It's Fashion Friday!: Monstrous Marketing Muck-ups

            Whenever I find myself in an airport, I can’t resist buying a magazine. It’s pretty much the only time I spend the money on print media. I find that looking at pictures on airplanes is an acceptable activity. Looking at pictures and sleeping. Now I own a laptop, so a whole new world has been opened. As you’re getting to know me I can hear you thinking, “Sarah, do something different? No way! She bought a magazine anyway!” It’s true. I did. And as much as I wanted to buy the copy of The Economist calling out to me with it’s headlining article about the crisis in Syria, my shallow side won out and I picked up the latest issue of Vogue with the sole intention of reading it to rip it apart. What is it I have against Vogue, you ask? I don’t know. Maybe I just never forgave them for eliminating their horoscope section.

This is not appealing unless you are a
purple martian looking for a new bathrobe.

            Lucky for Ms. Wintour and her bland publication, I didn’t even get to their content before I found myself completely overwhelmed with distaste directly resultant from marketing failures. Did I go to sleep and miss some sort of shift in reality? I was under the impression that print advertisements, especially fashion print marketing, were to entice and encourage you to desire and purchase product. An effective marketing spread makes me not only want the clothing, shoes, and jewelry that the model is wearing, but also the life, looks, and location of the model. I want to BE the model. I want to be standing by that pool, drinking the martini, wearing the diamonds, having the perfectly tailored chiffon empire-waisted gown gently floating in the breeze as my pool boy waits for further instructions.  Right?

            Well, I opened up the August 2012 issue of Vogue and found myself staring at Lindsey Wixson decked out in giant purple slabs of agate (Maybe? That’s what it looked like. I’m no gemologist), with the most dreadful lilac space age bob, carrying a rock-like minaudière that resembled a coffin for a boutonnière, sporting all black Chanel. Perhaps in a different setting Karl Lagerfeld’s designs would have been appealing, but I looked at that picture and thought, “Good grief I don’t EVER want to look like that.” 

Hat trashcans - the portable way to make sure you have somewhere
to dispose of your recycling after lunch.

            Not many pages later, I found myself staring at some print from Louis Vuitton (they just can’t catch a break with me this month). Now I will say, the handbags these young ladies were photographed with were somewhat smart. I could like them in a different setting. The stylists RUINED it. These girls have upside down trashcans on their head. Felted wool trashcans. Millinery on LSD. No, scratch that. On LSD they’d at least be in pretty colors. It’s Millinery on meth. Toothless, dirty, ugly hats. The peasants in My Fair Lady had nicer hats. 

Little Miss Muffet sat under her tuffet, watched Edward
Scissorhands, and lost her mind (in quadruplicate).

            Even so, LV doesn’t take the cake for the worst showing in the magazine. It’s funny - these are the kind of weird photographs I expect from D&G, Miu Miu, Balmain, and the like….in comparison their ads were so tame. The winner of the worst editorial marketing photo of the year is…… drum roll….. Juergen Teller for Marc Jacobs!!!!! When you turn the page and see a bunch of dumpy anorexic girls in white cake makeup, with faux? Real? Fur hats (although they were big enough to be tuffets for Pomeranians), dowdy sweaters and brocade jackets, and think “Is THAT JOHNNY DEPP?” you know you’re in trouble. I don’t want to look like Johnny Depp. I don’t want to wear a fur tuffet on my head. And I certainly don’t want to hang out with anorexic girls in ugly sweaters. I want pretty dresses, diamonds, and pool boys. If anyone in your marketing department told you otherwise, they were sadly mistaken.