D BY AL E X I S PI QUE RAS AT A P ST U D I O I NC. SPECI A L T HA N KS TO N YC FI LM LOCATI ON S.

67
 NEUTRAL GROUND
This striped suit takes a
different tack, looking
forward to the lightness
and brightness of chic
summer whites. Tory
Burch blazer ($598) and
pants ($398); toryburch
.com. Charvet shirt;
neimanmarcus.com.

68
 PUT IT IN WRITING
A Coach x Basquiat
trench coat ($2,200)
covered in Jean-Michel
Basquiat’s artful
scrawl and a Coach
embroidered shirtdress
(both at coach.com)
are the very picture of
clothing with something
to say. In this story:
hair, Jimmy Paul; makeup,
Dick Page. Details,
see In This Issue.
Both photographed
by Jody Rogac.
P RO DUCE D BY W I LLI A M GA LUSH A .

69
 The Time Is Now
For more than a decade, model Precious Lee felt she was destined for
the world’s greatest runways. When the world finally came
around, as Lynn Yaeger discovers, Lee and her go-for-broke spirit were
more than ready. Photographed by Luis Alberto Rodriguez.

W
hen Precious Lee was
in the eighth grade,
she advocated for
Native Americans
against President Andrew Jackson
in a mock trial—and she can still
tell you what she was wearing that
day: “I had on a Calvin Klein cord
riding pant with a matching raw
wool blazer, and I was so adamant
in my opening argument—I took it
so seriously!” she says. You can still
see that fierce girl in the woman Lee
has become: A trailblazing curve
model, she remains a serious fight-
er for racial equity and justice even
as she flaunts a personal style she
describes as eclectic and eccentric:
“grunge one day, heels the next.”
Lee is telling me this in a Zoom
chat a few days after the historic
presidential election—“I can’t stop
celebrating!” she declares. Behind her
on the screen, I can see the cable news

70
3-6-1-6-6-7-5-1-3

MEETING THE
MOMENT
Prada coat, bag, and
shoes; prada,com.
Bottega Veneta
earring. opposite:
Loewe coat;
loewe.com. Jennifer
Fisher earring.
Fashion Editor:
Carlos Nazario.
 on mute, which is funny because I
have it on too. I also notice, before
her face flashes up, her Zoom name:
“Your Majesty.”
From the beginning, nobody put
Your Majesty in a corner. As a teen-
ager in an Atlanta school, she recalls,
“I was the chunky cheerleader. They
said, ‘You’re the base.’ I said, ‘Nooo!
I’m going to be the front of the pyr-
amid.’ I did the split! You couldn’t
contain my energy.” When she began
modeling at the age of 18, she was
propelled by the same spirit. “There
was hardly anyone who looked like
me doing the kinds of jobs I want-
ed to do. It was always: If you’re big
and Black, you could be the lingerie
girl, the swim girl.” But Lee wanted
to be the high-fashion girl, the girl
who got the serious campaigns, the
girl who deserved every accolade that
thinner, whiter models received. Early
on, she took courage from the curve
model Crystal Renn: “I saw her doing
Dolce & Gabbana and Jean Paul
Gaultier, and I was like, You know
what? I’m going to do that too.”
Lee’s ascent in the modeling world
coincided with a larger cultural
reevaluation about what we consider
beautiful and how we view women,
and their bodies, on catwalks and
in life. She worked her way up from
the catalog shoots she aced while she
was still in college, where she studied
communications, to the runways of
New York Fashion Week shows like
Christian Siriano and Tommy Hil-
figer. Refusing to be typecast, Lee
held out for jobs that didn’t tradi-
tionally go to models who looked
like her. Which made her eventual
victories even sweeter: When Lee
walked in the spring 2021 Versace
show, she described it as a dreamlike
triumph, something almost miracu-
lous. She had worshipped the brand
for as long as she could remember—
she used to swipe her dad’s Versace
shirts and wear them to school—and
the line for her has always been both
aspirational and inspirational. “Gold
is my favorite color!” she says, laugh-
ing. She still gets choked up talking
about the show. “When I walked
down that runway, I felt 20 feet tall;

ANGLE OF REPOSE
Kwaidan Editions dress ($1,200) and
shoes; ssense.com. Jacquemus earring.

72
 I felt like my boobs were ginormous
and that I had so much power.” She
had become, at least for those few
minutes, what she had always longed
to see on a catwalk. “I felt like I was
walking for so many people.”
Donatella Versace recognized Lee’s
authority immediately. “She has the
right attitude for Versace: She is confi-
dent; she wears the clothes in a unique
way,” she explains. “She exudes hap-
piness and a joy that is contagious,
and it was a real pleasure working
with her. This is not even about being
inclusive—it is about the fact that I
want my fashion and the world of
74
Versace to be able to talk to everyone. V E RSAC E: V E RSACE P R ESS O F FI CE /G E T T Y IM AG ES; A LL OT HE RS : COURT ESY OF P R ECIOUS LEE.
Sometimes it is surprising to even have
to say these things out loud. In 2021, it
should not even be a topic of conver-
sation anymore. And yet....”
Lee had planned to be a lawyer, but
it dawned on her that by being a curve
model she might reach a broader audi-
“Black women just won ence, empower young girls, and set an
this election! Black women example. “I realized modeling offered
a larger platform than law school to
influence everything! help people,” she says. Asked if, grow-
And Black women have ing up, she had any of the paralyzing
insecurities so many young wom-
always loved their bodies” en experience—worrying that they
are too big, too small, too this, too
SWEET AND DANDY
Versace top ($695),
skirt ($1,125), and
shoes; versace.com.
Jennifer Fisher earring.

From the beginning, nobody put Lee in a corner. “You couldn’t contain my energy,” she says. Givenchy top,
$1,530; givenchy.com. Marina Rinaldi skirt, $425; marinarinaldi.com. Maryam Nassir Zadeh sandals.
that—she draws a blank, describing
her school-age self as “a huge mix of
scholar/nerd/complete creative” and
saying that her family provided “an
open, free environment.”
They were certainly a stylish lot:
“My older sister was a straight-size
model—we look alike, only she had
a 34-inch hip—my mother always
embraced beauty and feminine ener-
gy, my father had a hair salon, my
grandmother had a boutique in the
salon. She was so chic—she would
wear Chanel suits with Reeboks.”
For our Zoom, Lee has wrapped her
head in a silk Chanel scarf that once
belonged to her grandmother: “I try
to keep her close to me.”
76
TIED IN KNOTS
Lee flew back to Atlanta to vote
in the presidential election, and she
tells me proudly that Fulton County,
where she cast her ballot, is the place
that helped put Biden over the top in
Georgia. Growing up there, though,
like so many other young women, she
craved the mythical bright lights of
Manhattan. When she was a kid, she
used to sneak-watch Sex and the City
in between Mom’s bed checks, and
she identified with Samantha, not
for that character’s libertine aban-
don but rather because “she was the
one with big ideas—the mover and
shaker!” So, after modeling part-time
during college, Lee moved to New
York, deciding she would give it one
year, promising herself, “If it’s not
epic, then I’m going to law school.”
That temporary tryout has now
lasted almost a decade and did indeed
turn out to be epic. In that time, the
fashion industry, and the wider
world, has made space for women
like Lee, who demand to be taken
seriously, to be truly seen. “This year
is about uplifting the collective, the
betterment of people as a whole,”
Lee declares. “Black women just won
this election! Black women influence
everything! And Black women have
always loved their bodies.” This love,
this acceptance, is what Lee says she
wants her life to be all about. “We
can’t go back!” @
 TALL ORDER
Chanel jacket, skirt
($2,450), and
bag; chanel.com.
Maryam Nassir
Zadeh bikini top,
$251; mnzstore
.com. Lana Jewelry
earrings. In this
story: hair, Jawara;
makeup, Lauren
Parsons. Details,
see In This Issue.
P RO DUC ED BY FA RAG O P ROJECTS ; SE T D ESI G N BY JA BE Z BA RT LET T.
Index CINEMA PARADISO
Reenter the world of director
Wes Anderson with The French Dispatch,
his much-anticipated new feature.
Between the artful color palette
and elaborate set pieces, it can’t help
making one feel creative.
2

TH E FR EN CH D I S PATCH . COURTESY OF SEARCH LIGH T PICTUR ES; EILISH : RACH ELLUNA/FILMMAGIC/GETTY IMAGES;
LI L N AS X: KEV I N W I NTER /GETTY IMAGES; PRODUCTS: COURTESY OF BRANDS/WEBSITES.
Bring It On
There is much to be excited about
4
in this new year—and a perfect accessory
for every occasion.

13

10

11
GRAMMYS GLAMOUR
Whether you’re collecting trophies
or tuning in from afar, Grammy night
calls for glitz that can carry through
the screen—for instance, a Valentino
Garavani Roman Stud clutch or
jewel-toned (and jewel-encrusted)
Roger Vivier mules.
 LA VIE EN ROSE
With the exhibition “Ravishing:
5 The Rose in Fashion,” The Museum at
FIT considers that storied flower’s
appearance on garments over
the centuries (below). Echo the theme
with brightly printed pajamas—
or a handbag bursting with blooms.

6
COV ER : © 2020 P E NGU I N RA ND O M HOUS E; BI DE N & H A RRI S : A N D REW H A RNI K- P OO L/GETTY IMAGES; INAUGURATION: J USTIN SULLIVAN/GETTY IMAGES. PRODUCTS: COURTESY OF BRAN DS/WE BS IT ES.
ROSES : C HA RL ES JA M ES, L A SYL P H I D E D E BU TA N T E D RESS, O FF-W HI T E SI LK ORGA NZ A AND SATIN WITH GROSGRAIN R IBBON AND SILK ROSES, 1937. GIFT OF MRS. J OH N H AMMON D ;

AN INSPIRING
7 INAUGURATION
All eyes will be on our
nation’s capital as Joseph R.
1. APPLE iPHONE SILICONE CASE ($49) AND Biden Jr. and Kamala
LEATHER WALLET ($59); APPLE.COM. 2. LOEWE Harris become our new
TOTE BAG; LOEWE.COM. 3. SAINT LAURENT
BY ANTHONY VACCARELLO SUNGLASSES, $435; president and vice
YSL.COM. 4. CHANEL BADGE HOLDER, $1,075; president this month. For the
CHANEL.COM. 5. DOLCE & GABBANA PAJAMA SET, swearing-in ceremonies,
$1,545; DOLCEGABBANA.COM. 6. GUCCI TOP-HANDLE patriotic attire (like a red,
BAG; GUCCI.COM. 7. ROYAL JELLY HARLEM FACE white, and blue face mask)
MASK, $15; ROYALJELLYHARLEM.COM. 8. FOUNDRAE
CHOKER; FOUNDRAE.COM. 9. A PROMISED is the order of the day.
LAND, BY BARACK OBAMA, $27; AMAZON.COM.
10. ROGER VIVIER MULES, $1,295; ROGERVIVIER.COM.
11. VALENTINO GARAVANI CLUTCH;
VALENTINO.COM. 12. KHIRY EARRINGS, $485;
KHIRY.COM. 13. ROLEX WATCH; ROLEX.COM.

VOGUE.COM JANUARY 2021 79

 MAKING NEWS
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 20
Moderating the debate thrust Welker
to a new tier of fame and scrutiny. No
sooner had the Committee on Presiden-
tial Debates chosen her than she drew
President Trump’s ire. He assailed Welker,
a staple in his briefing room, as “a disas-
ter,” “terrible,” and “unfair,” even lashing
out at her parents for making campaign
donations to Democratic candidates. “It
never feels good to be insulted or to have
your family criticized,” Welker said via
Zoom from her Wilmington hotel room.
But “I really had to keep my head down.”
Her husband, marketing executive John
Hughes, and producers confiscated her
phone to tune out distractions as she tore
through briefing books and rehearsed
mock debates. (Sadly, she will not reveal
which NBC staffers played Trump and
Biden.) Preparing “became my entire
life,” Welker said.
It did not go unnoticed that as only
the second Black woman to moderate
a presidential debate (and the first since
ABC’s Carole Simpson in 1992), she
faced even larger pressures. “I say this
as a Black female journalist and a Black
professional,” Salon’s McFarland told
me, “if you are in that arena, you have to
win and you have to win decisively.” More
than 60 million people around the world
would be watching. But “no matter how
overwhelming it was to go into the final
debate with all of the harassment and
criticism that had come her way from the
president,” said Mitchell, who aided in the
prep, “when she walked out on that stage,
she was as calm as possible.”
With the gravitas of Edward R. Mur-
row or Walter Cronkite and poise all her
own, Welker coolly restored order and
civility after the disastrous first debate
moderated by Fox News’s Chris Wallace.
“There’s no doubt I was dealt a different
deck of cards,” she said. But her pur-
poseful energy and firm direction made
all the difference. (Even Wallace later
admitted, “I’m jealous.”) Welker barely
blinked when Trump paused to praise
her: “I respect very much the way you’re
handling this.”
The president wasn’t alone. Welk-
er won plaudits for asking Trump and
Biden about oft-overlooked topics like
the disproportionate impact of climate
change on communities of color and
the more than 500 migrant children still
separated from their parents due to the
Trump administration’s policy. But the
most striking moment came when Welker
asked Biden and Trump about “the talk”:
that Black and brown families often “feel
they have no choice but to prepare their
80 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM
children for the chance that they could
be targeted, including by the police, for
no reason other than the color of their
skin,” Welker explained during the debate.
“Do you understand why these parents
fear for their children?” It was the first
question Welker wrote after being chosen
by the debate commission, and one that
immediately conveyed what she called
“the core of the pain that so many fam-
ilies are feeling.” Welker told me, “It’s
impossible to separate myself from the
substance of that question. It was just
within me.”
As the daughter of a Black mother
and a white father, Welker received a
version of “the talk” from her parents,
Harvey and Julie, who were married in
1970, three years after Loving v. Virginia.
“The reality that their marriage would
have been illegal just three years prior
was always something that was hard for
me to grasp,” Welker said. Her parents
imparted the history of slavery, racism,
and the civil rights movement; the reality
that because she was “a biracial child...
some people would treat me differently.”
Above all, they instilled pride. She want-
ed little girls to look at her performance
in the debate and be able to say, “I can
do that someday.”
Both Guthrie and Welker are seasoned
political reporters who double as sunny
presences on Today. Exactly one week
after Election Day, at 6:30 a.m., they
reunited in Studio 1A in New York amid
a skeleton crew and a Rockefeller Plaza
starkly empty of the usual throngs of
fans. COVID-19 safety supervisors in
masks and face shields circled the set.
Both women were sprightly, with no
choice but to be morning people. After
a pretaped interview with Health and
Human Services Secretary Alex Azar,
Guthrie pivoted to Thanksgiving sides
(she prefers boxed stuffing).
Looking ahead to the Biden adminis-
tration, neither woman expects her core
responsibility to change. “It’s one thing
to campaign,” Guthrie said. “Now it’s
on them to govern.” The Biden transi-
tion team has signaled a desire to set a
different tone with the press than their
immediate predecessors, but that doesn’t
mean that either woman intends to let
down her guard. “I’m going to ask Vice
President Harris a lot of questions she
probably won’t like,” Welker said, “and
she would expect nothing less.”@
LEADING BY EXAMPLE
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 39
while she bested Serena on the biggest
stage in tennis two years ago, idols have
a way of clinging to their pedestals.
“There’s a lot of things she’s so much
better at,” Osaka says of Williams. “She’s
more aggressive. She knows when to go
for her shots. Sometimes she hits really
big service returns, and I can’t do that at
all. Honestly, I’m kind of scared of her.
Not scared scared but—I’m intimidated,
and I get very shy when she’s like 10 feet
away from me. That really affected me at
the U.S. Open finals in 2018, but I had
worked so hard for that moment, and
I felt like if I were to be intimidated or
show that I was scared of her, she would
capitalize on that. When I’m stepping
on the court, I have to treat her as a
tennis player, not as Serena Williams.
I just blocked out all my emotions and
thought about playing against the ball,
like every ball that came across the net
was my opponent.”
Martina Navratilova believes that
Osaka already has a Hall of Fame career,
and she has been following it closely.
“There are things she can improve—the
consistency of her ground strokes, her
comfort moving to the net—but she’s a
complete player in that she thinks out
there,” says the 18-time Grand Slam
singles champion. “She’s not just a hit-
ter. She’s a thinker. But she also knows
that she’s not a better human being just
because she won a tennis match. You
get that kind of humility from her, and
at the same time she’s very confident.
It’s a cool combination. And it’s been
amazing to see her come out and not
be afraid to speak her truth. I think she
has the potential to do greater things off
the court than on the court. It gives me
goosebumps talking about it, actually.”
Like many elite athletes, Osaka had
no other childhood dream than to be a
tennis player. She remembers forgoing
classmates’ birthday parties to practice
and thinking even then that those sac-
rifices were bound to pay off someday.
The long car rides to tournaments—first
in New York and then in Florida, where
the family moved when she was nine—
provided an opportunity to cultivate
other interests. From the back seat of
her father’s car, Osaka and her sister
loved to doodle outfits in their note-
books. Fashion has enthralled her for
as long as she can remember. The first
family trip to Tokyo was a revelation.
“We went to Harajuku and saw how
everyone was dressing there,” she recalls.
“I thought it was very unfair. Living in
Florida, everyone would just wear jeans
and T-shirts, and in Japan people were
wearing tutus. It was so expressive. My
style really depends on what I see. I went
to Haiti recently, so I’m really into bright
colors right now, flowy skirts and ruffles.
I don’t have a plan when I wake up, but I
would hope that at this point I know
what meshes together and what doesn’t.”
When they were growing up, Naomi’s
sister was her only friend. (Mari Osaka is
also a professional tennis player, though
injuries have limited her success.) “Hon-
estly, I still don’t really have friends,” she
says. Osaka hangs out with the Japa-
nese basketball player Rui Hachimu-
ra when he is in town, but more often
than not, when she heads to the beach
or a flea market it’s by herself. Osaka
moved to Los Angeles two years ago,
mainly because it was difficult to take full
advantage of the business opportunities
coming her way from her family’s home
in Boca Raton. “I’m a bit of a loner, but
not by choice,” she adds. “I would like
more friends, but I’m not forcing it. I
don’t like to go to parties, because I’m
not a good dancer, and they’re loud, and
you sort of shout at a person to talk to
them. I’m not that great at small talk.
Mainly I’m a homebody, and my boy-
friend records all the time, but he’s an
even bigger homebody than me.
“On the court is completely different,”
she goes on. “I love playing at Arthur
Ashe because it’s the biggest stadium,
and you feel the rumble of the crowd.
You kind of feel like a gladiator because
it’s super-big and there are so many peo-
ple watching your match. But off the
court, if I was ever thrown into a situa-
tion where I had to speak in front of 100
people, I feel like I would start shaking.”
After Osaka became the first woman
since Jennifer Capriati in 2001 to win
her first and second Grand Slam tour-
naments back-to-back, her play took
a dip in the spring of 2019. She made
early exits at the following four Grand
Slams; her ranking slid from world
number one to number 10; and she
descended into a funk. “Every young
person has a fearlessness, and once you
sort of settle in, and you feel like you
have all these expectations on you, you
start to overthink a lot of things,” she
says. “Honestly, I didn’t cope well.” Her
agent felt that she could use a mentor,
and so he introduced her to Kobe Bry-
ant, the Los Angeles Lakers superstar.
Osaka is a huge basketball fan (she met
her boyfriend at a Clippers game), and
a perspective from outside tennis felt
necessary. Bryant died in a helicopter
accident in January 2020, but Osaka
cherishes their brief friendship. “He
was someone who experienced the ups
and downs. He taught me that even
though it’s tough in the moment, if you
keep going, you’ll get the result—or you
might not get the result but you’ll get an
opportunity to get the result.”
After her trip to Minneapolis, Osa-
ka entered an intense 10-week training
block in preparation for the late-sum-
mer tournaments. She hit for two hours
every morning and spent afternoons in
the gym. The old gang reconstituted:
Wim Fissette, her coach; Karue, her
hitting partner; Yutaka, her trainer.
The Western & Southern Open, Osa-
ka’s first tournament of the pandemic,
started on August 22, and on August 23,
Jacob Blake was shot in the back seven
times by police in Kenosha, Wiscon-
sin. The Milwaukee Bucks decided on a
walkout in protest, and teams from the
WNBA, Major League Baseball, and
Major League Soccer followed suit. And
then so did Osaka, a lone voice in tennis,
who elected to skip Thursday play in
honor of Blake, effectively withdrawing
from her semifinal match and the tour-
nament. “I was playing my matches,”
Osaka recalls, “and I saw what the NBA
was doing, and then I saw what Lew-
is Hamilton [the Formula One world
champion] was saying, and then I was
thinking to myself, Wow, tennis really
doesn’t do this at all.”
In the spring, she participated in a
video made by Frances Tiafoe, a young
American player who is the son of immi-
grants from Sierra Leone, called “Rac-
quets Down, Hands Up,” in response
to George Floyd’s killing. “I started to
think about how I could make an even
bigger impact,” Osaka explains. “So then
I decided to take a day break.” It is a
testament to her effectiveness at getting
tennis’s governing bodies to consider
their own response to the wave of pro-
test across sports that the tournament
elected to halt play altogether. Osaka
agreed to appear in her semifinal match
a day later. Rather than complain about
the snarled schedule, Elise Mertens, the
Belgian player whom Osaka beat in that
match, had only praise for her oppo-
nent. “I totally respected her decision,”
Mertens said. “I think it’s great what she
does, and she’s a role model for tennis.”
James Blake, the retired American
tennis star who in 2015 was thrown to the
ground in front of his New York hotel,
cuffed, and arrested by police who mis-
took him for a suspect, believes that ten-
nis suffers from structural problems that
make it hard for players to feel they can
speak up. “Tennis is a sport where you’re
your own small business,” he explains.
“In other sports, you’re on a team that
has your back, but in tennis, you’re mak-
ing a decision that’s going to affect you
and potentially hurt your endorsements.
There have been examples of great social
progress over the years by individuals
like Billie Jean King and Althea Gib-
son, but a lot of players haven’t spoken
out or are nervous to speak out. I think
Naomi was taking a big risk. People may
say, ‘Oh, she’s earning so much money;
she’s not really taking a chance.’ But it’s
a huge chance. Look at Colin Kaeper-
nick—what he did probably cost him $50
million in salary from the NFL, not to
mention endorsements. I was especially
impressed by what Naomi decided to do
because it brought awareness to an inter-
national audience. We’ve really seen her
grow up before our eyes. When she won
Indian Wells in 2018, she was so nervous
to speak up. And now, when she speaks
up, her voice carries so much weight.”
A few days after the Western & South-
ern, at the U.S. Open, Osaka was spread-
ing the word again. This time she packed
seven black masks, each emblazoned
with the name of a Black American vic-
tim of violence. With no live audience at
the tournament, Osaka had been think-
ing about TV and its power to broadcast
those names across the globe. “I was just
thinking that I had this opportunity to
raise awareness,” she explains. “Tennis is
watched all around the world, so people
who might not know these names can
google them and learn their stories. That
was a big motivator for me, and I think it
helped me win the tournament.”
Billie Jean King, who led the push
toward equal prize money for women
tennis players and has been an outspo-
ken champion of the Title IX law, recent-
ly appeared in a Mastercard campaign
with Osaka. “We’ve had deep discus-
sions about her activism,” King says.
“And I would say there’s something
deep about Naomi, period. She looks
at you and pauses when you ask her a
question. You know she’s considering
her answer seriously—instead of just a
bunch of tangents like a lot of people
her age. When we started the [Women’s
Tennis Association] tour back in 1970,
we wanted any girl in the world, no mat-
ter the color of her skin, to have a place
to compete, to be appreciated for her
accomplishments and not just her looks,
and to be able to make a living. On top
of all that, Naomi is making us focus
on the problems we have as a nation.
What she’s done has been my dream for
the sport.”
In January, Osaka has an opportunity
for another major title in Australia. She
says that every player wants to be the
greatest who ever lived, and her strategy
is to keep stacking slams and see if she
ever finds herself in striking range of the
81
 legends. These days her sights are set no
further than the Tokyo games, where she
has the opportunity to bring home the
first tennis gold medal in Japanese histo-
ry. Of course, “home” is not exactly apt,
since she lives in the United States and
cannot imagine settling anywhere else.
Tennis has a way of making the world
feel smaller, even as Osaka has a way of
enlarging tennis.
“I used to think that everything
depended on the game, and now I sort
of understand that you have to find bal-
ance,” she says. “I want to become knowl-
edgeable, to have a vast understanding
of things, or even lots of tiny things that
amount to one big thing. I want to be
a nice person to everyone I meet. This
is putting it in video-game terms, but I
think the me right now is sort of at the
level 50 of tennis, and everything else in
my life is at level five or six. I want to even
out my levels.” @
NO BOUNDARIES
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 43
friends such as Arca, the Venezuelan
experimental artist, and El Guincho.
When I ask her later if she’s dating any-
one, she bursts into uproarious laugh-
ter. “But imagine! How? I compose, I
produce, I write lyrics, I write the top
lines, I play instruments. I swear to you,
to do this, you have to apply all of your
senses to it.”
We’re now in SoHo, and Rosalía
winds through packed streets, intent on
our conversation. One woman spots her
from about 10 feet away. “I thought it
was you, and then I heard the voice!”
They snap a selfie together. Otherwise,
she goes unnoticed behind her mask—
even when we stop briefly by a street
vendor who has arranged a few vinyl
records against a brick wall. “Wow, I
love this,” Rosalía says as she scans a
couple of recordings by Ella Fitzgerald
and Jimi Hendrix. “Next time, instead
of a costume store, let’s go to a record
store.” And then, less than 10 minutes
later, we’re in front of a cavernous record
shop on Bleecker Street. “Let’s go,” she
says with delight, and darts inside.
The store is floor to ceiling with vinyl.
Rosalía comes across a red box set on
display; bright gold letters across the
top read, vergara: archivo del cante
flamenco. She squeals, “Shut the fuck
up! This set is gorgeous.” A middle-aged
store clerk recognizes her and ushers us
into a back room, where he has boxes of
new records he hasn’t put outside yet.
The space is barely big enough for the
two of us, but we sit and Rosalía grows
quiet, reading a few titles out loud: Brian
82 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM
Eno’s Music for Films; Van Morrison’s
Moondance. Before long she has some
two dozen records at the register: the
soundtrack to Walt Disney’s Fantasia
from Leopold Stokowski with the Phil-
adelphia Orchestra; the Beastie Boys’
Licensed to Ill; a compilation by the blues
artist Taj Mahal; a recording of musicians
playing Japan’s 13-string koto instrument.
Her total: $1,034. “Just one costume, but
100 records,” she says with a laugh.
Rosalía sees influences everywhere.
She draws inspiration from fashion,
praising Rick Owens’s apocalypse-ready
show for spring 2021 and Demna
Gvasalia’s parade of black robes for
Balenciaga’s fall 2020 collection. She’s
into the streetwear brand Skoot these
days and always has a soft spot for
designers, like Palomo Spain, who mix
folkloric elements into their work. Her
approach to music is just as wide-rang-
ing—a result, she notes, of growing up
in the internet era. She also traces her
eclecticism to college. “You’d walk down
the hall, and in one classroom there was
someone playing flamenco guitar; in the
next one someone was studying harp;
in the next, someone else was learning
a piece by Isaac Albéniz or Chopin on
piano. All of it became influences.”
“I don’t think that she really puts up
partitions and tries to draw lines when
it’s time for her work,” Pharrell tells me.
“That’s not where she’s at with it.... She’s
not afraid to Frankenstein a song. For
her it’s like, ‘Whatever feels good.’ And
that’s how music should be. That’s how
some of the greatest songs are written.”
Still, some have noted how Rosalía
has been given opportunities that aren’t
afforded to artists in the cultures she’s
drawn from—something flamenco artists
with Romani roots, who are often mar-
ginalized in Spain, pointed out earlier in
her career. A parallel argument rose when
Rosalía began embedding herself in reg-
gaeton, a genre of music created by Black
Caribbean artists frequently left out of
an industry that too often prioritizes the
careers of light-skinned stars. It didn’t
help that Spanish-language music is
clumsily grouped together, leading many
to mislabel Rosalia as a “Latin” artist and
leaving questions about the space she
occupies in Latin culture, especially after
her award wins at the Latin Grammys.
Curled up in a loveseat back at the
Mercer Hotel, Rosalía dissects some of
the criticism she’s faced. Has the debate
around appropriation made her think
differently? “Of course,” she says, her
eyes widening slightly. “Of course, and
I realize there’s a necessary conversation
that goes deeper.” On the one hand, she
doesn’t think music should have borders;
she notes that the best art, from Picasso
to the Rolling Stones, comes from an
exchange of cultures. However, she’s
aware that such declarations ring utopian
when applied to systems that are funda-
mentally unequal. “I think the broader
conversation is about privilege and about
who gets opportunities,” she tells me.
“The ideal and the fair thing would be for
the possibilities and the spotlight to be
equal for everyone in the world.”
She sees it as her responsibility to use
her platform to lift others up. It is true
that Rosalía has been mostly apolitical
in her work, but she says the last few
years have reaffirmed values that she’s
always held close, among them issues of
equity, parity, and mutual respect. Late-
ly she’s been outspoken about the way
the music industry cuts women off from
opportunities and doesn’t always fully
credit their work: “How many people
talk about how Victoria Monét writes
songs the way she does; how many peo-
ple talk about Missy Elliott producing
her own music?” she says. “I hope with
all of my heart that the new generation
of women open a path up so that things
are different.” Those ideas play a role in
her music. “I’ll always render that figure
of a strong woman before anything,”
she tells me.
Ultimately, though, Rosalía under-
stands that it’s her fans who interpret
her work—and therefore her intentions.
“I think in the end, you can’t control
what’s going to happen, you know? I
can’t control what’s going to happen to
my music after I make it.”
Our conversation comes at a time
in which the future seems unclear for
everyone—not just the direction of the
pandemic but the outcome of the U.S.
presidential election. When I catch up
with Rosalía by phone three weeks lat-
er, she’s in Los Angeles, trying to keep
her attention trained on what’s right in
front of her. “We’re all kind of adjusting
now, but I think in my case, you have to
focus on the people you have around
you, on being careful, and on the day-to-
day more so than the future.” She spent
Halloween at home wearing her Leeloo
costume—she ended up cutting the wig
herself, and a video she posted dancing
around in the getup got more than 1.8
million likes on Instagram. She worked
through Election Day but was floored
by the historic voter turnout the coun-
try saw: “More than 144 million peo-
ple voted, and it made me think about
the importance they’ve placed on this
moment, on the act of voting, and the
energy just felt really strong. It felt like a
few days where change was coming and
people were worked up and you could
feel a current moving.”
Otherwise, all her time has been dedi-
cated to completing the album, and she’s
barely taken a break, except one day for
a bike ride through Echo Park. She’s
near the finish line, though. “This is the
moment, I think, where everything is
flowing, I’m finishing the songs, and it
feels different than the beginning of the
year,” she tells me. “Now I’m closing
the cycle of these recordings, and I’m
really happy with them.”
She’s hoping to get to Barcelona to
celebrate Christmas with her family, if
she can, and she’s looking forward to per-
forming again, when it’s safe to do so. She
thinks back to her days at local venues in
Spain: “I swear to you, I used to think,
Maybe my destiny is to play in this bar my
whole life, and if that’s my destiny…I’ll
be here every day putting love into it and
I’ll do it like it’s my life’s work.” Back in
those days she wondered what it would
be like to sell out stadiums. But even now
the future she dreams about is one in
which she keeps recording as long as
she can. “I want to be 70 and have the
energy and the excitement and the desire
to go to the studio and drink my coffee
and write my songs,” she says. “I want
to still have that feeling—that’s what I
want, those are the ambitions I have.” @
AGAINST THE TIDE
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 47
(pronounced “low-eh-vay”). “Model-
ing was never on my radar—at best, I
thought maybe I could do some person-
ality work. I used to watch MTV and
think about how sick it was to be a VJ.”
Music television never came calling,
but Elsesser’s distinctive looks garnered
attention. Friends like Australian stylist
Stevie Dance encouraged her to emulate
successful models like Crystal Renn and
Sophie Dahl, who began their careers
in the curve market, but the glamazon
space both occupied never felt authentic.
“I felt like they had this inherent power
and sexuality that I didn’t feel in myself,”
says Elsesser. “I wasn’t tall enough or
thin enough, and I wasn’t the right kind
of plus. I was this chubby weird brown
girl from L.A., just figuring things out.”
At Dance’s urging, though, Elsesser
began to make the rounds with modeling
agencies, “but everyone said no when I
walked in, because I didn’t know what to
wear,” she says. “I’d never learned how
to move in front of a camera.”
Her methods of coping were often
unhealthy. Now nine years sober, she’s
been candid about living with addictions
that pushed her to the edge. “When I
was younger, it was drugs and alcohol;
now it’s overthinking and money,” says
Elsesser. “So much of it comes back to
transparency and vulnerability. Every-
one is in pursuit of their own goals, and
the by-product of that is loneliness.”
Though she’s moved forward, she’s reluc-
tant to consider her demons vanquished.
“We tend to view hardship as something
with a beginning and an end. I haven’t
overcome everything, but I continue to
put up a good fight.”
In between rejections, Elsesser
regrouped by taking a gig as a manager
on childhood friend Earl Sweatshirt’s
tour in 2015. And then one day, as they
touched down in Philadelphia, she
received an email that would change
her life. In the middle of prepping the
launch of her namesake cosmetics line,
makeup artist Pat McGrath was hunting
for faces, and Elsesser’s serene beauty
immediately caught her eye. Despite her
lack of fashion knowledge, Elsesser was
aware of McGrath’s legendary work and
position as a prominent Black woman
within the industry. “I called my mom up
immediately and was like, ‘Pat is iconic;
this is a big deal.’”
On set, McGrath reimagined Elsesser
as a gilded goddess for her brand’s first
images. “To see myself as this beautiful,
glamorous creature was affirming,” she
says, “and there was something specifical-
ly comforting in having a plus-size Black
woman there being supportive. I felt so
seen.” McGrath became a mentor as
Elsesser moved from newcomer to muse.
For McGrath, Elsesser was a once-in-
a-lifetime discovery akin to the starlets
of Hollywood’s Golden Age. “There’s
something cinematic about Paloma,”
she says. “She’s a modern Dorothy
Dandridge or Lena Horne or Rita Hay-
worth. Her face, her body, and her mind
are beautiful—and she has a wonderful
personality brimming with fun and joy.”
But though McGrath may have been
immediately convinced, others required
persuading. Plus-size models are often
relegated to fashion’s commercial side—
catalogs, e-commerce work, or fit mod-
eling—and to get designers and casting
directors used to hiring a certain type of
woman to think outside the box was a
struggle. “Sometimes they don’t see that
[larger] can be elevated and chic,” says
Elsesser. “If they aren’t seeing images
of girls in magazines, they aren’t going
to think about them for the campaigns.”
Those ingrained attitudes—and the
rejections that stem from them—made
participating in the rarefied space of
fashion month something Elsesser had
to convince herself she was capable of.
“There was a level of impostor syn-
drome,” she says of her first time back-
stage accompanying McGrath during
Lanvin’s spring 2016 show. “I was look-
ing out at all the people, all the girls, all
the chaos, and was like, ‘What the fuck
am I doing here?’And I started crying.
A couple of our first assistants scooped
me up and held me and [told me], ‘You’re
supposed to be here. None of this is the
most important thing. It’s what we do
after this day that’s important.’”
A week later on a Zoom chat, seated
in the den of her Chinatown apartment
sipping an oversized cup of tea as boy-
friend Johnny Wilson, a skater and film-
maker, flits through the room, Elsesser is
a portrait of relaxed domesticity. Still, the
then-recent election has her fired up. “Just
because there is a winner doesn’t mean
that it’s over,” she says. “The foundational
systems we live under still need reform.”
Outspoken in interviews and on social
media, Elsesser has made the issues she
believes in central to her online pres-
ence, whether she’s encouraging POC
and indigenous youth to seek out spaces
for support or sharing unfiltered nude
portraits of herself by Zoë Ghertner.
“There shouldn’t be this grand separa-
tion between art, culture, fashion, and
politics,” she says. “Not every part of
fashion needs to focus on politics and
reality—this isn’t CNN—but ultimate-
ly, we all have a level of responsibility.
What’s the downside of giving visibility
to disabled people, putting dark-skinned
femmes at the forefront, or prioritizing
diverse perspectives?”
More recently, she’s taken it upon
herself to actively participate in creat-
ing images that present bodies like hers
in a new light, moving into the role of
creative collaborator and offering input
behind the scenes. “For a plus-size model
and a plus-size woman, there is a beauty
in being involved in how you’re styled
and [offering] guidance,” she says.
For Mike Eckhaus and Zoe Latta,
Elsesser’s opinions have been invalu-
able. Early supporters who began casting
her in their runway shows back in 2017,
they’ve found that working with her has
shaped the evolution of their designs.
“Paloma wears clothes so beautifully,
and having a dialogue with her, or even
fitting things off her every season and
getting feedback, has been great. It’s
not just about plus sizes—it’s about how
clothing can fit a multitude of people if
it’s designed in the right way.”
While modeling is still her day job,
Elsesser is eager to contribute in other
ways. “I want to be making some clothes
83
 that are for us!” she says with a grin.
“When I see the clothes that are offered
to our community and see what extend-
ed sizing looks like, do I feel validated
and seen? No. We have to be incredibly
resourceful because we don’t have the
luxury of just walking into a store and
picking out what we like.” Filling that
void will mean delving deeper into fash-
ion’s back end and taking on even more
work—another massive challenge, but
one she’s ready for.
“I’ve learned so much about myself
and the next evolution of what I’d like my
career to be,” she says. “It’s an immense
honor even to be able to do this—but it
also feels like something that should have
existed long before I started.” @
THE REAL WORLD
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 51
known to her family and friends, in
Fern’s essence, in her rapscallion pres-
ence onscreen. At one point Fern drives
to the coast and revels in the ocean air, in
shots filmed not far from the secret place.
I’d watched Nomadland right before
this interview, so Fern was fresh in my
mind. This lent an uncanny dimension to
the afternoon I spent with McDormand.
As we walked along the beach, picnicked
on a driftwood log, and sat in the shade
of a eucalyptus canopy, I wasn’t always
sure if I was talking to Fran or Fern.
Some character actors get typecast.
Others are chameleons. McDormand
falls into the chameleon category,
though she is never physically unrecog-
nizable. When she disappears into a
character, she does so through the force
of her acting. And yet the women she
embodies are so distinctive, so idiosyn-
cratic, and sometimes so strange, I tend
to remember them as though they were
real people. Her performances are indeli-
ble the way a Diane Arbus photograph is
indelible—a snapshot of an individual,
utterly unique and alive.
The first McDormand character to
leave a permanent impression on my
brain was Dot, the excitable, slightly
deranged friend who comes to “sneak a
peek-loo” at Holly Hunter’s stolen baby
in Raising Arizona. The movie was on
repeat in my house in the ’80s, and though
I was a kid, I was drawn into its surreal,
color-saturated world. When I watched
it last spring, I noticed that Dot was
reflecting a type now familiar to me—the
all-knowing authority on whom mother-
hood has bestowed a lifetime license to
dispense unsolicited advice. I marveled
at how, in McDormand’s hands, a type
becomes particular. In Dot’s case, an
ear-bending hysteric with a poufy mullet
84 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM
and wild eyes who frantically squeezes
yellow mustard onto white bread while
admonishing new parents: “You gotta get
’em dip-tet boosters yearly or else they’ll
develop lockjaw and night vision!”
For a certain age cohort, McDor-
mand’s most indelible character will
forever be Marge Gunderson, the preg-
nant cop investigating a homicide case in
Fargo, for which she won her first Oscar.
For reasons that are hard to pin down,
Marge is burned on the consciousness of
all who were alive and sentient and old
enough to buy a ticket to an R movie
in 1996. When I mentioned this to
McDormand, she nodded and said,
“To my grave I’ll be Marge.” But even
she couldn’t pinpoint why.
Most of it was in the writing, McDor-
mand said. Joel Coen, her partner of
38 years, and his brother, Ethan, wrote
Marge specifically for her. “The cadence
and the rhythm of the dialect was in the
script,” McDormand said. “All those ya’s
were on the page.” There was also an ele-
ment of surprise to Marge. We were not
taught to expect the pregnant cop would
be the most competent one. Marge solves
the crime between prodigious meals and
bouts of morning sickness, apprehending
the murderer as he feeds his accomplice’s
body into a wood chipper.
But the writing can’t account for all
of it, can it? It doesn’t fully explain why,
more than two decades later, strangers
still shout, “You betcha!” to McDor-
mand on the street. There was some-
thing alchemical going on—in Marge’s
waddle, in her heavy parka and veneer
of Minnesota Nice, in the inimitable
way she surmised that one grisly crime
scene was “an execution-type deal.”
Here McDormand recalled the pros-
thetic belly she wore, how it was filled
with birdseed. “It had a real weight to
it,” she said. “It completely informed
the way I moved.”
She got closer to an answer when
describing Olive, I think. In Olive Kitter-
idge, the 2014 television miniseries based
on Elizabeth Strout’s Pulitzer-winning
novel, McDormand played the dowdy,
depressed math teacher at the center of
the story, doling out barbs in a Down
East accent. McDormand explained that
she found her Olive in part by construct-
ing her material world—by picking out
her dishes and silverware and watches.
The process was “outside in, inside out,”
she said. “I find that I develop the inte-
rior life of a character by the things that
are around her.”
Like Marge, Olive marked a turning
point for McDormand. Until then she
had played supporting or ensemble
roles onscreen. “Females who exist to
make sure that you understand that the
protagonist is male,” as she has put it.
But Olive carried the series. And the
series swept the Emmys. Then another
lead role arrived in the form of Mildred,
the enraged mother she played in Three
Billboards. Mildred won McDormand
her second Oscar.
Everything about this lane change is
rare, of course. It’s unusual for any long-
time peripheral actor to become a bank-
able lead. But a female actor? In her 60s?
There may be a German word for this
magnitude of gravity-defying feat, but
I don’t know of one in English. If you
think about it long enough, you start to
question whether character actor is still
an accurate description of McDormand.
The term starts to say as much about the
conventions of Hollywood storytelling
as it does her place within them. If char-
acter actors play the characters, are lead
roles empty vessels? What do you call a
character actor who becomes a lead?
McDormand says she is bringing
marginal characters to the center. This
description is not inaccurate, but I can’t
help feeling it sells McDormand a bit
short. The statement is true only when
you are using movies as your frame of
reference. Such characters are not mar-
ginal in the real world, after all. In the
real world, female depression and rage
are not uncommon, human faces age,
and women continue to lead lives after
60—lives that often have little to do with
men. If your reference point is the real
world, McDormand isn’t bringing the
margins to the center so much as she’s
bringing more of the world to the screen.
Several of McDormand’s early film
roles were in Coen-brothers movies.
From afar this created a vague impres-
sion that she sprang fully formed from
their stylized universe. In reality she was
born Cynthia Ann Smith in 1957 in Gib-
son City, Illinois, to a single mother. At
one and a half she was adopted by Ver-
non and Noreen McDormand—“great
names, right?!”—and they changed her
name to Frances.
The McDormands were “solid,
working-class, educated people,” both
originally from Canada. Vernon was a
minister for the Disciples of Christ who
had a knack for rehabilitating struggling
congregations. Noreen was a minister’s
wife (“full-time job”) and part-time
receptionist. The family moved around
the Midwest and the South. Vernon and
Noreen had trouble with fertility, so they
took in strays. McDormand recalls nine
foster children in all. She was the third
and last to be adopted.
 There was a performative aspect to life
in the McDormand family. Vernon had
a quiet, friendly preaching style—“He
wasn’t a Holy Roller Bible-thumper,”
McDormand said—but he still got up
in front of people every Sunday. A cer-
tain expectation thus extended to the
children: “Perhaps the idea that the kids
of a preacher had to toe the line. Or at
least seem like they were toeing the line.
Or give off the right public relations. You
understand that you have a role to play
in the family unit.”
When McDormand was 14, an English
teacher at her high school in Monessen,
Pennsylvania, a steel town near Pitts-
burgh, had students perform Shake-
speare scenes after class. McDormand
played Lady Macbeth. Soon she was the
only theater major at Bethany College in
West Virginia, attending on scholarship
because it was affiliated with the Disciples
of Christ. She got to play Desirée in the
Sondheim musical A Little Night Music.
She got to do a lot of things: “We would
do O’Neill and Ibsen. We weren’t just
doing razzmatazz, jazz-hands stuff.”
A few of her professors pitched in so
that she could travel to audition for Yale
Drama School. She enrolled in 1979,
the year Lloyd Richards took over as
dean. Richards, a luminary who, with
the original production of A Raisin in
the Sun, became the first Black director
to stage a Broadway play, emphasized
dramaturgy. “It was about the words,
about the scripts, about the plays, about
the literature,” McDormand said.
After graduation McDormand went
straight to New York. She got an apart-
ment in the Bronx and a job in Mid-
town, at Richoux of London, where
she worked as a cashier and sold (and
stole) Godiva chocolates: “I wore a white
doily and a long brown polyester skirt.”
Her roommate, Holly Hunter, recom-
mended her for a role in Blood Simple,
the Coen brothers’ first film, a noirish
and absurdist tale of misguided violence
set in Texas. (Hunter had gotten the part
but was already committed to a Broad-
way play.) McDormand played Abby, a
young adulteress whose husband hires
a hit man to kill her. Her soft curls, dim-
pled chin, dainty nightie, and vacant
expression belie an inner grit. Abby pins
her assassin’s hand to a windowsill with
a steak knife.
While filming in Austin, McDormand
asked Coen for book recommendations.
He gave her a box of Raymond Chan-
dler and Dashiell Hammett novels. She
asked which one she should start with;
he said The Postman Always Rings Twice.
“Which is one of the hottest books ever,”
she said. “He seduced me with the choice
of books. I seduced him by inviting him
over to discuss them.” Back in New
York, they moved in together. “I real-
ized I could have a relationship that was
really deep and passionate but that didn’t
keep us from also being able to have a
functioning working relationship. I went,
Oh, it’s possible to not become so obsessed
that you can’t live your life.”
Raising Arizona was the Coens’ sec-
ond movie, and they wrote Dot specially
for McDormand. This may have creat-
ed an expectation that she would be in
all their films. When the role of Verna
in their third movie, Miller’s Crossing,
went to Marcia Gay Harden, McDor-
mand was vexed. Why isn’t this me? she
thought. McDormand had worked with
other directors by then. She’d already
played Mrs. Pell, the Klansman’s wife
in Mississippi Burning, and earned her
first Oscar nomination. But good roles
were hard to come by. She felt Verna
should have been hers. “That was part
of my learning process and part of our
learning process privately as a couple,”
McDormand said. “We both had to
work through that. You’re not going to
get a role every time.”
McDormand had been trained to play
the leading ladies of theater—the Hed-
das, the Stellas, the Olgas. She’d been
on a Cherry Jones trajectory. But there
was no obvious path in film. She was
constantly told she didn’t look right.
“I wasn’t pretty, I wasn’t cute, I wasn’t
beautiful, I didn’t have the body.” Coen
helped her depersonalize the rejection:
In the medium of film, physical type can
trump talent. Over time she hit on a cer-
tain niche—the friend of the pretty girl,
the girlfriend of substance to the much
older man. “It wasn’t just that I decided,”
she said. “It was clear. That’s the only
thing I was going to get jobs doing.”
McDormand worked with great direc-
tors—she was Betty in Robert Altman’s
Short Cuts. But even the good roles could
be thin. (Notice how Mrs. Pell has no first
name.) Others were drawn in laughably
crude terms. After she wore prosthetic
breasts in Raising Arizona, for instance,
“I started getting scripts that literally said
big-breasted woman.” So she brought the
boobs to auditions, carting them around
in a box. “They became props, like a false
nose or a wig. You could play the boobs.”
At one audition it was suggested that
the production might be able to work a
boob job into the budget. “As in actual
surgery?” I asked, unsure that I’d heard
her right. “Actual surgery!” she shout-
ed. The words sounded absurd echoing
through the eucalyptus.
McDormand learned to stop asking
if she had a part in whatever new movie
the Coens were writing. (Eventually she
would have her agent ask instead.) When
she got the script for Fargo, she wasn’t
sure about Marge. “It wasn’t obvious to
me what her power was,” she said. Once
she was in the full getup, though, with
the boobs and the birdseed belly, Marge
started to come to life. (I thought of this
later, when I asked Holly Hunter what
made McDormand unique as an actor.
“It’s a weird, ineffable thing,” Hunter
said. “It’s in her body.”)
Oh, and this might be relevant: When
they were filming Fargo, McDormand
and Coen knew they would be adopt-
ing a baby, their now-grown son, Pedro.
They’d been having trouble with fertility.
You may recall that in the final scene,
Marge’s husband, Norm, rubs her bel-
ly and says, “Two more months.” Well,
when they shot it, they knew Pedro
would be arriving from Paraguay in two
months. Wait—did Coen make Marge
pregnant for this reason? “There was a
certain deliberate quality to it,” McDor-
mand said. “We were expecting.”
They raised Pedro in New York. Coen
shot movies during the summer. McDor-
mand took one film role a year and did
a lot of theater. Though they’d rejected
organized religion, McDormand wanted
to give Pedro some form of mythology.
He was going to need stories. “Part of
the adoption pathology,” she explained.
So she decided they would celebrate
pagan holidays. “I couldn’t commit
to Christianity. But nature: I could
always commit to that, and the power
of it.” Coen went along, with humor.
One day he returned from a Greenwich
Village bookstore with a pile of books
on paganism, including one called
Pagan Parenting.
When Pedro showed an interest in
sports, McDormand and Coen found
themselves in new territory. “I don’t
know how to play sports,” McDor-
mand said. “His dad’s not really sport-
ive. Pedro’s athletic, but we kind of
handicapped him because neither of us
wanted to take him to games and stuff
on the weekends.” Pedro did inherit
McDormand’s love of fashion, though.
She would take him to Century 21 on his
birthday. “It’s kind of like a sport for
us,” she said. “Shopping is what he and
I do together.”
By the time Pedro was in high school,
McDormand was starting to think about
producing. She knew she’d need to fill
her time with something when Pedro left
home. She worried she’d be bereft and
wanted to steel herself against despair.
85
 McDormand was also itching to play
the protagonist. She’d made a million
movies by then and worked with a mil-
lion female directors (okay, more like
eight), but the parts offered to her were
still, well, peripheral. When she’d asked
Coen why he didn’t write better parts for
women, he’d responded that he didn’t
know how. She optioned Olive Kitteridge
one week before it won the Pulitzer.
McDormand is passionate about
housewifery (“It’s a profession!”), and
she found that her own experience in
that field translated fluidly into produc-
ing. Plus, she liked having a say in the
material things. She knew right away
when she’d scouted the right house for
Olive, for instance. The window over
the sink was perfect. (McDormand
doesn’t know about you, but she needs
to look outside when she’s washing
dishes.) She had input on important
nonmaterial things too, like the sound-
scape. If you pay attention, you’ll hear
lots of scrubbing; abrasive Olive likes
to scrub things. Though McDormand
wasn’t a producer on Three Billboards,
she did inform writer-director Martin
McDonagh that the completely “rad-
icalized” Mildred would be wearing
nothing but jumpsuits.
McDormand has been making deft
statements about age on the awards cir-
cuit—the not wearing makeup, the not
dyeing her hair. She wore Birkenstocks
to the Oscars because why the hell not?
McDormand says it’s political. But I
wonder if that, too, sells her a bit short.
Her success is much more than symbol-
ic, after all. If she’d done lots of things
to her face—if she were no longer utter-
ly recognizable—what characters could
she play?
Makes you wonder about the stuff
McDormand was told. Her example
seems to disprove it. Her example seems
to say: Not only is it not true, the oppo-
site might be true.
At some point in her 40s, McDormand
told Coen the following: “When I’m 65,
I’m changing my name to Fern, I’m
smoking Lucky Strikes, drinking Wild
Turkey, I’m getting an RV, and hitting
the road.” This became the bass line.
Zhao filled in the rest with informa-
tion she gathered over a period of many
months. McDormand relayed stories
about her life, showed Zhao slides and
photographs. “She incorporated a lot
of my truth into Fern’s truth,” McDor-
mand said.
I’d wondered. There were hints. For
instance this: At one point in Nomad-
land, Fern is checking into a campground
affiliated with an Amazon warehouse
where she will be working the holiday
season. When the receptionist has trouble
locating her name on an alphabetical list,
Fern tells her: “Try m-c-d.”
There are quite a few personal details,
it turns out. In her van, Fern has a set
of old plates with an autumn-leaf pat-
tern—the same plates Vernon gave to
McDormand when she graduated from
college. And at one point Fern runs into
a girl she used to tutor and asks the girl
if she remembers any of the poems Fern
taught her. The girl recites lines from
Macbeth’s tomorrow speech: “Out, out
brief candle....” This could be a reference
to the time she did Macbeth scenes in
high school. It could also be a reference
to this: McDormand will be playing
Lady Macbeth in Coen’s forthcoming
film, The Tragedy of Macbeth.
Toward the end of Nomadland, a
character played by the very handsome
David Strathairn gives Fern a rock with
holes in it. The rock is from the beach
where I met McDormand. There’s an
organism that eats into the rocks and
creates perfectly round holes, like Swiss
cheese. There are probably more per-
sonal details—I can’t be certain, but I
have suspicions about a Christmas car-
ol. “We spent a lot of time together just
trying to figure out where is that line,
between Fran and Fern,” Zhao told me.
“We wrote a version of Fern’s backstory
that is a version of Fran.”
Zhao was just as meticulous with the
van-dweller landscape. When the journal-
ist who reported the book, Jessica Bruder,
saw the film, it gave her “all sorts of crazy

THE REAL WORLD

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cartier.com. Khaite In this story: Manicurist,
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Dress, price upon request; Cartier watch, $4,750; request; off---white.com. Leah Huntsinger. mejuri.com. 57: Dress,

86 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM

 déjà vu,” she told me. “It gave me flash-
backs because it felt real. It captured a
tone and a mood that felt very familiar
to me. It was incredibly moving and also
a relief to be like, They got it. It feels true.”
Bob Wells, a YouTube personality
and voice of the van-dwelling move-
ment who plays himself in the film, had
a similar viewing experience. “It felt so
much like my real life that I couldn’t
even relate to it as a film,” he told me.
And yet when Wells shot his scenes with
McDormand, there was an eerie degree
of make-believe in play. “I can’t even
find words to describe watching her,”
he said. “She and I time-traveled to
Empire, Nevada, where she lived with
her husband, Beau. I can’t remember
names, but I will always remember that
Fern’s husband’s name is Beau.”
In Nomadland, as in The Rider, Zhao
gives us a different kind of Western. She
is less interested in the myth of individ-
ualism than in the reality of interdepen-
dence. This is what drew McDormand to
Zhao; it’s why she asked Zhao to direct
the movie after she optioned Bruder’s
book. The Rider evoked the possibilities
of wide-open spaces and reinvention and
self-determination, the same glorious
sense of freedom—“all the American
tropes, all the cowboy stuff ”—but put
it all in a tribal setting.
Nomadland puts it all in a female sto-
ry, McDormand explained: “With Fern,
THAN THE AUTHORIZED STORE, THE BUYER TAKES A RISK AND SHOULD USE CAUTION WHEN DOING SO.
it’s kind of like Shane, or John Wayne’s specific promise of catharsis in Nomad-
character in The Searchers. These men land more needed. “We’ve all had to in
that don’t seem to have a past, only a some way face mortality,” she said.
present, and no future. They just arrive A few times during our walk, con-
fully formed and they disappear. Except versation turned to the meaning of
with Fern, because she’s female, she’s got this interview. McDormand brought
a lot of stuff with her. She’s got a whole it up repeatedly. What did it mean for a
van full of memories. Women don’t nec- 63-year-old woman to be on the cover of
essarily come out of nowhere.” a fashion magazine? She wanted me to
pose the same question to Jerry Loren-
McDormand never knows how a char- zo, the designer behind the menswear
acter is going to land until she’s in a line Fear of God, whose brown suit and
theater with an audience. Sometimes a hoodie she is wearing on Vogue’s cover.
character resonates in a way that goes It was Pedro McDormand Coen—she
beyond her expectations. “There’s roll- often says the whole name—who sug-
ing laughter and rolling catharsis,” she gested she wear Fear of God. Pedro is
explained, moving her torso and arms 26 now and works in public relations,
in an undulating wave motion. It first but he still loves fashion. What would
happened with Marge. The audience Lorenzo think of McDormand wearing
reaction made the hairs on the front of his clothes for this story? she wanted
her scalp stand up. It’s happened with to know. (Lorenzo: “I’m speechless. I
Olive, with Mildred, and, at a couple of can’t think of anyone more gangster
recent screenings, with Fern. than her.”)
McDormand had wanted audienc- Before we walked back to the park-
es to have this catharsis together. She ing lot, the topic came up one last time.
worried the pandemic might preclude Why her? I told her that people just really
it. “The Greeks knew,” she said. “The loved her movie. McDormand got quiet.
point was to get together.” McDormand Then she said: “To still be culturally rele-
noted that some ancient theaters even vant as a 63-year-old female is so deeply,
had a section for people who were sick deeply gratifying. It’s something that I
and dying. “The acoustics were designed could have never expected, given what
so that these people who were lying there I was told. And I believe I had some-
ill could be healed through drama and thing to do with it. I’ve crafted some part
this collective experience.” On the other of this moment in time. And I’m really
hand, the pandemic has also made the fucking proud.” @

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87
Last Look

Prada shoes
For their first collaborative collection, Raf Simons and Miuccia Prada explored
D ETA I LS, SE E I N T HI S I SSU E .

dualities and twosomes: mankind and machine, practicality and decoration.

Each designer has a unique take, and so this traffic-cone-orange slingback—
an elegant, all-day-heel but also a sportif nylon shoe—makes all of the sense.
It’s best worn in dichotomous situations—like, say, working from home?
P H OTO G RA P H E D BY P E T E R L A N G E R

88 JANUARY 2021 VOGUE.COM


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