The Vogue Factor: The Inside Story of Fashion's Most Illustrious Magazine (12 page)

As it transpired, the photographer had clearly regretted his decision to come to Sydney en route over the Pacific. When he arrived he made limited contact with the editorial team, shot one quick fashion story, and was then asked if he would like to see locations for the next stories that had been planned. He demanded a limousine, and spent a day being driven to various scenic destinations in and around greater
Sydney. It was debatable if he in fact saw anything at all because he never removed his dark sunglasses, but upon his return to the hotel he declared there wasn’t any location in Australia worth shooting, and he and his team flew home, leaving charges that the CFO never fully recovered from. It was a debacle, and I felt badly for Marion.

Sales were plummeting, management was circling and the international advertisers were leaving in droves. I could feel the downhill spiral. Marion put a great deal of focus on the local Australian designers, who loved all the attention at the beginning until she dared to criticize some of them in print. What, a Brit telling us we’re not good enough? The press, who were fawning when she arrived, then turned on her.

Designers also stuck the knife in, stating—probably disingenuously—they had been “thinking” of advertising in the magazine but now they wouldn’t. Marion was used to being an outspoken critic; she was accomplished and she was fair. It was what her reputation was built on. But it’s a newspaper mentality. In magazines we criticize by omission. If we considered that you weren’t good enough to be in
Vogue
, then you simply weren’t in
Vogue
. An editor-in-chief whose main mission is to create a luxury environment is not expected to point out anything substandard or ordinary. Like Pollyanna, we concentrate only on the wonderful. And don’t even think about writing or saying anything remotely negative about an advertiser. Even a potential one. It’s a minefield that’s best managed with your mouth shut.

One fraught afternoon, when
Vogue
’s last watch client had just canceled their forward ad bookings because their editorial in the latest issue was so ugly, my phone rang. It was Karin Upton Baker.
Mode
magazine was about to morph into
Harper’s Bazaar and Mode
(the word
Mode
would drop off after a few months) and Karin was putting
together a new team for the launch. Would I like to be the associate editor? I didn’t even go in for an interview, or ask about the salary. The conversation was, “Yes please! Yay! When can I start, shall I tell management now, can I, can I?!”

I’m not a very savvy negotiator when it comes to my own salary. My motivation has always been the job itself, and the people I would be working alongside; never, ever the money. The nine months I had spent back at
Vogue
had been fraught and disorganized, and I was thrilled to be going to
Bazaar
. I had always liked working with Karin, and my great friend Eric Matthews, who had moved from
Vogue Australia
to take up the art directorship of
Vogue Singapore
, was now the new art director of
Bazaar
. I knew Karin would be a first-rate editor-in-chief, and that we could, especially given
Vogue
’s current state, make
Bazaar
a success. It was a dream offer, and very timely. It is always preferable not to go down with a sinking ship.

When you resign from a magazine to go to a rival company you are sometimes instructed to leave immediately, depending on your position and how many company secrets you possess. It’s all very dramatic in fashion. I once saw an advertising rep get marched to the elevator, and as the doors were slowly closing, her manager threw a potted plant at her. I didn’t exactly have the company profit and loss statement at my fingertips, so my departure was relatively cordial, although I did leave the same day that I handed in my notice. One of the fashion editors strolled into my office as I was packing up my desk and I thought, how sweet, she’s come to say goodbye and wish me well. But no. She asked me if she could have the keys to the beauty cupboard, where all the free products were kept. It really had turned into
Lord of the Flies
and I was relieved to be leaving the island.

Karin and the team had finished their first issue of
Harper’s Bazaar and Mode
by the time I arrived in late 1997, and were in the midst
of organizing the launch party. Nicole Kidman was on the cover, dressed in Dior couture, art directed by Eric in London and styled by Charla Carter, who had joined as a contributor. Tory Collison would soon come on board as fashion editor. Everything felt right again.

Karin has great personal style, and was famously fastidious about details, so the gala launch was a supremely elegant affair. At the end of Karin’s speech thousands of miniature paper covers of the launch issue fluttered down from above, and in a lovely Surrealist touch, with a gesture to the heritage of the masthead, guests were handed the issue by gloved arms protruding from a large white box. The crowd, consisting mostly of advertisers that were pulling out of
Vogue
, were clearly delighted to now have a classy alternative option.

The months I spent at
Vogue
working under Marion, and the time I would spend at
Harper’s Bazaar
under Karin were, in retrospect, when I learned some of my most valuable lessons in publishing. My greatest understanding, in respect to what was happening at
Vogue
, came mainly from observing what not to do. Working for brands as esteemed as
Vogue
and
Bazaar
highlighted how crucial it is to maintain a standard: a consistency and an integrity of purpose that flows through every element of the business, from the stationery to the sales presentation to the crucial September issue. There has to be a long-term vision that is shared and understood by every staff member, rather than “this will do for now,” “this will be great for me personally,” or a quick sell-out to make budget. As is true for any business, it can only be achieved by employing the right people. Luxury brands are precarious, and while everyone likes to think they know exactly how to run one, very few people do.

While super-brands like
Vogue
may appear to be unassailable, I had witnessed firsthand that they are not. They also act as an irresistible magnet to frauds, wankers and wannabes.

The
Bazaar
editorial team was talented, as was the sales department, led by commercial dynamo Lynette Phillips. Everyone was on the same mission, and the magazine made an immediate impact on launch. The managing editor, Louise Upton, didn’t like me very much for some reason, but she was very good at her job and I knew how to do mine, so we coexisted. I’m not of the belief that everybody has to love you, and socialize with you after work. As long as you treat everyone with respect, and vice versa, then I think office politics are something to avoid wherever possible. Of course I can bitch along with the best of them—part of that is just office camaraderie—but you know when a line gets crossed and it becomes pure nastiness. I worked with some snakes later in my career, and in my experience they never last. Eventually—although it does take longer than you would hope, and they may topple some good people on the way through—the torch will shine on them and they will be exposed. Whereas those who concentrate on the task at hand and on doing their best work will always have a career.

In one of the early
Harper’s Bazaar
issues we decided to feature modeling great Lauren Hutton, who was in Australia for David Jones. Tory was styling and I was to interview Ms. Hutton. I was absolutely thrilled at the prospect of meeting her, as she is one of the true trailblazers of the industry and from what I’d read, a real feminist ballbreaker. She was, but unfortunately it was my balls she was going to break.

She disliked me intensely on sight, but then it seemed she didn’t like any of the women on the job. She refused to let the makeup artist do her makeup and snapped at everyone except for the male photographer. By the end of what was a long day she turned on me and said she was far too tired to do the interview, which was more than fine with me because I had lost interest.

We did end up putting her on the cover, thinking that featuring a beautiful, mature woman would make a powerful statement, but sales were terrible. It is a truism in the magazine business that what women say they want to see on a cover, they don’t always follow through and buy.

A better experience was a shoot with another supermodel, the inimitable Jerry Hall, who had been brought to Australia by designer Charlie Brown. She was going through her divorce with Mick Jagger at the time and was clearly preoccupied, but she was a sweetheart to the whole awestruck team. I met her again many years later with her daughter Georgia May Jagger, in 2010, when we judged Fashions on the Field together at the races in Melbourne. She had the same easy, friendly manner and was just as stunning. I didn’t mention it to her on either occasion, but when, at age fourteen, I saw Hall in the Bryan Ferry video for “Let’s Stick Together,” I cried myself to sleep because I realized I would never be as glamorous as her. Clearly I got over it, but Jerry Hall is certainly one-of-a-kind, old-school fabulous.

Things had gone from bad to worse over at
Vogue
, and by late 1998 Marion was out. The press had been giving her a relentless beating prior to her sacking, but conveniently forgot all that when she was fired and began righteously speculating on the reason she was dismissed, suggesting it was because of her forthright opinions on Australian designers and the fact that she had put a “black girl”—Naomi Campbell—on her first cover. A fictional moral and intellectual showdown between Marion and the suits was now invented, by the same hypocrites who had previously ripped her to shreds. The point was entirely missed that her departure was about declining profit and circulation. Marion was
replaced by another Englishwoman, Juliet Ashworth, who had been recruited from tabloid magazines.

It appeared management had decided that in order to stop the free-fall,
Vogue
should cast off some of its elitist notions and move into the area of middle and mass market. Do it all in fact, so it could cover every area: luxury
and
mid-market and mass. Think how lucrative that would be! It’s a theory I would hear over and over again from various newcomers (and, my special favorite, their wives who don’t in fact read the magazine or own a nice handbag) during my career at
Vogue
, and it’s a giant mistake. It’s a dangerous move to drastically redraw the borders of an iconic luxury brand.

Harper’s Bazaar
was steadily gaining traction in the minds of both consumers and advertisers. The previous year, as editor of
Mode
, Karin and the publisher Patricia Connolly had established an invitation-only hospitality space at Australian Fashion Week in 1997, and it became the place to be, serving champagne and chicken sandwiches to the buzzy fashion crowd all day and into the evening. Apparently, Karin’s standards were so exacting she had the chicken sandwiches tasted four times before she approved them, which I loved. Even though I was with
Vogue
then, Karin knew it was through circumstances beyond my control given Nancy’s abrupt removal, and was gracious enough to let me station myself there between fashion shows. By May 1998 it had turned into “Bar
Bazaar
” and it was an early masterstroke of branding. It was standing room only most of the time, providing a chic retreat where everyone in fashion and society could gossip, be interviewed, be filmed or be seen.
Harper’s Bazaar Australia
was on the map, and I was very content to be one of the team.

Owned by the Hearst Corporation in the United States, and published as a joint venture by Australian Consolidated Press,
Bazaar
’s impressive performance had obviously registered with its international
management. In April 1999 the influential and much-admired editor-in-chief of the American
Harper’s Bazaar
, Liz Tilberis, sadly passed away after a battle with ovarian cancer. Karin was invited to take the editor’s chair in New York for an unspecified period until a replacement was found. She was also a contender for the permanent role. It was an incredible honor for an editor from Australia, and we were all thrilled for her.

Louise and I held the fort and Karin would call in each afternoon to check on things and supply us with the most delicious gossip from the US
Bazaar
offices. Australian Fashion Week rolled around and, as Karin was still away, I became the unofficial host of Bar
Bazaar
. During a quiet period, when the blowdryers were off and the manicure stations empty, I was standing at the bar eating yet another chicken sandwich when Robyn Holt walked in.

I had known Robyn for many years, and admired her enormously. We first met at
Vogue
when I was on reception—she and I always laugh when I remind her that she was pregnant with her daughter Hannah at the time but I never realized, because everything was hidden under the layers of her uber on-trend Katie Pye dresses.