L-A: As you are all well aware, I’m off in California this week making Ally jealous. And she has every right to hate me. I saw Eminem tonight (sort of…I was really far away, so it was mostly on a screen). While I’m away, the unpaid staff have once again stepped up to earn their keep (occasional copies of Hilary Duff books) and help us out. Today it’s a post from Mel.

Mel: As a child of the 90s, I was more into grunge, Doc Martens and skate shoes than high fashion.

While I still have a soft spot for really bitchin’ sneakers and will always and forever covet Doc Martens, somewhere along the way I got turned on to the world of haute couture and runways.

I still remember the first time my heart literally stopped for a pair of shoes (or boots as it were). They were a pair of dark down Ralph Lauren riding boots waiting patiently on the Last Look page of the September 2003 issue of Vogue. I was sitting in the laundry room of my university dorm and I don’t think my life has ever been quite the same.

I was still more into Rolling Stone than Vogue at this time, but the seed had been planted. Two years later when I moved back to Halifax an obsession was born.

Yep. That would be the last seven years of Vogue magazine in its entirety (mostly) to date. 84 magazines in total. At $5.99 a pop that’s $503.16 (pre tax) worth of glossy paper and dreams.

I would wait impatiently each month for the Tuesday when the new magazines would hit the stands. Only to rush home, devour the magazine – and I mean read it cover to cover- just in time for the next month. That happened for 84 straight months (if you’re keeping track).

My boyfriend at the time even bought issues for me while I was gone on a 3 month tour of the world. Just so I wouldn’t miss an issue.

Why does this matter?

Because I just threw them all in the garbage.

After an affair with a magazine that lasted longer than some marriages, a month came and I plain forgot to buy an issue. Work and life kind of crept up and before I knew it I had a hole in my collection.

At first, I panicked. Surely I would be able to order a back issue online, or find a dodgy convenience store with outdated stock. And then it dawned on me- I missed an issue and life went on.

I wasn’t any closer to being able to afford any of the clothes on the pages. The absence of mildly arrogant articles about beautiful clothes, homes, vacations and people wasn’t really changing my life for the worse. And I had an extra $6 in my pocket.

Faced with an (now) incomplete collection and a cross- city move on the books, I decided it was time to lighten my load.

So what does it all mean? Damned if I know. But my moving guys will thank me and there could potentially be a very style-informed hobo hanging out in the south end real soon.

source

“When I first moved to New York and I was totally broke, sometimes I would buy Vogue instead of dinner. I felt it fed me more.”

Whatever bitch.