Photo courtesy of The Sartorialist
Each country's edition of Vogue is a reflection of its editor-in-chief. America's Anna Wintour, famous for being parodied by Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada, is reflected in all of Vogue's editorials. Italy's Franca Sozzani has a playful Marni vibe that imbibes their pages, and Paris has had the brilliant, and edgy, Carine Roitfeld until recently.
When Roitfeld decided to suddenly retire from the helm, many wondered who would be her replacement. The natural choice was Emmanuelle Alt, one of the finest babes ever to work in a fashion office. Roitfeld's right-hand woman for the last ten years, she is married to the designer at Isabel Marant. Tall, willowy, and completely sexy in her inimitable French way, I have long admired her personal style and work. She just has something I can relate to. She's not about bright colors and makeup (I don't even think she wears any) or looking too done in an everyday world. Enough with the "Sex and the City" formula of you supposed to be living your life in sky-high Manolo Blahniks and credit card debt to rival our government. Alt is pure couture, down-to-Earth finery.
My travels through the pages of our own Vogue leave me cold. I can't relate to the doneness of it all. I can't even relate to Teen Vogue where teenagers are really encouraged to buy a $6K Dries Van Noten coat. Give me Paris Vogue. Give me Emmanuelle Alt in ripped jeans and a striped sailor tee. Give me something I can credibly try at home.
You can even give me her Rick Owens shearling jacket. I won't object.
