The Vogue Factor: The Inside Story of Fashion's Most Illustrious Magazine (16 page)

This was after you had dealt with the photographers, who wanted everything to look like
Vogue Italia
, which is in a class all of its own and in my mind, inimitable. It’s pretentious to even think to mimic it. And it would be a kiss of death in Australia, sales-wise.

If I was unsure of a cover, or on the rare occasion that there was actually more than one choice, I would vox pop it around the office, asking the opinion of the personal assistants and those who had no involvement in either editorial or advertising. But too many opinions
just start to confuse the situation. The feedback would start with, “She looks more pretty on option A,” “I like what she has on on option B,” “I think the yellow type is fresh,” to: “She looks like the bitch that stole my boyfriend.” You can’t get a consensus.

I remember an art assistant saying to me once: “Stop asking. If you mix all colors together you end up with brown.” Much later, I felt the same way about querying readers for their opinion on Facebook, or printing covers on the website and asking them to choose. A title such as
Vogue
should lead the market, and offer what we think to be the best. Research is valuable, but an assured
Vogue
is directional. I was always thankful to hear what a reader hated, but in the end I felt it was up to us to inspire. I would be guided by my art director, fashion director and one or two members of the editorial team and that was enough. If the issue bombed, I was prepared to assume total responsibility. I’d have to anyway. There was no phantom sub I could blame.

We saw some small circulation gains in the first twelve months of relaunch, but it was more a halting of the decline. The overall goal was to achieve consistency in an attempt to win back the readers’ trust. Condé Nast International Chairman Jonathan Newhouse had been out to visit, and gave me some generally positive feedback about the magazine. I was still finding my feet, and was happy to listen to his critique. Jonathan had made so many trips to Australia during the last two disastrous regimes that he was thoroughly sick to death of the place. He had reportedly clocked up millions of unwanted frequent flyer miles.

During lunch, I politely asked him what he expected from me. Would he like a weekly report, a monthly report? “Nothing,” he replied. “As long as everything is going alright, I never want to hear from you and you won’t hear from me.” Over the next thirteen years he would contact me only once to comment favorably on a big circulation increase. He never flew to Australia again.

The first three years spent turning
Vogue
around were arduous and exhausting, but above all, exhilarating. There was so much work to be done and we were all forging and experiencing the dynamics of a completely new team. The art department went through various changes of staff, as did the magazine’s design itself, until I employed a witty New Yorker called Paul Meany who hailed from an advertising background. He and I shared very similar tastes and influences, and I felt
Vogue
really start to take shape.

When I reflect, it took me almost three years to hit my stride. By then, the circulation gains were steady, as were ad sales, and the negative press had abated. It is, of course, a far easier task to reinvigorate something that is moribund rather than trying to improve a product that is already good. Thankfully, the audience gave us time. In today’s social media environment, no one would indulge a magazine brand by waiting three years for it to really excel. Nowadays you have about two or three months’ grace or the reader will simply cancel their subscription and launch their own superior fashion blog—if they don’t already have one.

One of the bonuses of working for Condé Nast was attending the biannual conferences which, in keeping with the values of the company, were held in the world’s most glamorous hotels and destinations, such as the Hôtel Du Cap-Eden-Roc in France, the Villa D’Este in Lake Como and the Çirağan Palace Kempinksi in Istanbul.

The first conference I was invited to attend was in 2001, and it took place at the luxurious Hotel Cipriani in Venice. Every
Vogue
and
GQ
editor and all the senior executives from around the world were in attendance, excluding the United States, which is run separately from Condé Nast International. The pressure (self-imposed at any rate) to pack correctly was enormous.

Nancy and I had a theory that it’s impossible to pack for Europe when you’re in Australia, especially considering the seriously fashionable party we were about to join. You always take the wrong shoe, and your winter coat will look at least one season out of fashion and smell like mothballs. Because we flew the furthest distance we were able to check-in one day before the rest of the group arrived, and we took the opportunity to race to the nearest Prada store and panic shop. I distinctly recall buying a silk, Prada lipstick-kiss print shirt that was straining over my bust because they only had one left and it wasn’t exactly my size.

At one of the lavish Palazzo dinners I was seated next to future fashion icon Anna Dello Russo, who is fun and super bright, and the then publisher of Paris
Vogue
, Gardner Bellanger, an American dynamo with a rapier wit, who I found to be rather fabulous. At one of the daytime conference sessions, the then editor-in-chief of Italian
GQ
was speaking on the subject of what makes an Italian man special. He was quite handsome, with a gravelly, sexy voice, and I suggest most of the women in the room were listening rather intently. Gardner was wearing dark sunglasses and at the end of his speech she leaned forward, and spoke into the microphone on the desk: “I live in France,” she drawled. “And you know what we say there: a Frenchman is just an Italian man in a very bad mood.”

Most of the conversations at the conference that year were based around the internet and its potential impact on the magazine business, all in the midst of the NASDAQ crash. Back in Australia, Robyn had the foresight to launch
vogue.com.au
with no budget and a staff of two, which saw immediate success, especially with the popularity of the
Vogue
Forum, a chat room where the audience felt comfortable to discuss all manner of subjects under the banner of
Vogue
, not just fashion.

We all certainly felt we were on a forward trajectory of change, and growth. No greater change than when the whole staff was called into the boardroom one morning in 2003 and told by the Condé Nast Asia Pacific President James Woolhouse that the license had been sold to an Australian community newspaper and magazine group, the Federal Publishing Company (FPC), owned by Michael Hannan.

One of the girls from the fashion office fainted at that moment and had to be led out of the room. It was a very dramatic
Vogue
-style moment, and I should have thought about doing the same thing—but I was secretly too excited about the fact that we were going to relocate offices to the inner city and I wouldn’t have to drive over that wretched Harbour Bridge anymore.

S
hortly after the Condé Nast titles were transferred into the hands of their new owners, FPC, it was conference time again, and this one was held at the magnificent Hôtel du Cap-Eden Roc in the south of France. I went with our new general manager, New Zealander Michael McHugh, and also Robyn Holt, who was in the transition stages of leaving Australia to take the position of managing director of Condé Nast in Russia.

The trip, in a political sense, was somewhat of a challenge for me: on one hand I was traveling with a soon to be ex-managing director who I liked and respected; on the other was a new boss I barely knew who I needed to both include and please. McHugh was a volatile character with a huge passion for magazines, but he had a mercurial approach to staff. At times he respected my opinion and was my greatest champion, at others he was plotting my demise—predominately the latter, I later discovered. It was extremely unsettling and probably not something I would allow myself to be put through again, but I loved my job and at the time the best path through was to remain transparent in everything I did and get on with making the magazine
successful. “Managing up” is exhausting, a waste of emotional energy that could be put to better use elsewhere.

After the conference finished, I took the train to stay with Charla Carter, her husband and two children in their beautiful country farmhouse just outside of Avignon. Mourad and the twins arrived from Sydney and we spent a few days cooking and relaxing. One evening, all the boys left us to watch the football at the stadium in Marseille, so Charla and I opened a bottle of red as a chill evening wind,
le mistral
, rolled in and shrieked around the house,
Wuthering Heights
fashion.

I had rehired Charla as a
Vogue
contributor the moment I went back, and we began to throw around some ideas of what we could do to create a high impact issue for December. The magazine was certainly back on track commercially, but I wanted to stretch the possibilities of what we could reach for editorially. I wanted Australian
Vogue
to feel more global.

Although I felt some trepidation about how I would fare with the new management, I had no qualms about the capabilities of my team or what we could potentially do. Charla and I tossed around the idea of a guest editor—Nancy Pilcher had, of course, commissioned the Baz Luhrmann issue in January 1994, and there had been various guest editorships of magazines such as Paris
Vogue
in the past, but it was not a practice that was prolific. So who would our dream guest editor be?

I think I was on red wine number four when I said grandly: “Karl Lagerfeld.”

Obviously Lagerfeld is a legendary fashion designer and the master who heads Chanel, but his genius also stretched out to so many other areas. He could write, he could illustrate, he could take the photographs: Karl Lagerfeld’s talents are unparalleled.

This made him the perfect candidate, because to have someone genuinely guest edit an issue they have to be able to turn their hand to more than one discipline. Otherwise, it is really you editing the issue and they are just contributing. That can be just as fun and impactful, and it was a format we followed later with Kylie Minogue. But for a comprehensive edit Lagerfeld was the obvious choice, as he is a true Renaissance man. “But c’mon, as if he would do
Vogue Australia
,” I said glumly. “Well, I know Eric Pfrunder, the Directeur de l’image for Chanel and close confidente of Karl’s. Why don’t I just ask?” said Charla chirpily. Charla is always relentlessly upbeat and positive. We opened another bottle and got carried away with all the things we could ask Karl to contribute. In truth, I never thought there was even a remote chance that it would happen.

A week or so later I was back in Sydney when Charla telephoned from Paris. “Kirstie, you won’t believe this. I had an initial conversation with Eric and he didn’t knock it on the head. I have to meet with him in a few days’ time and he’s going to talk to Karl.” I was stunned. I mentioned it to the editorial team, with a “don’t get your hopes up” caveat, and then I heard from Charla. Yes. It was on. Karl was actually keen to do it.

This was 2003, and Karl had not yet extended himself into the myriad of editorial projects that he does today. It was a huge triumph for
Vogue Australia
. When the news leaked around town that he was going to guest edit the December issue, quite a few people refused to believe it.

We immediately started to plan the issue, with Charla as our intermediary woman on the ground in Paris. The long periods of silence in between communications were excruciating for me. Being an Aries and having been on a monthly deadline for most of my working life, I like things to just get done. I like a quick decision, a quick meeting, and for
everyone to get moving, fast. I get frustrated with too many last-minute changes. While a magazine does have to have a percentage of its content ready to adjust or move for reasons that are unavoidable, I like to keep that ratio to about 15 to 20 percent, not 100 percent. Last-minute changes are one thing; last-minute panics are another, because that’s when poor decisions can be made. As an editor, you owe it to your team to be organized. A smooth production flow creates happy staff. And I’ve always found happy staff far easier to manage.

But this was Karl Lagerfeld and obviously we were going to do things his way. He was busy and largely uncontactable because he chose not to use the telephone or email. His preferred method of correspondence was handwritten notes that he would then fax. I adored it, as he has the most beautiful handwriting and I was receiving personal faxes from
the
Karl Lagerfeld for goodness sake. But they were infrequent to say the least. We were flying blind to a degree.

We knew that he wanted to photograph fashion on Cate Blanchett, Nicole Kidman and Kylie Minogue. That he was willing to shoot a story featuring Australian-only designer fashion. There were also ideas around Australian industrial designer Marc Newson. And Karl himself perhaps wanted to fly to Australia. But each day, the ideas and the dates changed. Karl is impulsive and capricious, which is a large part of his charm. He is also—let’s face it—rather busy. We let Charla take care of the day-to-day communications with Karl in Paris, while we hunkered down and created some ideas of our own.