Teen Vogue: A Brief Eulogy

J.O.A. top & me smiling in a field of cows.  

In​ ​middle​ ​school,​ ​fashion​ ​magazines​ ​were​ ​my​ ​escape​ ​from​ ​underdeveloped​ ​breasts, braces,​ ​and​ ​my​ ​parents’​ ​no-makeup-until-high-school​ ​rule.​ ​​ ​​Vogue​ ​​and​ ​​Elle​ ​​were​ ​off-limits, (though​ ​I​ ​often​ ​snuck​ ​a​ ​peek​ ​at​ ​them​ ​in​ ​waiting​ ​rooms​ ​and​ ​convenience​ ​stores)​ ​mostly​ ​because my​ ​mom​ ​was​ ​concerned​ ​that​ ​I​ ​might​ ​encounter​ ​the​ ​occasional​ ​sex-related​ ​article.​ ​​ ​​Teen​ ​Vogue was​ ​our​ ​compromise.

           When​ ​a​ ​new​ ​​Teen​ ​Vogue​ ​​was​ ​slipped​ ​into​ ​our​ ​mailbox​ ​I​ ​would​ ​tear​ ​it​ ​out​ ​and​ ​flip hungrily​ ​to​ ​the​ ​section​ ​of​ ​whimsical​ ​celebrity​ ​shoots​ ​and​ ​imaginative​ ​editorials.​ ​​ ​The​ ​clothes were​ ​too​ ​expensive​ ​for​ ​me​ ​to​ ​ever​ ​dream​ ​of​ ​affording,​ ​but​ ​they​ ​sparked​ ​my​ ​creativity​ ​for​ ​weeks.
           On​ ​road​ ​trips​ ​I​ ​would​ ​listen​ ​to​ ​music​ ​and​ ​imagine​ ​myself​ ​dancing​ ​in​ ​tulle​ ​and​ ​jeweled Miu​ ​Miu​ ​shoes​ ​and​ ​fuzzy​ ​pink​ ​sweaters.​ ​​ ​In​ ​class​ ​I​ ​daydreamed​ ​about​ ​one​ ​day​ ​becoming​ ​like​ ​the bloggers​ ​featured​ ​in​ ​​Teen​ ​Vogue​’s​ ​pages:​ ​full​ ​of​ ​spunk​ ​and​ ​fire​ ​and​ ​living​ ​in​ ​a​ ​world​ ​where Aeropostale​ ​and​ ​Hollister​ ​were​ ​sartorial​ ​curse​ ​words.
           It​ ​was​ ​​Teen​ ​Vogue​ ​​that​ ​introduced​ ​me​ ​to​ ​Jane​ ​Aldridge,​ ​sparked​ ​my​ ​obsession​ ​with denim,​ ​and​ ​taught​ ​me​ ​that​ ​style​ ​could​ ​be​ ​both​ ​an​ ​eloquent​ ​autobiography​ ​and​ ​a​ ​masterful disguise.
           This​ ​morning,​ ​on​ ​the​ ​heels​ ​of​ ​Condé​ ​Nast’s​ ​announcement​ ​to​ ​terminate​ ​print​ ​issues​ ​of​ ​the magazine,​ ​I​ ​am​ ​left​ ​wondering​ ​what​ ​this​ ​means​ ​for​ ​the​ ​future​ ​of​ ​adolescent​ ​fashionistas.
           As​ ​a​ ​middle​ ​schooler,​ ​​Teen​ ​Vogue​ ​​was​ ​my​ ​lifeline​ ​to​ ​the​ ​fashion-happenings​ ​in​ ​New York​ ​and​ ​Paris,​ ​two​ ​cities​ ​that​ ​felt​ ​worlds​ ​away​ ​from​ ​my​ ​hometown​ ​in​ ​Louisiana.​ ​​ ​Today, though,​ ​in​ ​a ​society​ ​forever​ ​intertwined via ​Instagram,​ ​Facebook,​ ​and​ ​Snapchat-​ ​is​ ​it possible​ ​that​ ​we​ ​no​ ​longer​ ​need​ ​magazines​ ​like​ ​​Teen​ ​Vogue​ ​​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​part​ ​of​ ​the​ ​changing​ ​fabric​ ​of fashion?
          ​ ​Is​ ​the​ ​death​ ​of​ ​print​ ​​Teen​ ​Vogue​ ​​a​ ​precursor​ ​to​ ​what​ ​we​ ​have​ ​always​ ​known,​ ​yet preferred​ ​to​ ​ignore​ ​as​ ​committed​ ​magazine​ ​readers:​ ​that​ ​print​ ​fashion​ ​is​ ​becoming​ ​obsolete?
           Even​ ​as​ ​I​ ​graduated​ ​to​ ​reading​ ​​Vogue,​ ​Teen​ ​Vogue​ ​​still​ ​arrives​ ​in​ ​my​ ​mailbox​ ​every month,​ ​and​ ​I​ ​continue​ ​to​ ​flip​ ​[less​ ​voraciously]​ ​through​ ​its​ ​pages​ ​which,​ ​of​ ​recent,​ ​have​ ​been more​ ​politically​ ​and​ ​activist​ ​oriented.
           It​ ​is​ ​no​ ​longer​ ​the​ ​only​ ​platform​ ​that​ ​relates​ ​me​ ​to​ ​the​ ​fashion-world,​ ​though​ ​I​ ​credit​ ​it with​ ​helping​ ​me​ ​discover​ ​all​ ​of​ ​the​ ​bloggers​ ​that​ ​dot​ ​my​ ​Instagram​ ​feed​ ​and​ ​the​ ​brands​ ​I​ ​cherish most​ ​dearly.
           Now​ ​I​ ​will​ ​toss​ ​a​ ​fistful​ ​of​ ​dirt​ ​onto​ ​a​ ​lowered​ ​​Teen​ ​Vogue​​ ​casket​ ​filled​ ​with​ ​vintage jeweled​ ​shoes​ ​and​ ​denim​ ​jackets​ ​and​ ​the​ ​resumés​ ​of​ ​dozens​ ​of​ ​now-fashion​ ​giants​ ​who​ ​got​ ​their start​ ​at​ ​the​ ​magazine.

              Which​ ​publication​'s ​funeral​ ​will​ ​be​ ​next?