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FALLING FOR

RUTH NEGGA THE LOVING STAR BREAKS OUT

JAN

LENA DUNHAM SAYS GOODBYE TO GIRLS THE SHOW THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

FAST FORWARD

CREATORS, ACTORS, AND ACTIVISTS POINTING THE WAY AHEAD

OPTIMISM FASHION’S BRIGHT NEW AGE

THE YEAR OF THE SHOE!


January

POSITIVE

Thoughts

RISE & SHINE, P. 45

KENDALL JENNER IN PROENZA SCHOULER. PHOTOGRAPHED BY MARIO TESTINO.

Talking Fashion 30

ALL EYES ON Taylor Hill, Adwoa Aboah, and Grace Elizabeth

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18, 22

GLOBAL WARMTH Alanui’s seasonless cashmere sweaters

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MASTHEAD EDITOR’S LETTER

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UP FRONT For nearly a decade, Istanbul had been a magical place for journalist Suzy Hansen —a cosmopolitan refuge and a welcoming home. Then the violence began

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VOGUE JANUARY 2017

SPOT ON These statement-making toppers have animal magnetism in spades

Beauty & Health 37

2017’S MOST WANTED The people, places,

and products to know in the year ahead

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People Are Talkıng About

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MOVIES Hidden Figures and Fences combine gripping drama with stellar casts TRAVEL Kokomo Island Fiji is an idyllic getaway

UP NEXT Grace Van Patten breaks out in Adam Leon’s kinetic New York–set romance Tramps

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Fashion & Features

BOOKS Complicated heroines define the new year’s fiction

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DESIGN Handwoven rugs inspired by the Argentinean landscape

TALENT Corey Hawkins stars in 24: Legacy

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RISE & SHINE Spring’s wardrobe is light in spirit, high on impact, and radiating with optimism and good cheer C O N T I N U E D >1 6

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January

Index 106

BEST IN SHOE

110

IN THIS ISSUE

112

LAST LOOK

Stronger

TOGETHER HOME OF THE BRAVE, P. 60

RUSSLYNN ALI (IN ALTUZARRA), CEO OF THE XQ INSTITUTE, WITH STUDENTS. PHOTOGRAPHED BY INEZ AND VINOODH.

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HOME OF THE BRAVE Meet the bold visionaries pushing the culture—and the country—forward. By Robert Sullivan

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QUEEN V The young Queen Vıctoria’s passionate love affair with her husband, Prince Albert, is captured in a sweeping new miniseries. Plum Sykes reports

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GIRL TALK As Lena Dunham’s brave,

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hilarious, boundarypushing show Girls embarks on its final season, she and her costars reflect on the joys and blunders of growing up on-screen. By Chloe Malle

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RUTH ON THE RISE With her mesmerizing performance in Jeff Nichols’s groundbreaking film Loving, the IrishEthiopian actress Ruth Negga has become a star for our time. Gaby Wood discovers her gamine charm

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WILD AT HEART At her family home in the English countryside, garden designer Lady Tania Compton has conjured a riotous landscape—six acres as witty, thoughtful,

and unexpected as she is. Hamish Bowles smells the roses

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FACE ODYSSEY Growing older gracefully is a noble idea, until it’s a dispiriting reality. A cosmetic-surgery virgin, Jancee Dunn wrestles with turning 50 and embarks on a yearlong journey of coordinated, noninvasive treatments that promise subtlety, without scalpels

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MOMENT OF THE MONTH Pants on fire

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IF THE SHOE FITS From bright-blue platforms to red-hot heels, the season’s most exciting footwear is stealing the spotlight

Ruth Negga wears an Alexander Wang shirt and a Rodarte ear cuff. To get this look, try: Superbalanced Silk Makeup SPF 15 in Silk Brandy, Uplighting Illuminating Powder in Bronze Glow, Chubby Stick Sculpting Contour, Pop Oil Lip & Cheek Glow in Nectar Glow, Just Browsing Brush-On Styling Mousse in Black/Brown, Lid Pop in Cocoa Pop, Lash Power Flutter-to-Full Mascara, High Impact Custom Black Kajal in Blackened Black, Pop Lacquer Lip Colour + Primer in Happy Pop. All by Clinique. Hair, Christiaan; makeup, Mark Carrasquillo. Set design, Jack Flanagan for the Magnet Agency. Produced by Kat Davey for MarioTestino+. Local production, Gabriel Hill for GE Projects. Details, see In This Issue. Photographer: Mario Testino. Fashion Editor: Tonne Goodman.

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FAS HI ON ED I TOR : CA MI LLA N I CKE RSO N . H A I R, A KK I; MA K EU P, A A RO N D E M EY. SE T D ESIGN, MAR LA WEINH OFF. D ETAILS, SEE IN TH IS ISSUE.

Cover Look BABE RUTH


ANNA WINTOUR Editor in Chief Design Director RAÚL MARTINEZ Fashion Director TONNE GOODMAN Features Director EVE MACSWEENEY Market Director, Fashion and Accessories VIRGINIA SMITH Executive Fashion Editor PHYLLIS POSNICK Style Director CAMILLA NICKERSON International Editor at Large HAMISH BOWLES Fashion News Director MARK HOLGATE Creative Digital Director SALLY SINGER Creative Director at Large GRACE CODDINGTON FA S H I O N /A C C E S S O R I E S Fashion News Editor EMMA ELWICK-BATES Bookings Director HELENA SURIC Accessories Director SELBY DRUMMOND Editors GRACE GIVENS, ALEXANDRA MICHLER, EMMA MORRISON Menswear Editor MICHAEL PHILOUZE Bookings Associate ERINA DIGBY Associate Market Editors SARA KLAUSING, WILLOW LINDLEY, FRANCESCA RAGAZZI Market Manager TAYLOR ANGINO Associates GABRIELLA K AREFA-JOHNSON, YOHANA LEBASI Fashion Writer RACHEL WALDMAN Fashion Market Assistant MADELINE SWANSON Home Market Associate SAMANTHA REES BEAUTY Beauty Director CELIA ELLENBERG Beauty Editor LAURA REGENSDORF F E AT U R E S Culture Editor VALERIE STEIKER Senior Editors TAYLOR ANTRIM, LAUREN MECHLING, JOYCE RUBIN (Copy), COREY SEYMOUR Entertainment Director JILLIAN DEMLING Arts Editor MARK GUIDUCCI Style Editor at Large ELISABETH VON THURN UND TAXIS Assistant Entertainment Editor SAMANTHA LONDON Features Associates LILI GÖKSENIN, MADELEINE LUCKEL, LILAH RAMZI Features Assistant LAUREN SANCHEZ ART Deputy Design Director ALBERTO ORTA Executive Visual Director ANDREW GOLD Art Director MARTIN HOOPS Associate Art Director NOBI K ASHIWAGI Designer JENNIFER DONNELLY Visual Director, Research MAUREEN SONGCO Visual Editor, Research TIM HERZOG Visual Production Director NIC BURDEKIN Senior Visual Editor LIANA BLUM Assistant to the Design Director MAISIE VERE NICOLL VOGUE.COM Director of Product ISHANI MUKHERJEE Director of Engineering KENTON JACOBSEN Fashion News Director CHIOMA NNADI Director, Vogue Runway NICOLE PHELPS Executive Fashion Editor JORDEN BICKHAM Beauty Director CATHERINE PIERCY Art Director FERNANDO DIAS DE SOUZA Director of Visual Production and Development ALLISON BROWN Style Editor EDWARD BARSAMIAN Senior Fashion Writer MARJON CARLOS Market Editors KELLY CONNOR, CHELSEA ZALOPANY Associate Market Editor ANNY CHOI Accessories Editor BROOKE DANIELSON Archive Editor LAIRD BORRELLI-PERSSON Fashion News Writers JANELLE OKWODU, LIANA SATENSTEIN Fashion News Associate EMILY FARRA Senior Beauty Writer MACKENZIE WAGONER Beauty Writer MONICA KIM Associate Beauty Editor JENNA RENNERT Culture Editor ALESSANDRA CODINHA Senior Culture Writer JULIA FELSENTHAL Culture Writer PATRICIA GARCIA Living Editor VIRGINIA VAN ZANTEN Living Writer BROOKE BOBB Visual Director SUZANNE SHAHEEN Senior Visual Editor EMILY ROSSER Visual Editors SAMANTHA ADLER, RUBEN RAMOS Entertainment Media Editor SOPHIA LI Visual Content Creator BARDIA ZEINALI Visual Associate ALEXANDRA GURVITCH Designer SARA JENDUSA Social Media Director LINDSEY UNDERWOOD Social Media Manager, Vogue Runway LUCIE ZHANG Associate Social Media Manager JULIA FRANK Fashion News and Emerging Platforms Editor STEFF YOTK A Associate Editor, Emerging Platforms NIA PORTER Visual Producer AMANDA BROOKS Production Manager MALEANA DAVIS Assistant Managing Editor OLIVIA WEISS Producers IV Y TAN, MARIA WARD Research Editor LISA MACABASCO Copy Chief JANE CHUN Associate Director, Audience Development ANNA-LISA YABSLEY Manager, Digital Analytics ZAC SCHWARTZ Product Manager BEN SMIT Senior Developers JEROME COVINGTON, GREGORY KILIAN Developers JE SUIS ENCRATEIA, SIMONE HILL, BEN MILTON P R O D U C T I O N / C O P Y/ R E S E A R C H

Deputy Managing Editor DAVID BYARS Digital Production Manager JASON ROE Production Designers COR HAZELAAR, SARA REDEN Production Associate ADRIANA PELLEGRINI Senior Copy Editor LESLIE LIPTON Copy Editor DIEGO HADIS Research Director ALEXANDRA SANIDAD Research Associate COURTNEY MARCELLIN Fashion Credits Editor IVETTE MANNERS S P E C I A L E V E N T S / E D I T O R I A L D E V E L O P M E N T/C O M M U N I C AT I O N S Director of Special Events EADDY KIERNAN Special Events Manager CARA SANDERS Editorial Business Director MIRA ILIE Associate Director, Operations XAVIER GONZALEZ Contracts Manager ALEXA ELAM Editorial Business Coordinator JESSECA JONES Executive Director of Communications HILDY KURYK Director of Brand Marketing NEGAR MOHAMMADI Communications and Marketing Manager DANIK A OWSLEY Executive Assistant to the Editor in Chief GRACE HUNT Assistant to the Editor in Chief CORINNE PIERRE-LOUIS European Editor FIONA DARIN European Fashion Associates CAMILA HENNESSY, ANTHONY KLEIN West Coast Director LISA LOVE West Coast Associate CAMERON BIRD

Managing Editor JON GLUCK Executive Director, Editorial and Special Projects CHRISTIANE MACK CONTRIBUTING EDITORS

MIRANDA BROOKS, SARAH BROWN, SYLVANA WARD DURRETT, ADAM GREEN, ROB HASKELL, NATHAN HELLER, LAWREN HOWELL, CAROLINA IRVING, REBECCA JOHNSON, DODIE K AZANJIAN, SHIRLEY LORD, CHLOE MALLE, CATIE MARRON, SARA MOONVES, SARAH MOWER, MEGAN O’GRADY, JOHN POWERS, MARINA RUST, LAUREN SANTO DOMINGO, TABITHA SIMMONS, JEFFREY STEINGARTEN, ROBERT SULLIVAN, PLUM SYKES, ANDRÉ LEON TALLEY, JONATHAN VAN METER, SHELLEY WANGER, JANE WITHERS, VICKI WOODS, LYNN YAEGER

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BUSINESS Executive Director of Finance and Business Development SYLVIA W. CHAN Senior Business Director TERESA GRANDA Business Managers CHRISTINE GUERCIO, MERIDITH HAINES Advertising Services Manager PHILIP S. ZISMAN

C R E AT I V E S E R V I C E S Integrated Marketing Executive Director, Creative Services BONNIE ABRAMS Executive Director of Events, Partnerships, and Communications BRIGID WALSH Senior Director, Creative Development and Integrated Partnerships RACHAEL KLEIN Branded Content Director JANE HERMAN Director, Special Events CARA CROWLEY-STAMMLER Associate Directors, Integrated Marketing EUNICE KIM, MICHELLE FAWBUSH Senior Integrated Marketing Managers LIAM MCKESSAR, CASSANDRA SKOUFALOS Branded Content Account Manager RYAN HOOVER Integrated Marketing Assistants SHARTINIQUE CHLOE LEE, TARA MCDERMOTT Vogue Studio Creative Director DELPHINE GESQUIERE Director of Vogue Studio Services SCOTT ASHWELL Associate Creative Director SARAH RUBY Art Directors NANCY ROSENBERG, TIMOTHY SCHULTHEIS Designer KELSEY REIFLER

MARKETING Executive Director of Marketing MELISSA HALVERSON Marketing Director YI-MEI TRUXES Senior Marketing Managers MEREDITH MCCUE, ALEX ANDRIA GURULE Marketing Manager LINDSAY K ASS

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C O N D É N A S T I N T E R N AT I O N A L Chairman and Chief Executive JONATHAN NEWHOUSE President NICHOLAS COLERIDGE Condé Nast is a global media company producing premium content for more than 263 million consumers in 30 markets. www.condenast.com www.condenastinternational.com Published at 1 World Trade Center, New York NY 10007. Subscription Inquiries: subscriptions@vogue.com or www.vogue.com/services or call (800) 234-2347. For Permissions and Reprint requests: (212) 630-5656; fax: (212) 630-5883. Address all editorial, business, and production correspondence to Vogue Magazine, 1 World Trade Center, New York NY 10007.

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Letter from the Editor

Higher and

Higher

T

We Go

he outset of 2017 offers to all of us a last September when the designer and DJ Heron Preston symbolic moment to resolve to move brought together his universe and theirs for a special collecforward, and to do so with a confident tion that upcycled the department’s uniforms. determination that whatever challenges Heron’s presentation was a big hit among the Vogue staff, we will face in the months and years and for good reason. The fashion he showed was fantastic, ahead, we will meet them with courage cool, and authentic, to be sure, but it was the spirit of incluand dignity—and while keeping our sion that he brought to the proceedings that made it so lifeheads held high. affirming. Heron’s motivation was the The last couple of months have debelief that our actions should carry a The last months have greater purpose, and he’s not alone in livered a powerful lesson on the impordelivered a powerful that; the actor Shailene Woodley, for tance of taking a stand on whatever it instance, is doing her part to support is that you believe in, and continuing lesson on the importance the oil pipeline protestors at North to stand tall—even if circumstances of taking a stand—even if Dakota’s Standing Rock reservation, conspire to make it difficult to stay and DeRay Mckesson is a formidable upright. Those who have no problem circumstances make it activist whose involvement with Black maintaining such a stance are the bold difficult to stay upright Lives Matter has been driven by the and brilliant individuals whom we belief that political endeavor is nothing brought together for this issue’s spewithout positivity. Everyone in this portfolio was faced with a cial portfolio “Home of the Brave” (page 60), photographed choice to see our lives—all of our lives—as capable of infinite by Inez and Vinoodh and styled by Camilla Nickerson. progress and improvement, and has acted accordingly. I hope They’re an inspiring group, with each individual possessing you are as inspired by them as I am. a set of clearly defined and highly cherished values. Some of them you will already know, such as Julianne Moore, Marc Jacobs, and Tory Burch. Their long-standing activism on issues from gun safety to LGBTQ rights to empowering women has been fiercely and passionately demonstrated. Others, while lesser known, are no less worthy of your attention and respect, from the transgender actor and model Hari Nef to the good people of the New York City Department of Sanitation, who alighted in the fashion world

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A CHANGING VIEW HANSEN, ON A TERRACE IN HER ISTANBUL NEIGHBORHOOD. THE AUTHOR ARRIVED IN 2007, AND THE CITY WAS IN A LIBERATED, OPTIMISTIC, EVEN RAUCOUS MOOD.

Postcard from theEDGE

For nearly a decade, Istanbul had been a magical place for journalist SUZY HANSEN— a cosmopolitan refuge and a welcoming home. Then the violence began.

O

n the day last March when a man blew himself up in the middle of Istanbul, I was at home. I heard the blast as I sat at my desk; it was nearby on Istiklal Avenue, where I walk every day. On the night in June when ISIS attacked the Istanbul airport, I was having dinner at the new Soho House, in a nineteenth-century Italianate mansion that was once the American consulate. My first thought was that it would make for a brilliant second target, and I quickly scanned the perimeter of the terrace for an escape. In the early hours of the military coup in July, I joined a line of Turks snaking out of my local deli and stuffed water bottles and beer cans in my pockets, preparing for the long night ahead. (“Are you sure you don’t need three packs of cigarettes?” the deli worker asked a customer as I left.) I watched live footage at home of the army firing on Turkish civilians—and when fighter jets flew low over the city, I took cover in my bathroom.

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I am not a war correspondent. I never dreamed of watching history unfold on the front lines, or bearing witness to atrocity, or learning the difference between the sounds of a mortar and a car bomb. I chose to live in Istanbul because when I arrived the city felt like a refuge and then, very quickly, like home. Over the last decade I have become so attached that I am still momentarily confused when people ask me if I plan to leave. Istanbul has been the place I have felt safest in my life. In 2007, when I was 29, I won a fellowship that sent journalists to the country of their choice for two years. I had grown up in a proudly provincial Jersey Shore town, believing that New York was the most daring place I could escape to. But some time after I arrived the mood of the city began to bother me. New Yorkers’ curiosity and compassion in the wake of September 11 had dissolved into a frenzy of decadence. The spiking stock market, the luxury towers crowding the skyline, the $50 grass-fed steaks on every menu—in retrospect, my decision to move to Turkey was as much about VOGUE.COM

FRO M LE FT: PA NKA J M I SH RA . COU RT ESY O F SUZY HA N S EN . C E DR IC A NG E LES/ I NTERSECTION PH OTOS.

UpFront


and Europe, the horse-drawn carts piled high with carrots and onions, the dinners of vegetables soaked in olive oil, even the smell of burning coal in the winter. But after a year I knew it was an expat’s mistake to love a country only for its beauty or its food or its exchange rate. If I was to make Istanbul my home, I would have to define my affection beyond such superficialities. Did I love the country’s nationalism, its obsession with honor, its xenophobic soccer chants? Not really. In the beginning, it was the sense of engagement I missed in New York, of being in the middle of the world. Young people here seemed more concerned about politics, about the painful history of the region, even seemed to have a greater belief in democracy and human rights, mostly because they still had to fight for those things. By the end of two years, I had road-tripped through the dark-green mountains of Turkey’s east and taken vacations by myself on the Mediterranean; I’d rooted for Turkey’s soccer team during the Euro Cup and shouted along at countless political protests. Dating wasn’t easy—even Westernized Turkish families remained fairly traditional, and many men my age had married; upper-class Turkish women warned darkly that I would have a hard time finding someone egalitarian enough for me, and I was not brave enough to go on dates barely speaking the language. But I had a group of friends, a daily walk, a view of the famous Old City from my bedroom window. I decided to stay.

getting away from New York. I suspected there were many things that I did not understand about the rest of the world. I arrived just as Istanbul was entering its own Gilded Age. There was a palpable feeling during this magical period that the East was leaving the West behind. The Constantinopleera buildings of Beyog˘lu, the central neighborhood where I found an apartment, were still dusty and dilapidated, with cats peeking out through broken windows, padlocks rusting on doorknobs, eerie men smoking in unlit foyers and scaring me to death. But people from all over the world were moving in, transforming what had become a kind of haunted city into a place of thriving boutiques, restaurants, hotels, and art spaces. Even the Nobel Prize–winning Turkish novelist Orhan Pamuk, who had long meditated on the country’s state of melancholy, expressed optimism about the future. European and American tourists invaded; Istanbul topped all the travel lists. An Islamic conservative prime minister and president were running the country after decades of state-enforced secularism, yet the city felt liberated—even raucous—and there was a gleeful defiance in the air. Istanbul was a rejoinder to the West for doubting the Muslim world’s many possibilities. I loved Istanbul instantly, from the moment my first airport taxi merged onto the coastal road and passed the oil tankers cruising through the Sea of Marmara, a view so beautiful I couldn’t believe they had put a highway next to it instead of waterfront condos. I loved the romance of the Bosporus and the rose-gold glow of its sunsets. I was charmed by the oldfashioned ferries that shuttled back and forth between Asia VOGUE.COM

E

ven the first stirrings of the Arab Spring in Tunisia, the subsequent crackdown in Egypt, and the war in Libya seemed only to boost Turkey’s image. Here was that rare Muslim democratic success story—the one hopeful city in a deteriorating region. Exiles and refugees arrived, adding to Istanbul’s regenerative cosmopolitanism; suddenly I heard Arabic everywhere on the streets, met a young Tunisian fashion designer in my local deli. I never worried that the violence they’d left behind would come here. For most of its modern history, Turkey had stayed out of foreign wars, and I was confident that that would continue. In 2013, at a wedding in New York, I laughed dismissively when a friend asked me if Turkey would get mixed up in Syria. A war correspondent who had actually been in Syria and seen the way the new violence dissolved borders looked at me in disbelief and walked away. I still had a lot to learn about the world. Slowly the geopolitical landscape took a darker turn. By 2013, it had become clear that Turkey’s leader, Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an, had been providing safe haven to Syrian militant groups that opposed Bashar al-Assad. Jihadis were flying into Istanbul and transfering to domestic flights to cities on the border with Syria. Journalists I knew met Syrian warlords for interviews in trendy cafés; Arab fighters did their shopping on the same gentrifying street where my friends and I bought our printer cartridges and ate gelato. Refugees arrived in numbers too enormous to control or assist, and took up residence on street corners, displacing entire neighborhoods. The chaos of the region caused Erdog˘an to fear a rebellion within his own borders, and so he started a war with Turkey’s Kurdish militants. In 2015, the first bombs went off: at a leftist gathering in the south, a rally in the east, and a peace march in the capital city of Ankara. No one agreed on who was responsible—was it ISIS, Kurdish opposition groups, C O N T I N U E D O N P A G E 1 0 8 VOGUE JANUARY 2017

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Talking Fashion EDITORS: MARK HOLGATE & MARK GUIDUCCI

GRACE ELIZABETH

Model

BEHAVIOR No longer merely pretty faces, these women are living three-dimensional lives as activists, entrepreneurs, and outspoken citizens of the world. By Robert Sullivan. 30

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T

he newest trend in the modeling world? The very welcome return of personality. In case you haven’t noticed, lately you are much less likely to see fashion shoots populated by celebrities. Fashion has done a 180, returning to models—models, moreover, who manage in one way or another to exude something interesting beyond the confines of the studio or the runway. Whether as a backlash or simply in contrast to the rise of a kind of Instagramcentric follow-the-leader sameness, we are now witnessing the rise of models with voice, with individuality—models who somehow maintain, despite the frequent-flying hazards of their trade, a life. VOGUE.COM

PA R IS : ME LO D IE JE NG/G ET T Y I MAG ES.

All Eyes On

CLOCKWISE FROM ABOVE: PHOTOGRAPHED BY BEN HASSETT, VOGUE, 2016; PHOTOGRAPHED BY PATRICK DEMARCHELIER, VOGUE, 2016; AT PARIS FASHION WEEK LAST OCTOBER.


A DWOA A B OA H PHOTOGRAPHED BY PATRICK DEMARCHELIER, VOGUE, 2016.

with vulnerability—it sets up a whole new kind of trust and confidence in oneself.” Truthfulness is a theme. Remember Lauren Hutton? “A great role model,” Aboah says. “She talked about what she wanted.” If Aboah might be thought of as the new Cara Delevingne, then Camilla Deterre is a little like Hutton herself, whose charm, in part, was that she never seemed to be a model (she is now one again, having walked Bottega Veneta last fall). Deterre wanted to be a model as a teenager, but her mother wouldn’t allow it. “Best mom,” Deterre says. Instead, she worked in photography, at an interior-design firm, at a magazine. She began acting. When modeling jobs began coming her way, she booked the gigs herself, only recently hiring an agent. More recently, Deterre designed the restaurant Mimi, on Sullivan Street in the Village, a few blocks from where she grew up. In contrast to Deterre, Grace Elizabeth is a model, plain and simple, though from a modeling perspective she can do seemingly anything. “I’ve worked with high fashion, and I’ve worked with commercial people,” she says. “And I’ve done the runway, which I didn’t think I’d be able to do—I’ve been told that I’m not edgy enough.” It’s a versatility likely rooted in the North Florida pines, where she grew up mud bogging—a sport-cumpastime involving mud and trucks and barbecue—retiring only when a modeling career beckoned. “Once you have manicures, you can’t get those nails LEFT: PHOTOGRAPHED BY MAYAN TOLEDANO dirty,” she says, laughing. FOR VOGUE.COM, 2016. ABOVE: THE DETERREDESIGNED MIMI RESTAURANT IN MANHATTAN. Like Aboah and Deterre, she has been successful, in part, because she’s found a way to think about modeling not as her life but as a mere You know Adwoa Aboah, for example, from her work part of it. She’s likely the only model who, while walking Jerwith Alexander Wang, Kenzo, or Fenty Puma by Rihanna. But she also founded Gurls Talk, an Internet platform for emy Scott’s spring Moschino show in a very 2-D dress (Scott young women to converse on issues of empowerment—a worked a trompe l’oeil paper-doll theme), was thinking of project Aboah started up after dealing with her own bouts her 3-D experiences in Florida’s crystal-clear Ichetucknee of depression and addiction. “At the end of the day, I found Springs. “The moment you dive in the water your body goes that when I related to people, I felt less alone,” she says, almost into shock—your heart is pounding and you’re icethough she views social media as both a positive tool and cold,” she says. “It’s the same when you take your first step a terrible distraction. “It can sidetrack us into feeling that out on the runway. My hands are always freezing and my we’re not doing the right thing in our lives—‘Why wasn’t I knees knocking before I go out, but I just take a deep breath. at this party?’—but at the same time, Gurls Talk gives me an The people are loud and the music is louder, but you can outreach to women all over the world,” Aboah says. “And feel your footsteps—you can feel everything, every single when we start talking about things—honestly, truthfully, thing—when you are walking.”  TA L K I N G FA S H I O N > 3 4

D ET E RRE : HA I R, TA M AS TUZ ES ; M A KEU P, JE N M YLES. R ESTAU RA NT: COU RT ESY OF MI MI .

CA M I L L A D E T E R R E

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Talking Fashion

GLOBAL Warmth

A

lanui means “big path” in Hawaiian, which is fitting, given that the cashmere label with that name started out in Pasadena before zipping across the Atlantic, finally settling near Milan. Nicolò Oddi, a keen surfer who was (still is, actually) working in the family hydraulics business, found a vintage cardigan at the Rose Bowl Flea Market, took it home to his fashion-consultant sister, Carlotta, and Alanui was born. One year and three collections later, they’re following a similarly scenic route with gorgeous, vivid, multihued cardigans spun out of Italian yarn so deep and plush it feels like you could lose your hands in it—each of them traced with graphic folkloric motifs. As a single cardigan takes around fifteen hours of work to produce, the result is, as Nicolò says, “like a blanket that always stays with you—it has sentimental value.” The pieces are also seasonless and genderless. He wears his with jeans or as a replacement for a tuxedo jacket, while Carlotta PERFECT PURLS pairs hers with everything from a DESIGNER NICOLÒ ODDI WITH HIS vintage slip to a bikini. For the real SISTER, CARLOTTA, beauty of these cardigans is that BOTH WEARING ALANUI SWEATERS, they can go in any direction you $3,200–$3,660; want.—MARK HOLGATE NET-A-PORTER.COM.

CATE BLANCHETT ON THE SET OF OCEAN’S EIGHT.

HARLEY VIERANEWTON IN DIOR.

JENNA LYONS IN A VINTAGE COAT AND A J.CREW CLUTCH.

These statementmaking toppers have animal magnetism in spades.

KENDALL JENNER IN A VINTAGE JACKET.

FO R FA S H I O N N E W S A N D F E AT U R E S , G O T O V O G U E . C O M

PERFECT PURLS: ANDREA SPOTORNO. SITTINGS EDITOR: ANNA SCHIFFEL. HAIR, ALESSANDRO REBECCHI; MAKEUP, ALINA IGNATENKO. SPOT ON: LYONS: GREGORY PACE/REX/SHUTTERSTOCK. VIERA-NEWTON: EDWARD BERTHELOT/GETTY IMAGES. BLANCHETT: RAYMOND HALL/ GETTY IMAGES. GUCCI: YANNIS VLAMOS/VOGUE.COM. JENNER: SPOT/AKM-GSI.

Spot ON

A GUCCI PRINT.


Beauty EDITOR: CELIA ELLENBERG

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Next UP

The people, places, and products to know in the year ahead.

TheFace

ALESSIO BONI. FASHION EDITOR: FELICIA GARCIA-RIVERA. HAIR, ILKER AKYOL; MAKEUP, SUSIE SOBOL. DETAILS, SEE IN THIS ISSUE.

STAZ Lindes

Staz Lindes cemented her ties to Saint Laurent when she walked onto the house’s spring 2016 runway. Lanky and leather-clad, with a diamanté tiara slung across her jagged fringe, Lindes was Rive Gauche grunge personified. It was her first collaboration with the brand after being scouted in Los Angeles while playing a gig with her punk band, the Paranoyds—and it won’t be her last. This month the London-born, Santa Monica–raised blonde with wide-set eyes, full lips, and a charming overbite unencumbered by orthodontics becomes the newest face of YSL Beauté. But music, not modeling, is her first love. “I have it genetically,” explains the 24-year-old, whose father is Dire Straits guitarist Hal Lindes. “We were raised with the Beatles and Led Zeppelin, the Clash, Lead Belly,” Lindes, a trained cellist and guitar player, says of her early influences, which extend to the mod cat eyes and pink hair dye she perfected at ten with the help of an enabling babysitter. Gaining access to YSL’s cosmetics arsenal is “a total fantasy,” she says, cooing over its Baby Doll Kiss and Blush lip-and-cheek stain and Kajal Eye Pencil, which is on heavy rotation with her bandmates. Lindes is equally delighted to be a part of what she sees as a certain “realness” permeating the fashion industry. “People don’t want this unattainable woman anymore. They want an organic girl that they can relate to. It’s a really cool time.”—CELIA ELLENBERG BEAT GENERATION LINDES, A MUSICIAN, MODEL, AND THE NEW FACE OF YSL BEAUTÉ, IN A SAINT LAURENT BY ANTHONY VACCARELLO JACKET AND TANK TOP.

VOGUE.COM

VOGUE JANUARY 2017

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Beauty 2017’s MostWanted The Getaway

2

The RANCH SONOMA

The Buzzword

TheWorkout A gentle approach to fitness is finding favor among personal trainers. Called Low-Intensity Steady State (LISS), the method promotes any type of cardio (walking, swimming, even cross-country skiing) that’s not done at full force. “LISS is good for endurance—it helps build up mitochondria in cells and promotes oxygen delivery,” says Debora Warner, founder of New York City’s treadmill studio Mile High Run Club. A bonus: “As you exercise for long periods at about 60 percent of your maximal effort, that’s when you really start to burn fat,” confirms Michael Fredericson, M.D., a professor at Stanford University’s School of Medicine. In other words, slow and steady wins this race.—MARISA MELTZER

Forget focusing on fine lines; the secret to combating aging skin just might lie in telomeres. The protective material at the ends of our DNA strands wears away every time cells replicate; the shorter the strands are, the higher the risk for damage— from cancer and Alzheimer’s to skin thinning. New mail-order tests measure our cellular age, which we can slow down with lifestyle improvements. Another line of attack: topical products that target telomere erosion in vulnerable skin cells. Zelens’s Youth Concentrate Serum contains peptides that stimulate telomerase, a natural enzyme that extends telomere life, while Nerd Skincare’s new Cellular Intelligence Age Postponing line activates the telomere-conserving klotho gene. Smart skin care just got a little smarter.—LAUREN MECHLING

5 The Ingredient MANUKA Honey High-tech formulas receive much of the buzz in beauty, but an ingredient with a simpler origin story is stepping into the spotlight. New Zealand’s manuka honey, named for the flowering trees supplying its nectar, has long been used by Maori healers and alt-wellness advocates to heal wounds. Now, with a shift into mainstream medicine—recent studies show its antimicrobial effects even on antibiotic-resistant pathogens— comes a shift into mainstream beauty. This month, Kiehl’s joins the natural movement with its manuka-powered, barrier-strengthening Pure Vitality Skin Renewing Cream. The ingredient also pops up in OY-L’s Exfoliating Manuka Mask, 001 Skincare London’s calming Supreme Equilibrium treatment, and aesthetician Annee de Mamiel’s cultish lip balm. The enzyme-rich raw honey earns its keep, too—as a purist’s salve (applied directly to skin) or a pantry swap for those swearing off refined sugar.—LAURA REGENSDORF F O R B E A U T Y N E W S A N D F E AT U R E S , G O T O V O G U E . C O M

GE TAWAY: TAYLOR G LE N N/VAU LT A RC HI V ES/ RE DUX. WO RKOU T: A N N EM A RI EK E VA N D R IMMELEN. INGR ED IENT: TIM WALKER .

TELOMERES

3 LISS

For years, devotees of the Ranch Malibu—the wellness camp that combines daily four-hour mountain hikes and petite-butphotogenic portions of vegetarian cuisine—have entreated its owners to open a second location. Later this year, Alex and Sue Glasscock will unveil their new property on 2,700 acres in Sonoma County. Despite the wine-country location, the Ranch’s detox credo remains in full force: The hikes are still epic, and while there’s no meat, dairy, or alcohol on the menu, there will be a fresh focus on food, with guests invited to spend time gardening, gathering, and cooking. For those who can’t get away, there’s the Ranch Daily, which has just begun delivering organic, plant-based meals in Southern California and plans to expand to the East Coast by the end of 2017.—SARA CLEMENCE theranchmalibu.com.


People AreTalking About

Up Next

Girl on the

RUN

t

Grace Van Patten breaks out in Adam Leon’s kinetic New York–set romance Tramps.

o cast Ellie, the mercurial female lead of Tramps, director Adam Leon auditioned more than 300 actresses. Then he met then 19-year-old Grace Van Patten. “A lightbulb went off,” he says. “She shifted the dynamics of the room.” In Leon’s charming romp, Ellie gets caught in a caper gone wrong with an aspiring chef (Callum Turner). “We were running around New York and stealing shots in Grand Central,” says the actress, wearing Dutch braids, black jeans, and a gold David Webb choker at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills. “The whole thing was a real adventure.” The eldest of three sisters, Van Patten lives with her parents, the TV director Tim Van Patten and Wendy Rossmeyer, a onetime model whose family sells Harley-Davidsons. (“She’s a biker chick,” says her daughter proudly.) Obsessed with sports in her early teens—after our interview, she Ubers off to a Lakers game—she was hooked on acting by high school. Now she’s starring in Noah Baumbach’s upcoming Yeh Din Ka Kissa and just began shooting Under the Silver Lake, with Andrew Garfield and Dakota Johnson. Leon attributes her movie-star quality to her ability to conjure an inner life: “I told Grace, ‘I don’t need to know what Ellie’s thinking, but you need to know.’ And she did it. Grace just has that. You can’t turn it off.”—JOHN POWERS THE ACTRESS, WEARING MARNI, PHOTOGRAPHED BY MATTEO MONTANARI.

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VOGUE JANUARY 2017

Wild Things

In Transit (FSG), Rachel Cusk’s sequel to Outline, a divorced author attempts to renovate her London apartment— and her life. Ottessa Moshfegh’s tales of misfired connection, Homesick for Another World (Penguin Press), recall a warped O. Henry, while a trio of debuts follow young women down paths less traveled: a teacher facing her husband’s past in Emily Ruskovich’s Idaho (Random House); a young girl drawn into a 1930s bohemian art circle in Emily Bitto’s The Strays (Twelve); and the child of a failed Minnesota commune in Emily Fridlund’s History of Wolves (Atlantic Monthly Press), which finds a piercing truth in a story about fleeing convention only to be ensnared in orthodoxy.—MEGAN O’GRADY

Design

Lined UP

For her latest collection, Sien + Co’s Alexandra Gibson approached Identidad Argentina, a community of weavers in northwest Argentina, where every house has a loom in the backyard. While the rugs’ bright geometries feel modern, “the zigzag is based on crop patterns,” Gibson notes, “and the purple mimics the mountains.”—SAMANTHA REES

CERRO RUGS IN ORANGE AND PURPLE.

UP NEXT: SITTINGS ED ITO R: KARE N KAIS E R. HAIR, MARKI S HKRE LI; MAKEUP, FARA H OMID I; PRO DUCE D BY T ESS HO GAN FO R FILL IN T HE BLAN K PRODUCTION. D ESIGN: LUCAS VISS E R. D E TAILS, S E E IN T HIS ISSU E .

Books

EDITOR: VALERIE STEIKER


Movies

Long RANGE TALENT: SEBASTIAN KIM. SITTINGS ED ITOR : A LLAN KE N N E DY. G RO O MIN G : AMBE R AMOS. PH OTOGRAPH ED AT TH E D OWNTOWN MANH AT TAN HE LIPAD. MOVIES : HO PPE R STO N E . TRAVEL: NIKKI TO. D ETAILS, SEE IN TH IS ISSU E .

Talent

Worlds APART Theodore Melfi’s Hidden Figures follows three African-American mathematicians—played with great spirit by Taraji P. Henson, Octavia Spencer, and Janelle Monáe—who go to work for early-1960s NASA, where their triumph over sexism and racism is nearly as thrilling as putting men in space. The conflicts are thornier in Fences, Denzel Washington’s awards-bound adaptation of August Wilson’s Pulitzer-winning play. In racially divided mid-1950s Pittsburgh, Washington is funny, scary, even tragic as a baseball player turned trash collector, whose devouring presence overwhelms his loving wife (Viola Davis, heartbreaking) and his two sons (Russell Hornsby and the fine newcomer Jovan Adepo). Reprising their Broadway roles, Washington and Davis give the kind of deep, passionate performances that become movie legend.—J.P. JANELLE MONÁE STARS AS MARY JACKSON IN HIDDEN FIGURES.

Travel

Tropical Punch Just south of mainland Fiji, the Melanesian island Yaukuve Levu welcomes luxury resort Kokomo Island Fiji, whose aquamarine waters give on to the Great Astrolabe Reef. Paddleboard, kayak, or enjoy a jojoba body-polish treatment at the spa before retiring to one of 27 whitewashed villas, each with a private pool and walled garden. At sunset, the beachside restaurant offers the ultimate in sea-to-table fare.—LILAH RAMZI HAMMOCKS AND THATCHED-ROOF HUTS DOT THE BEACH AT KOKOMO ISLAND FIJI.

g

rowing up in Washington, D.C., Corey Hawkins was, he recalls, “a superfan” of 24, the raceagainst-the-clock-to-save-the-world series, starring Kiefer Sutherland as counterterrorism agent Jack Bauer, which ran for eight seasons on Fox. “I knew every character, episode, plot twist—I was obsessed,” Hawkins says. And so, when the show’s producers, who were knocked out by Hawkins’s charismatic turn as Dr. Dre in Straight Outta Compton, offered him the lead in the reboot, 24: Legacy, the 28-year-old actor leaped at the chance. With a new cast of characters, the upcoming series uses the same real-time format to follow Eric Carter (Hawkins), an Army Ranger recently returned to D.C. from Yemen, as he tries to keep a list of sleeper-cell agents out of the hands of terrorists, while protecting his wife, Nicole (Anna Diop), and enlisting the help of his former mission leader (Miranda Otto), whose husband (Jimmy Smits) is running for president. Hawkins just finished shooting Kong: Skull Island, with Tom Hiddleston and Brie Larson, and is getting ready for the Broadway revival of Six Degrees of Separation. With his slim build and smooth, leonine good looks, he brings a quiet intensity to Eric Carter. “I said yes because of what it means to television, because of what it means to me,” he says. “I didn’t grow up seeing that on TV—a young, human hero and patriot who looked like me.”—ADAM GREEN THE STAR OF 24: LEGACY, IN A VERSACE TRENCH COAT.


January 2017

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Spring’s new wardrobe is light in spirit, high on impact, and radiating with optimism and good cheer. Photographed by Mario Testino.

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COLOR ME RAD Kendall Jenner goes wheels-up in the high-flying electric looks of the season alongside musicians Tyler, the Creator (OPPOSITE PAGE, FAR RIGHT), and Travis “Taco” Bennett (CENTER RIGHT). Jenner wears a Proenza Schouler cutout turtleneck ($1,750), wrap skirt, earrings, and sandals; Proenza Schouler, NYC. Golf Wang faux-fur coat. Tyler and Bennett wear Golf Wang throughout. Skateboarder Ryder McLaughlin (NEAR RIGHT) wears an Illegal Civilization T-shirt. Videographer Mikey Alfred (FAR RIGHT) wears an Illegal Civilization sweater. Details, see In This Issue. Fashion Editor: Tonne Goodman.


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READY TO ROLL Every pursuit—from skateboarding to sidewalk-stomping—requires the proper footwear. Keep graphic content in check with brown-and-white speed racer–style stilettos. Stella McCartney top ($925), pants ($765), and heels. Top at net-a-porter.com. Pants at nordstrom.com. Na-Kel Smith (RIGHT, MIDAIR) wears Fucking Awesome.


BREAKING THE BAR CODE Say hello to a brash new take on the stripe: vertical columns of texture-rich fabrics, which bring dimension and playfulness to a conventionally cut top and skirt. Versace top ($1,725), skirt ($1,895), and earring; select Versace boutiques. Details, see In This Issue.


PRIMARY SOURCES Crayola-colored hues are a sure way to grab eyes. Kick things up a notch with a few of them. Prada jacket ($4,110), skirt ($1,390), and belt; select Prada boutiques.


PEEK PERFORMANCE Because everybody interprets our culture’s much-ballyhooed buzzword transparency in different ways: Show off your skivvies in a lacy-meets-racy minidress. Dior dress, bra ($750), briefs ($930), earring, bag, and tall sneakers. Details, see In This Issue.

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SPIRIT ANIMALS Double down in head-to-toe sequins and spots for a look that’s ready to roar—and entirely on point. Dolce & Gabbana dress; select Dolce & Gabbana boutiques. Hermès earring. Ippolita choker. Details, see In This Issue.


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BLUE NOTES “DayGlo” and “delicate lace” aren’t normally uttered in the same breath, much less worn as part of the same look—but we’re craving this Maison Margiela ruched bra top ($1,590), jacket ($1,950), skirt, and belt that put the pow! in power lunch. Bra top, jacket, and skirt at select Maison Margiela boutiques.


LIFE OF THE PARTY When wildcat prints and dashing-dog embroidery bump up against each other, high-octane fun is usually around the corner—or right in front of you. Marc Jacobs bomber jacket ($2,800), dress ($3,800), and shoes; select Marc Jacobs stores. Details, see In This Issue.


CITY SLICKER Take a walk on the sunny side of the street in a citrine-colored slip dress with fiery-red accents. Ralph Lauren Collection dress; select Ralph Lauren stores. Calvin Klein Underwear tank top, $40; calvinklein.com. Versace choker. Tod’s bag. Gucci over-the-knee heels.


LEAPS AND BOUNDS Clean lines in a rich, radiant palette provide contrast and clarity amid the city’s own vibrant color story. Givenchy by Riccardo Tisci dress ($2,395), striped dress ($1,495), socks, and shoes. Dresses at Givenchy, NYC. Details, see In This Issue.

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58 SET D ESIGN, NICH OLAS D ES JAR D INS FOR MARY HOWARD STUDIO. PRODUCED BY MARIOTESTINO+. LOCAL PRODUCTION, GABRIEL HILL FOR GE PROJECTS.


ELECTRIC AVENUE Vests with swag, sneakers with bite, and high-slit dresses with shine lead the way. Emporio Armani leather top and beaded dress; select Emporio Armani boutiques. Off-White c/o Virgil Abloh bag. Hermès sneakers. In this story: hair, Christiaan; makeup, Erin Parsons. Menswear Editor: Michael Philouze. Details, see In This Issue.

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Home of the

Brave Meet the bold visionaries pushing the culture—and the country—forward. By Robert Sullivan. Photographed by Inez andVinoodh.

LifeSavers Nza-Ari Khepra, KarinaVargas, and Julianne Moore In 2010, then sixteen-year-old Karina Vargas was standing in front of her Colorado high school when she was hit by a random bullet. “It’s affected my life like cancer—my family, the people around me,” she says. In 2013, Nza-Ari Khepra’s fifteen-year-old friend Hadiya Pendleton, a neighbor on Chicago’s South Side, was killed by a random bullet. Khepra, now 20 and an economics major at Columbia University, helped found Project Orange Tree, a youth-led violence-awareness organization that in turn attracted the attention of Everytown for Gun Safety, where Julianne Moore serves as the founding chair of their creative council. This past election saw one of Everytown’s objectives—background checks— passed in Nevada, with other gun-safety measures passed in Washington State and California. “In states with background checks, gun deaths have been reduced by close to half in various categories,” Moore says. “I want to take this movement the long way,” says Khepra, “and I want to make sure we finish strong.” Nza-Ari Khepra (FAR LEFT) wears an Altuzarra dress. Karina Vargas wears a dress from The Row. Actor Julianne Moore wears a Michael Kors Collection dress. Details, see In This Issue. Sittings Editor: Camilla Nickerson.


Environmental Artists ShaileneWoodley and Bobbi Jean Three Legs “Water is life,” said Bobbi Jean Three Legs, a Standing Rock Sioux, this past summer in Washington, D.C., after leading 30 young Native Americans on a 2,000-mile relay run from their reservation in North Dakota to the nation’s capital. They were carrying a petition to the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers—a petition meant to block the construction of an oil pipeline across the Missouri River, her tribe’s drinking-water source. Actor Shailene Woodley, appalled at the scant press coverage of the run and the mission, was there alongside her, and when Three Legs returned home to North Dakota—where a small encampment of local families soon grew into a major national civil rights protest—Woodley was there too. “Now it’s an international affair,” she says. “Our people have been silenced for so long that they didn’t even want to stand up to voice their opinion,” says Three Legs. “That’s why I stood up. Now people around the world relate to us and everything we’re going through—as part of the human race, not just as indigenous people. Just because the pipeline is right beside Natives doesn’t mean everybody else isn’t going to be affected. We’re all human beings, no matter what color your skin.” Actor Shailene Woodley (NEAR RIGHT) wears a Gap shirt and Levi’s 511 jeans. Bobbi Jean Three Legs wears a Gap shirt. Details, see In This Issue.

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Model Citizens Alek Wek, Angok Mayen, Ajak Deng, Grace Bol, and Achok Majak If you or your family are from South Sudan, you worry: The country is embroiled in a bloody civil war, the world just barely taking note. Grace Bol, Ajak Deng, and Alek Wek are immigrants. Angok Mayen has refugee status, and Mayen’s daughter, Alyieth, is a U.S. citizen—born here, like Achok Majak. They are all models (including Alyieth, in this instance). “I would like to see everyone get along,” says Bol. “I love all our tribes.” While her sisters grew up in South Sudan, Majak grew up in L.A., where she saw the sort of anxiety that war refugees feel on arrival in the U.S. “I want a bright future for those who are younger—who are the future,” she says. Wek stresses the need to listen— especially to women—“to really show the beauty of the diversity of us within the continent,” she says. “I think it teaches the younger generation that they can be kind to one another. South Sudan has so much hope—I mean, look at the U.S.: Almost 250 years, and we still have challenges.” CLOCKWISE FROM TOP FAR RIGHT: Alek Wek wears a Tory Burch dress. Angok Mayen (with her daughter, Alyieth) wears a Michael Kors Collection dress. Ajak Deng and Grace Bol wear A.L.C. Achok Majak wears a BY. Bonnie Young dress. Details, see In This Issue.

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Power Brokers DeRay Mckesson and Tracee Ellis Ross “I’m hopeful,” says DeRay Mckesson, the activist and educator and an early member of Black Lives Matter, “that in this new year, people will feel empowered to have more public conversations about the complexity of blackness, and about equality and justice.” “I think,” says Tracee Ellis Ross, the actor and costar of Black-ish, “that our ability to have nuanced and complicated conversations about race—conversations that allow for the complexity of what race is today and what race means for everyone—I think that has evolved.” “And these conversations are happening in public,” says Mckesson. “People are learning because they’re being exposed in a way they weren’t before, which is really important.” As important to both of them as the messages they’re pushing and the conversations they’re starting: that all of the above comes from a place of joy, which both Mckesson and Ross agree is a revolutionary concept. “Black people have always been more than our pain,” Mckesson says. “The joy is so much a part of how we have survived and thrived.” DeRay Mckesson wears a Theory shirt and Tom Ford pants. Actor Tracee Ellis Ross wears a Polo Ralph Lauren trench coat. Details, see In This Issue.

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TheNew Girl Bosses Tory Burch, Allison DeVane, Ericka Lassair, and Emellie O’Brien When Tory Burch started her company in 2004, supporting young female entrepreneurs “was part of our DNA,” she says. “I knew that the thing that I could actually teach people was how I learned to start a business.” Cut to 2017, by which time the Tory Burch Foundation Capital Program, in partnership with Bank of America, has given more than 700 women entrepreneurs around the country access to almost $20 million in loans. The current fellows include Allison DeVane, the Phoenix, Arizona–based inventor of Teaspressa tea company; Emellie O’Brien, founder of Earth Angel, an environmental-consulting company that helps film- and televisionproduction companies think sustainably; and Ericka Lassair, founder of Diva Dawg, maker of gourmet Creole-style hot dogs. After Hurricane Katrina decimated New Orleans in 2005, Lassair returned to her hometown to live and work; with help from Burch, she’s just moved her company into Roux Carré, a market that not only brings different foods to a community that doesn’t have a lot of choices but also works as an incubator for start-up entrepreneurs. “They focus on people who live in the neighborhood,” Lassair says. “I’m very excited.” Tory Burch, Ericka Lassair, and Emellie O’Brien wear Tory Burch. Allison DeVane (SECOND FROM LEFT) wears Tory Sport. Details, see In This issue.

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Community Relations Heron Preston, Shakeisha Bishop, and Tony Camacho “I take care of Bronx 7,” says Shakeisha Bishop. It’s her first year on the job at the New York City Department of Sanitation, where she’s one of 200 uniformed women in a force of about 7,500.“I drive the sweeper, the salt spreader, the regular garbage truck, and the regular garbage truck with a plow, as well as the big front-end loaders that break up ice,” says Tony Camacho, a three-year veteran, who lives in the Manhattan sanitation district where he works. Both Bishop and Garcia take great pride in their work. “But they feel invisible,” says DJ and designer Heron Preston. To address this matter, Preston designed a collection called Uniform, unveiled as the debut event of the Foundation for New York’s Strongest, Inc., the official nonprofit organization of the New York City Department of Sanitation. (A percentage of Uniform’s profits goes to the foundation.) The idea: taking hoodies, vests, pants, or shirts Preston finds at used-clothing shops, or that are donated by sanitation workers, and remaking them—a process known as upcycling. Preston intends first to raise awareness for 0X30—DSNY’s goal to have New York City contribute zero waste to landfills by the year 2030—and second to align your conception of the DSNY more closely with his own. “How come they’re not celebrated?” he asks. “Without them, we wouldn’t be able to live in New York City.” Heron Preston (NEAR RIGHT) and Tony Camacho wear Heron Preston for DSNY shirts. Shakeisha Bishop wears a Heron Preston for DSNY rain jacket and Tory Sport leggings. Details, see In This Issue.

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Trailblazers

S ET D ES IG N , MA R LA W E I N HO FF

Marc Jacobs and Hari Nef Given Hari Nef’s modeling success— everything from editorial to commercial to television—and her prominence within the trans-rights movement, some people might find it difficult to imagine a time when the only shoots she landed were her own. “I had been just posting looks on Instagram—I had maybe 7,000 followers,” she recalls. Then, while still attending Columbia University in 2014, she got a call for a Marc by Marc Jacobs shoot. “I thought, He seems like kind of a cool queer dude—maybe he’s down.” Nef didn’t get the job, but just getting photographed by Jacobs’s team set her on a path to bust stereotypes—for starters, to point the fashion world in the direction of a wider world. These days her schedule is so packed she finds it a challenge to squeeze in time for her passion—writing. “Where did you just fly in from?” Jacobs—a decades-long activist and fund-raiser for gay rights, melanoma research, and other causes— asks. “L.A.—it was my birthday,” Nef says. “I celebrated by sleeping in, and then I went to a fund-raiser for GLSEN, which supports antibullying initiatives for LGBTQ youth. But I’m so thrilled that I’m shooting with you.” What’s next? “In my world, with all of the progressive feelings that have been orbiting the planet, there have been a lot of great discussions,” Nef says, “but I think that 2017 is the year for action. It’s time to take all of these great discussions and spin them into gold.”  Marc Jacobs with Hari Nef (wearing a Marc Jacobs blouse). In this story: hair, Christiaan (pages 60–65, 70–73) and Akki (pages 66–69); makeup, Aaron de Mey. Details, see In This Issue.

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Q u e e n

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“Harewood is in Yorkshire. The park seems very fine. The view from the window is very pretty. We dined in the beautiful gallery with a party of nearly three hundred in number.” So wrote the young Princess Victoria in her diary of a visit to Harewood House on September 12, 1835, just two years before she became queen. Little could the sixteen-year-old have imagined that almost two centuries later, the same Georgian mansion would be used in many of the scenes of a TV show about her life. Following the success of The Crown, the critically acclaimed Netflix show about the Windsors, the appetite for royal dramas shows no sign of abating. Victoria, the new PBS Masterpiece series airing this month and starring British actors Jenna Coleman as the queen, Tom Hughes as Prince Albert, and Rufus Sewell as prime minister Lord Melbourne, does not stint on lavish locations. For the country-house fan, the show offers a whirlwind tour of some of Yorkshire’s most famous stately homes. Castle Howard, Carlton Towers, Bramham Park, and Wentworth Woodhouse stand in for such royal residences as Kensington Palace and Windsor Castle. “Throughout the series I wanted scale,” says production designer Michael Howells. “I wanted everything to look as vast as could be—all the avenues of trees go on forever, to make the journey Victoria takes seem as big as possible.” His set for the state rooms of Buckingham Palace, created in an aircraft hangar near York, was so enormous that during the seven-month shoot, “we burned 12,000 candles, all handmade in Cumbria. The candle-maker’s exhausted.” Scale was also crucial to Queen Victoria’s persona. The queen never grew taller than four feet eleven, and her height was much commented upon by those who, futilely, attempted to crush her. When she was crowned at Westminster Abbey in June 1838 and sat on her throne, her feet didn’t touch the floor. The diminutive Jenna Coleman, age 30 and five feet two, cut her teeth on such British TV series as Emmerdale (a countryside soap opera) and Doctor Who. More recently she pulled off a brilliant comic turn as Lydia Wickham in the BBC adaptation of the P. D. James novel Death Comes to Pemberley. She couldn’t be a more perfect embodiment of Victoria. “We didn’t even look at C O N T I N U E D O N P A G E 1 0 8

The young QueenVıctoria’s passionate love affair with her husband, Prince Albert, is captured in a sweeping new miniseries. Plum Sykes reports. Photographed by Anton Corbijn.


PRODUCED BY CA LUM WALS H FO R ROSCO PRODUCTION

LEADING REIGN Jenna Coleman plays the teenage monarch opposite Tom Hughes as Prince Albert in January’s Victoria. Costume designer, Rosalind Ebbutt. Hair and makeup designer, Nic Collins. Details, see In This Issue. Sittings Editor: Phyllis Posnick.


FAB FOUR FROM NEAR RIGHT: Jemima Kirke in a Co blouse and Citizens of Humanity jeans; Allison Williams in a Brock Collection sweater and an Altuzarra skirt; Zosia Mamet in a Marni dress; Lena Dunham in a Christopher Kane dress. Hair, Diego Da Silva; makeup for Kirke, Williams, and Dunham: Romy Soleimani; makeup for Mamet: Joshua Ristaino. Details, see In This Issue. Sittings Editor: Lawren Howell.


PRODUCED BY DAYNA CARNEY FOR ROSCO PRODUCTION.

G IRL TALK AS LENA DUNHAM’S BRAVE, HILARIOUS, BOUNDARYPUSHING SHOW GIRLS EMBARKS ON ITS FINAL SEASON, SHE AND HER COSTARS REFLECT ON THE JOYS AND BLUNDERS OF GROWING UP ON-SCREEN. BY CHLOE MALLE. PHOTOGRAPHED BY NORMAN JEAN ROY.


ena Dunham is no stranger to superlatives. It’s an 80-degree, cloudless September day at the Atlantic Terrace Motel in Montauk, New York, and the Girls creator and star—wearing a Barbie-pink long-sleeved wet suit, her penny-colored hair twirled on top of her head—is in the middle of directing the first episode of her trailblazing series’ last season, airing February 12. Peppered among her line notes are cheerleader affirmations: “Amazing, amazing! That could not have been more beautiful!” To avoid overheating, she has an ice pack from the on-set medic wedged between her breasts, and her furry Puma slides make a scuffing sound as she pivots from being behind the camera to being in front of it. “The minute my top comes down you’re distracted,” she tells guest star Riz Ahmed, fresh from The Night Of, playing a surf-camp instructor bemused by the off-kilter antics of Dunham’s character, Hannah Horvath. In just a week her Instagram feed will extravagantly mourn the wrap of the series, but for the moment the mood is merry and familial. “Is that a shot list in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” she calls to a crew member who produces the shot list in lieu of a reply. “Is village happy?” Dunham then calls out to the AD. Village—meaning the tented camp on the motel’s other side where show runner and executive producer Jenni Konner and the team are hooked in on monitors—offers a collective “Happy!” Moments later they move on to the next shot. “It’s OK,” the sound mixer says to a fellow crew member. “I know it’s coming to an end, but we’ll always have Montauk.”

the City,” Dunham said at the time. “These are characters who watched that show, and it’s probably impacted the way they conduct themselves in New York, but their reality is extremely different.” Unlike their more glamorous predecessors, whose satin Manolos emerged from town cars at the opening of Tao, these young women were taking the L train to Bushwick raves in Forever 21 chambray. But just when one wondered whether the characters were doomed to drown in their own solipsism, the show began expanding. By the time it came to its critically acclaimed fifth season, the girls were going to places we, and perhaps even Dunham, never anticipated: Shoshanna to Japan; Marnie to Chinatown, barefoot and brokenhearted. “Marnie and I started out pretty similar and pretty quickly started diverging,” says Williams, curled on a couch with her castmates in a Red Hook studio for their second Vogue photo shoot, “but there have been some incredibly clean parallels, like having two weddings in one year—one of which was a completely epic disaster and ended in a pretty speedy divorce and infidelity.” “Her real wedding,” deadpans Dunham, who’s taken a vested pleasure in exploring her characters’ fraught forays into adulthood. At one point in season three, Shoshanna entreats Hannah and her on-again-off-again boyfriend Adam (Adam Driver) to play Truth or Dare during a road trip. Adam is unfamiliar with the game. “Truth or Dare is one of the most fun games in the world,” Hannah explains. “It’s the game that teaches children how to behave like adults.” This evolution happened off-screen too. As Mamet observes, “We’ve been allowed to shift and morph creatively in our personal lives, and I think that our viewers have as well.” “I mean, the stories told through Zosia’s hair alone, season to season . . . ” Dunham marvels. Their affection for one another—and for their fictional counterparts—is palpable. “I’m constantly being asked about these characters being unlikable, and I’m like, ‘What does that even mean?’ ” Dunham says. “Walter White and Tony Soprano literally murder people, and everybody’s like, ‘I love them,’ and all we do is be kind of rude and do drugs sometimes and we’re unlikable.” “Fucking Dexter,” jokes Williams.

‘‘SHE COMPLETELY CHANGED THE LANDSCAPE,’’ SAYS JUDD APATOW.‘‘THERE WAS REALLY NO PRECEDENT FOR THAT LEVEL OF HONESTY AND BOLDNESS’’

It’s been nearly five years since viewers were first introduced to Dunham’s small-screen alter ego, Hannah, the 24-year-old would-be writer whose blithe narcissism was matched only by her crushing anxiety. She and her friends presented a no-filter snapshot of middle-class millennial malaise: There was Shoshanna, the manic naïf played by Zosia Mamet; Jemima Kirke’s Jessa, the proverbial free spirit who arrives two hours late to a dinner in her honor “wearing some fabulous blanket-y dress from a Grecian marketplace”; and Allison Williams’s Marnie, the responsible, Ann Taylor–suited barometer by which the others’ haplessness was measured, her frustrations with them often mirroring the audience’s own. Five years ago to the week, that foursome of then-unknown actresses sat around a tufted corner banquette at Williamsburg’s Cafe Colette for their first interview about the not-yetaired HBO show, which was drawing inevitable comparisons to Carrie Bradshaw and company. “It’s not the new Sex and 78

“When I had my first meeting with HBO and they said, ‘What do you want to do?’ I said, ‘I don’t see anyone who’s like me or anyone I love on television,’ ” explains Dunham. “And now— I’m not saying we started it, because I think we’re living in this Zeitgeisty movement toward it—but between Amy Schumer, Broad City, Mindy Kaling, that has changed.” Executive producer Judd Apatow cuts to the chase: “She completely changed the landscape. There’s an enormous amount of fantastic TV that followed in the footsteps of Girls. There was really no precedent for that level of honesty and boldness.” Broad City’s Abbi Jacobson agrees Dunham ushered in a new moment: “Lena was one of the first in a wave of


MOD SQUAD “It’s not the new Sex and the City,” Dunham said just before Girls premiered. “These are characters who watched that show, but their reality is extremely different.” FROM LEFT: Kirke, Dunham, Mamet, and Williams, photographed by Norman Jean Roy for Vogue, 2012.

creators writing and starring in their own material.” Even today’s series names—Inside Amy Schumer, The Mindy Project—confirm the show starts and stops with its creator and star. “I think the people I am close to are tired of the polished people with their polished lives being upset their husband didn’t carry the laundry upstairs or take the garbage out,” says Schumer, a Girls guest star who originally auditioned for the role of Shoshanna and whose raunchy sketch-comedy series clearly adheres to this ethos. “It’s fun to see people getting fired and getting semen on them.” Out of the gate, the sex on Girls was frequent, awkward, and explicit, inspiring passionate criticism and gratitude in equal measure. From the bedroom to the bathtub, Hannah has been very comfortable baring all. Not since Manet’s Olympia has the exposure of a woman’s body incited such polemic. “Lena’s a lightning rod; the show’s a lightning rod,” says Konner. Dunham’s deft ubiquity on social media has also brought her under fire. “Lena’s brand is ‘Live and learn,’ and I think sometimes the speed at which things come at us we go, ‘Oh, right, of course,’ and then she just tells her truth and says, ‘Oh, guys, I didn’t even realize what I was doing.’ ” Konner was referring to the controversy regarding assumptions Dunham made in a Lenny Letter interview about her Met-ball tablemate Odell Beckham Jr.’s lack of interest in her, for which she quickly apologized on Instagram. It was the kind of humble pivot also seen in response to the early criticism of the series’ lack of diversity. “We learned

it hard and fast,” says Konner. “It transformed us in terms of thinking about every element of hiring.” The producers sent up the controversy when they introduced Donald Glover’s Republican hipster character as Hannah’s shortlived boyfriend in season two. There has always been a wry self-awareness in the way the show handles the constant scrutiny. In season four, for example, Hannah is seen flailing as a substitute teacher, the words “mistakes are the portals of discovery”—james joyce printed in neat block type above the chalkboard. Girls is one of the only shows on television where four out of the five main producers are women. The endemic sexism of Hollywood is something Dunham and Konner take on with their burgeoning media company Lenny, which prioritizes giving voice to women’s issues (in addition to adding video content to the newsletter, they are going full throttle with their production company and a new publishing imprint with Random House). In the meantime, Dunham and her costars have been individually taking action for the causes they believe in. A week before their photo shoot, the quartet released a public-service announcement calling for a more supportive environment for victims of sexual assault; it went viral within hours. It was the first social issue they had addressed as a group. “Something I’m really proud of,” says Dunham, “is I look at this show, and we all started when we C O N T I N U E D O N P A G E 1 0 9 79


THE SPECTACULAR NOW “There’s often a job that’s a ‘before and after’ for an actor,” says Negga of her Loving role. “This is that kind of job for me.” Christopher Kane top and skirt. Rebecca de Ravenel earrings. Christian Louboutin heels. Details, see In This Issue. Fashion Editor: Tonne Goodman.


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With her mesmerizing performance in Jeff Nichols’s subtly groundbreaking film Loving, the Irish-Ethiopian actress Ruth Negga has become a star for our time. Gaby Wood discovers her gamine charm. Photographed by Mario Testino.


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’m a rag of a woman today,” Ruth Negga says in her faint Irish accent. She is pointing to her chipped green nail polish and apologizing for her eyebrows. She cut her hair herself, she says, before asking a professional to tidy it up. Earlier today she went to get her passport renewed. “Maybe . . . you could—blend?” the photographer said, gesturing around his face. She took a look and realized she had been quite slapdash with her bronzer and powder. By lunchtime, there’s no trace of this—with her huge, doll-like eyes and closely cropped hair, she is as glamorous as a thirties aviator in Paige jeans and an olive bomber jacket—but it’s easy enough to imagine Negga dismissing vanity as a fool’s game. Her gift for self-mockery and her appetite for the craic—an Irish expression for fun or gossip or high jinks—are matched only by her levels of propulsion: Her neat, tiny frame always seems to move forward at great speed. When director Jeff Nichols was trying to get financing for Loving, in which Negga and Joel Edgerton star as Mildred and Richard Loving—the real-life interracial couple whose quest to be considered legally married in 1958 Virginia became a landmark civil-rights case—he kept hearing the same thing: “Who’s Ruth Negga?” Few people are asking that now, but even so, Negga is not offended. “I’ve been working. Keeping a low profile—until bam!” She laughs. “Nothing slow and steady about me.” I had picked her up at home—a top-floor flat in London’s Primrose Hill, where she lives with her boyfriend and frequent costar, Dominic Cooper—and what felt like seconds after she’d stuck her head out the window and waved at me, she was bounding down the building’s stairs. “Dom’s doing a phone interview,” she said (I could hear a sonorous voice in the background), so we headed back to the street. As we walked to her favorite restaurant, she realized her justrenewed passport was still in her hand and, in one quick, disarming motion, pulled open the collar of her short-sleeved sweater and stuffed the passport into her bra. If you’ve seen Preacher, the stellar AMC adaptation in which Negga practically blows up the screen as the lethal Tulip O’Hare, you may recognize some of this comic-book dynamism. It comes as no surprise to learn that one of Negga’s preferred forms of exercise is the Israeli martial art Krav Maga: Picture a quick-witted pixie trained by Mossad, and you’re almost there. For Negga, the pleasure of playing a Tulip sort of character is that “you get to be goofy in a way only men generally get away with.” (“She takes things that aren’t even meant to be funny and makes them funnier,” says the comedian Seth Rogen, one of the 82

show’s creators.) In life she’s more poised and thoughtful, but just as expressive. Each time we meet, her eyes seem different: flecked with gold, framed by glasses, welling up with tears, or even, at times, presenting a challenge. Negga is 35 (though she feels she “was about 22 a second ago”), and her powers of transformation are such that she’s been cast, with striking frequency, as people who look and are nothing like her. Tulip is a busty blonde in the original. Nichols thought at first that she was too petite to play Mildred. Six years ago, she became the National Theatre’s first black Ophelia and let a troubling force of revenge seep through her sweetness. She embodies these characters so fully, you forget they could have been otherwise. At a time when most British exports to Hollywood have tended toward the aristocratic, this Irish-Ethiopian actress is a different kind of royalty, a “brilliant chameleon,” in the words of her friend the director Annie Ryan, fit for a world of equal rights and dissolving borders. In the theater, where she’s had a series of critical successes in Britain, there’s an incredible naturalism about her—“as if she’s short-circuiting technique,” in the words of one writer, “and simply relying on radiance.” On-screen, she can move you or make you laugh while appearing to do very little. Her exquisitely understated turn in Loving as a woman who bravely defends her family sparked rapturous reviews and immediate talk of Oscars. “I’ve witnessed some pretty amazing performances in my life,” Nichols says. “And you know it when you see it. It was uncanny what we were watching happening in front of us.” Negga knows that Loving is different from anything else she’s done. “There’s often a job that’s a ‘before and after’ for an actor,” she suggests. “This is that kind of job for me.” The impact was almost instantaneous. After the Cannes premiere, Negga and her cousin David Malone went back to the hotel and had martinis by the pool. There was a restaurant that Negga—in ruby lipstick, fingerwaved hair, and a black-lace Marc Jacobs dress—had to walk through to get to the ladies’ room, and, Malone remembers, “someone must have recognized her from the screening, because when she came back there was a standing ovation. All of these people got up and started cheering her and clapping. It was absolutely amazing.”

“I’ve witnessed some pretty amazing performances,” director Jeff Nichols says.“You know it when you see it”

Negga was born in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, to a white Irish nurse and a black Ethiopian doctor who’d met at Black Lion Hospital. When political violence broke out, four-year-old Ruth and her mother went to Ireland and waited for her father to join them. “We were going to go to America,” Negga says, “but my dad didn’t get out in time.” Three years later, her father died in a car accident. “We found out in a letter and a phone call,” she remembers. “This was 1988. There wasn’t any grief counseling for kids.” Her mother was devastated and never remarried. “She’s a survivor. Very like Mildred.” Unlike Mildred Loving, though, Negga’s mother didn’t encounter any prejudice from being in an interracial marriage. “My mum never experienced that—I mean, never,” Negga says.


In County Limerick, Negga melded into a large extended family of “about 23 boys.” She remembers having a lot of freedom—“We weren’t allowed in the house from about 9:00 till about 7:00”—and developing an early sense of mischief. “I was an attention seeker,” she says, “always in trouble.” Even now, she confesses, “sometimes Dom says to me, ‘Why do you look like you’ve just stolen a bun?’ ” She didn’t feel different from her fair-haired cousins, nor was she treated any differently. “I remember thinking, I’m just me. When you’re a kid, you’re just you, aren’t you? It was when I moved to England that I felt it, because I was Irish and black.” She was eleven. She was eventually drawn to Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, James Baldwin—none of them obvious influences for a girl from rural Ireland. “I didn’t have that many black people in my life, so I had to sort of search them out,” she says. “And I didn’t grow up in America, but I identified as much with their writing about the black experience as I did with their writing about the human experience.” Negga knew she wanted to be an actor when she saw David Bowie walking down a set of stairs in the eighties fantasy film Labyrinth. That and two other essays in alienation—the dizzying adaptation of Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting and La Haine, a bleak French film about racial violence—made her think, “OK, I’m going to be eighteen soon, so I’ll just go away and figure out how to do that.” While attending drama school at Trinity College Dublin’s Samuel Beckett Centre, she took to the work of the obscure Irish dramatist George Fitzmaurice and Seamus Heaney (she would later star in the first production of his Burial at Thebes). Annie Ryan, who gave Negga her first theater job in Dublin, as Lolita, saw her graduation performance and thought, “Oh, my God, I have to work with this girl.” When Negga was eighteen, her mother took her back to Ethiopia to visit her father’s grave, which she found challenging, as she has found all of her return trips since. “I find it difficult because it was an abrupt sort of ending to a lot of my life,” she explains. “I’m always very careful to say I’m Irish-Ethiopian because I feel Ethiopian and I look Ethiopian and I am Ethiopian. But there are 81 languages in Ethiopia, and I don’t know any of them.” In her early 30s, she decided to have therapy to address the loss of her father. It made her realize, among other things, that her decision to be an actor “was no coincidence. I think it makes me able to access certain things that are quite near to the surface,” she says, “an honesty or something about life that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.” Nicholas Hytner, who has directed her twice at the National Theatre, sees this quality come through in her work. “She has a wonderful transparency,” he says. “You can see what she’s thinking, share what she’s feeling, without her having to show you anything. And at the same time, she seems to have secrets.” The subject of how Negga identifies—nationally, racially, or otherwise—is one we circle more than once. “People have always made assumptions about me,” she says. “I become very territorial about my identity because it’s been hijacked by so many people, with their own projections.” Understandably, she doesn’t want to be pinned down, reserving the right

to change her mind, about herself or anything else. “I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t change their mind,” she says. That quicksilver quality has served her well. As Ryan says, “Maybe there’s something about her being a bit of an outsider, no matter where she is, that gives her that kind of fighter’s edge.” Two days later, Negga and I meet at Tate Modern. There is an exhibition of work by Wifredo Lam, the Afro-Cuban– Chinese painter, and she wants to see it because Lam reminds her of one of her favorite artists, Jean-Michel Basquiat. She arrives in a rush, a small whirlwind in a camel coat and oversize tortoiseshell glasses. “I’m so sorry,” she says, out of breath. Although she’s only a little late, she seems to have made a number of instant friends in the process. The driver has offered to take the blame, and the guards at the museum, it transpires, know her as Ruth. “It’s because they see my face and think, Oh. She’s in trouble,” Negga explains, her childhood as an impish tomboy never far from her mind. The previous evening was the press night for The Libertine, a play in which Dominic Cooper stars as the lecherous seventeenth-century Earl of Rochester. Friends and family celebrated into the small hours, and the couple awoke to excellent reviews. A coffee seems to be called for. We head to the café, where Negga asked the waiter for “75 shots.” She is given to energetic exaggeration and peppers her speech with profanity for emphasis—which makes the economy of her performance in Loving all the more remarkable. “We were very nervous,” she says as we perch on stools looking out over the murky Thames. Then she corrects herself. “I was nervous. They’re awful, press nights. But, you know, it’s a nice support group.” Cooper and Negga have been together since playing Greek lovers in Phèdre—written by Ted Hughes and starring Helen Mirren in the title role—in 2009. “Seven years,” Negga reflects. “What’s that in. . . .” “Dog years?” I offer. “Actor years,” she says. “Forty-nine million!” She describes their working pattern as “brilliant. Because we just get on really well.” Their costarring in Preacher wasn’t entirely planned, however. “I had the script first. And he put me on tape for it, reading, and then he was like: ‘Hold on a minute; this is really good.’ I showed him the comic-book cover, and it’s basically his face.” Rogen reports that Preacher benefits from their having known each other a long time. “When you understand the person you’re working with, it doesn’t always make everything easier,” he says, laughing a little, “but it generally makes everything better.” As we wander through the gallery, Negga sees a Lam painting she likes—a small explosion of sinister, deconstructed figures—and makes a Chaplinesque gesture, as if to steal it. A security guard appears out of nowhere and intervenes, treating her more or less like a small child. “See?” Negga says in a stage whisper as we quickly move into the next room. She tells me she painted a lot as a girl, but when I ask if she does now, she wrinkles her nose. C O N T I N U E D O N P A G E 1 0 9

“The film is reminding us that there’s a conversation that we need to be having still,” says Negga

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FACE TO FACE As Mildred Loving, Negga captures the quiet strength of a woman determined to have her interracial marriage be recognized in 1958 Virginia. The landmark case Loving v. Virginia changed American law. Gucci top and sequined leggings.


FREE SPIRIT The Irish-Ethiopian actress spent most of her childhood in County Limerick, surrounded by cousins—“about 23 boys,” she says.“I was an attention seeker, always in trouble.” Givenchy by Riccardo Tisci embroidered jacket, tulle top, and trousers. Details, see In This Issue.

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FULL FORCE “Maybe there’s something about her being a bit of an outsider, no matter where she is, that gives her that kind of fighter’s edge,” says the director Annie Ryan. Louis Vuitton top, pants, and pumps.


SET D ESIGN, JACK FLANAGAN FO R T HE MAG N E T AG E N CY. PRO DUCE D BY MAR IOTESTINO+ . LOCAL PRO DUCT IO N , GABRIE L HILL FO R G E PROJECTS.

FEMININE MYSTIQUE “She seems to have secrets,” says Nicholas Hytner, who has directed Negga twice at London’s National Theatre. Balenciaga top. Paula Mendoza Jewelry ear cuffs. In this story: hair, Christiaan; makeup, Mark Carrasquillo. Details, see In This Issue.


FLOWER POWER Spires of violet Salvia ‘Amistad’ and scarlet Crocosmia ‘Lucifer’ flowers against Wisteria brachybotrys ‘Shiro Kapitan’ in the house’s formal garden front. OPPOSITE PAGE: In Roberto Cavalli, the rose-tressed Sophie Compton, 23, Lady Tania’s daughter, stands among the Playpen of field poppies and cornflowers. Details, see In This Issue. Sittings Editor: Hamish Bowles.


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At her family home in the English countryside, garden designer Lady Tania Compton has conjured a riotous landscape—six acres as witty, thoughtful, and unexpected as she is. Hamish Bowles smells the roses. Photographed by Oberto Gili.


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was in a wild meadow in Ibiza that Lady Tania Compton experienced her botanical epiphany. The droll landscape architect has teasingly described the moment as “the Damascene conversion of my life from clubbing to cuttings,” and it certainly awakened her to the sensory possibilities of gardens. Tania, then in her early 20s, had recently been working for the Paris bureau of Women’s Wear Daily, swiftly graduating from “office dogsbody” to party supremo, giddily reporting from the city’s nocturnal hotspots dressed in borrowed Chanel haute couture. The first thing that caught her eye was anchusa, the brilliant purple-blue borage that grows wild on the Balearic island; frankly, it reminded her of a favorite Guerlain eye shadow. But then, as she brushed through thickets of helichrysum, she realized that her movements released a heady scent of paprika. “It was a lightbulb moment,” she remembers. “The smell got really under my skin.” Duly inspired, she returned to England to cultivate her garden. When her plumbago failed to take, she wrote to the gardening doyenne Penelope Hobhouse and was soon working for her on the famed National Trust gardens of seventeenth-century Tintinhull House. Projects for the legendary Rosemary Verey, and at Nancy Lancaster’s Kelmarsh Hall, followed. The next step was a course at London’s Chelsea Physic Garden. Nancy Lancaster predicted that Tania would surely fall in love with the head gardener, the distinguished, forgetme-not blue–eyed botanist, James Compton. The couple’s first “date” involved looking at slides from Compton’s recent plant-collecting trip to China: They were wed before the year was out. Tania and Jamie moved to a village house in the pretty English county of Wiltshire, where Tania created a garden of her own in a handkerchief-size plot. This was maintained, as she remembers, “to the nth degree. I was trying to do Sissinghurst in a village. It had good bones, but it was . . . un peu prétentieux!” Nevertheless, the results garnered her a decade-long stint as the garden editor for Britain’s House & Garden magazine, and landscaping commissions that now run the gamut from enhancing the

GARDEN VARIETY CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: 1. Lady Tania Compton tends to her garden in her working dungarees. 2. A pond with a view to the house was added to satisfy Freddie’s passion for fishing. 3. Box hedges flank the path leading to the children’s Wendy house. 4. Phlox paniculata ‘Starfire’ and Astrantia major ‘Shaggy’ bloom among Compton’s “manic profusion” in the formal gardens. 5. A caterpillar-shaped box hedge adds formality to a fennel bed. 6. Potted Dianthus ‘Rainbow Loveliness’ and Pelargonium ‘Mosquitaway’ plants on the kitchen terrace.

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romantic charm of Reddish House, the lilliputian mansion once owned by Cecil Beaton, to reimagining the magnificent historic gardens at Longford Castle, the Earl and Countess of Radnor’s Elizabethan palace. One evening, the relentlessly sociable Tania sallied forth for drinks with friends who lived in a slate-roofed eighteenthcentury stone farmhouse in the nearby countryside. Tania was just in time to see a full moon rise above an immense Iron Age triple-ringed hill fort across its fields. “It was magical,” she recalls. “I had this really strong presentiment. I just felt wildly at home there.” She soon was: The friends divorced not long after, and the Comptons took up residence with their two children— Sophie, then five, and her younger brother, three-year-old Freddie—and hosted weekend visits from Jamie’s three older children. Although the setting was bewitching, the house and its land turned their back on it. Inside, a fireplace wall blocked the heart-stopping view of the fort, and outside, the house was encircled in tarmac farmyard driveways and penned in by fences crowned in barbed wire. Nevertheless, as Tania remembers, “it was a blank canvas, which was perfect.” Apart from an ill-placed tennis court, however, the six thistled acres of sheep-grazing land were all on a slope leading down to a stream at the bottom. “Even the tarmac drive was on a whoopsie,” says Tania. She tore all the fences down. “It was a bit rash,” she admits, “because I knew then, as now, that we’re not full-time gardener creatures. A lot of people become slaves to their gardens and don’t leave them—like they won’t leave their pets. And that is not the intention.” Tania admits to spending two solid months of the year tending her plot, but she also finds time to work elaborate flame-stitch embroideries, to set the spiky leaves of the ‘Hemelrijk’ oaks in fluorescent resin bricks, and to get annual tennis elbow from stirring up a pantryful of jams and jellies. She has also recently added a book, The Private Gardens of England, to her bibliography. And the Comptons travel the world looking for rare plant species, many of which Jamie is now cultivating in what Tania teasingly calls the Playpen, adapted from the former tennis court. For the first two years the Comptons did nothing except raise vegetables and children, but before the area around the house was leveled, they dug a pond, and Tania set to work on a woodland garden that laps the stream that feeds it, creating a fernery, and a nut walk of snowdrops, aconites, and cowslips under the shade of coppiced hazel trees. “Winter full moons beam down here,” Tania explains, “and they light it up in this kind of Ibsen, Chekhov, birch forest–y kind of way. It’s so beautiful.” When the land around the house was eventually graded, Tania created a more formal series of herbaceous borders on the garden front and banished cars to a driveway safely beyond a garden of Mediterranean plants that form soft, fragrant clouds of silver and pale C O N T I N U E D O N P A G E 1 0 9 THROWING SHADE A willow glade—planted to evoke the beloved olive groves of the Comptons’ family holidays on the Mediterranean— forms a link between the “ring of fire” and the Playpen and the formal gardens above.

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Growing older gracefully is a noble idea, until it’s a dispiriting reality. A cosmetic-surgery virgin, Jancee Dunn wrestles with turning 50 and embarks on a yearlong journey of coordinated, noninvasive treatments that promise subtlety, without scalpels. Jessica, 2006, by Alex Katz.


A LE X KAT Z. J ESSI CA, 2006. O I L O N CA N VAS, 4 8 " X 9 6 " . © A L E X K AT Z / VAGA N EW YO R K , 2016.

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e are always the same age inside. Of all Gertrude Stein’s quotable remarks, this one resonates with me the most. My interior age has, for longer than I can remember, hovered around 30. On the outside, however, I recently turned 50, a number that still surprises me when I say it aloud. Similarly, when I catch an unexpected glimpse of my face, for a few unreal seconds, I often do not recognize myself—a jarring sensation the French call a coup de vieux.

Gravity finds us all, no matter how many green drinks you tip back or how diligently you hit the gym. My face has sunken in places and drooped in others. One of the many consequences of what I’ll call middle-age resting face is that I’ll look irritated when I’m in a perfectly sunny mood. Research has found that older faces are often rated as appearing more negative, presumably because of age-related changes. I’m constantly reassuring my young daughter that nothing’s wrong—I just have a permanent frown. And while I have been reasonably devoted to self-care for years, I lived fast and hard in my twenties, industriously and unrepentantly breaking down my collagen with scant 95


I was scowling, anyway, and simply assumed I had middleage resting face. No matter what decision a woman makes, she is in a defensive crouch. We have been mercilessly analyzed and assigned value for our looks since Plutarch picked over Cleopatra’s appearance, writing dismissively that her beauty was “not altogether incomparable, nor such as to strike those who saw her.” But I must admit I’m intrigued by modern methods of facial rejuvenation. We’ve come a long way from the scarily tight “cut and pull” days (the popularity of face-lifts has been on the decline for the past decade, according to the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery). Instead, the newest way to freshen your face is something L.A.–based cosmetic dermatologist Harold Lancer, M.D., refers to as “composite microtreatments,” employing many different nonsurgical procedures—from needle-delivered radio frequency and fractional lasers to fillers and prescription topicals—in conjunction with one another over time. This multipronged approach is gradual, gentle, tailored to each patient, and requires little if any downtime. The goal: not to obliterate your facial expressions, but to subtly introduce tweaks that banish redness, spots, and lines. In 2017, it’s not about looking decades younger, or visibly “done,” which is something that even a skittish treatment-phobe like myself can appreciate. I book a consultation with several eminent cosmetic dermatologists (we spend hours cross-referencing shoes online; we should be just as diligent about deal-hunting with our doctors). Savvier friends guide me on what to look for when I visit. In the waiting room, they instruct, put your phone away and look around. Watch the faces of those coming in and out: Are they unnaturally taut? Observe the staff, because a derm often treats them to procedures, too. “If they look crazy,” advises one friend, “run.” Oh, and don’t forget: Bring in a photo of yourself from ten or fifteen years ago so the doctor has a visual guide of—here’s a melancholy phrase—the person you used to be.

CROSSING OVER The author, in a Brock Collection coat and Anissa Kermiche earrings, in her Brooklyn neighborhood. Photographed by Ward Ivan Rafik. Fashion Editor: Gabriella Karefa-Johnson.

fter meeting with three doctors, I’m thinking of my mother as I walk up Park Avenue to see my final candidate, Macrene Alexiades, M.D., Ph.D. A former Southern pageant queen and still lovely in her 70s, Mom once issued me a warning: One day, you will be invisible. I tell her repeatedly that she receives admiring glances all the time—she has phenomenal bone structure, and dresses beautifully in simple, tailored clothing—but in my heart, I know what she means. She talks about little indignities, like the time she watched a news segment on fashion for “every age”: that is, the 30s, 40s, and 50s. After that, the producers evidently decided, fashion is a dark, barren universe, its postmenopausal inhabitants creeping around in comfort-waist Capri pants and fleece pullovers. I take a seat in Alexiades’s orchid-dotted office (no selfrespecting cosmetic dermatologist, I have learned, has an orchid-free office, or furnishings that are anything but clinically white). Next to me, a woman in a crisp power suit taps her phone—is she 35? 45? My age? It’s an odd feeling to have no idea whatsoever. Despite the now-familiar environs of a

in this magazine, I have resisted having any procedures done. Increasingly, however, as I turn up to photo shoots at which I am older than the crew and models by several decades, I sense the gulf between my inner and outer persona. As a stylist friend of mine eager to stay competitive puts it, “I need to get work done in order to get work.” And who am I kidding here? Vanity plays a big part, too. Recently I was riding the subway, and a leather-jacketed guy with a man bun kept glancing my way. I reflexively frowned at him and returned to my book. A moment later, when I glanced up and saw that he was still gawking, my scowl deepened: Women don’t like to be ogled, friend! Get the message! Then I realized that his gaze was actually trained slightly to my left. I turned to see a 20-year-old sylph with sleeve tattoos and the same Dr. Martens I wore three decades ago, studiously ignoring him but very aware of his presence. I have handbags older than her. Maybe the guy didn’t even know 96

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sleep, copious alcohol, and hours on the beach broiling my skin, slathered in baby oil. As a result, I look pretty much all of my 50 years. A more scrupulous peek in the mirror reveals broken blood vessels, hooded eyes, incipient jowls—you know you have hit midlife when this odious word enters your vocabulary—and what Amy Schumer has called an “at-risk chin.” Yet I have long resisted tampering with my face. As a journalist who has interviewed celebrities for a quarter century, I have witnessed, up close, some truly abysmal work: immobile, glassine foreheads; chipmunk cheeks tumescent with filler; lips plumped like inner tubes. (“My patients want to see their money’s worth,” a celebrity injector once told me with a shrug.) I am likewise disturbed by the needlessly overfilled faces of very young Insta stars, whose images are quickly turning into the new beauty standard. With the exception of a DOT laser on my upper eyelids six years ago, documented


high-end dermatology office, I am still jittery and fight the urge to bolt from the waiting room. So many things have the potential to go wrong, your humiliating results broadcast to the world. I think of a lunch I had with a friend who is an enthusiastic proponent of Botox. I was telling her about a tough time I was having, and it was the eeriest sensation to relay my tale of woe to a person whose expression was utterly impassive, the only sign of life an occasional nod. And even if the work I have done is barely detectable, I can’t shake the feeling that it still sends an unwelcome message that I’m shallow, uncomfortable with myself, unable to accept reality. Another persistent fear is this: What if you start altering your face—a tweak here, a jab there—and are eventually unable to tell that you are becoming unrecognizable? When I see a woman whose visage is rearranged so that she resembles a Cubist painting, my judge-y thoughts begin: I’m not staring because you look good, I’m staring because you look like a freak. But I must also admit to feeling, on some level, a certain recognition: I know why you wanted to change your face. I know what it’s like to hate your reflection some mornings. I’ve been there. I am there now. My thoughts are broken by the appearance of Alexiades, known as Dr. Macrene, who ushers me into her office and settles her Pure Yoga–toned frame into a white chair. I tell

broken capillaries. As she powers up the device and I don protective glasses, she tells me she chose the Genesis over the more popular Fraxel because it can go deeper—up to four millimeters. “You want to have the full thickness of the skin rejuvenated,” she says. “If you want to make an analogy, if the peel of the fruit is smoother, what good is it if there’s no substance inside?” As she moves the device quickly over my face, it feels like hot August sunshine. Aside from the piquant scent of my own burning flesh, it’s rather relaxing. But I can’t stop the hectoring voice in my head that now there is no turning back. What if my appearance is drastically altered and no one will level with me? I try to reassure myself by remembering the words of one derm I consulted: that those with aggressively pumped-up lips and cheeks are actually a very small percentage of people—they just happen to be a very visible percentage. You don’t notice the person with good results, because they simply look normal. Afterward, Dr. Macrene proffers a mirror. My face is slightly pink, as if I’ve gone for a long run. Within two weeks, she tells me, I’ll see fewer wrinkles. The process is not cheap: Lasers start at $900 a shot, fillers at $650, but Alexiades maintains that they are an investment for down the road. “A patient I saw today has built her own collagen around the filler I’ve done, and those lines are not coming back,” she says. “Now she’s in maintenance mode.” For many of her patients

It is the most seductively primal feeling to see your own vibrancy restored, and with it the markers of youthful health. It’s dangerous, delusional, and yet I want more, more, more her my idol for aging beautifully is Meryl Streep, to me the ultimate version of 67. Or maybe the elves from The Lord of the Rings, who have soft, dewy skin, even though they are several centuries old. She trains her unblinking gaze on my skin. I imagine I hear cyborg bleeps as her mind processes the data flow (she holds three degrees from Harvard). She looks sharply at me, writes rapidly in a notebook; looks again, writes rapidly, then shares her plan of attack. “It’s all coordinated,” she says in her blunt, rapid-fire way. “If all you do is injectables, you’re going to have old skin with fewer wrinkles.” Her protocol includes lasers to vanquish spots and redness, more lasers to build collagen and tighten the jowls, a fat-dissolving acid called Kybella for the extra bit under my chin, and a radio frequency treatment called the TriPollar for my neck (“basically three Thermages in one”). Garnish with tiny amounts of filler, “used judiciously,” Botox to lift the brow, and topical antiaging agents to build more collagen. All of this will allegedly occur with no downtime. (“Zero. Zero. I’m very fastidious.”) In the end I pick Dr. Macrene—for her almost-terrifying intellect, the reams of scientific research she has generated, and her resolute conviction that I will remain in possession of my facial expressions. Before I can hesitate, I book my first treatment: a Genesis laser, which works by gently heating the dermis below the skin’s surface to boost collagen, zap brown spots, and shrink

in maintenance, she only sees them once or twice a year. I am in what she terms “activation mode.” I must see her once a month. Dr. Macrene says: “Give me a year. Can you do that? It takes me that long to do all these things, and space them out, without overloading.” My decision is sealed two weeks later, when I notice that my face is glowing and tighter, as if a real-life Instagram filter has been applied—not the dramatic Amaro, necessarily, but perhaps Rise. I am flooded with emotions, the strongest being elation. It is the most seductively primal feeling to see your own vibrancy restored, and with it the markers of youthful health: fresh pink cheeks, blooming skin. It’s dangerous, delusional, and yet I want more, more, more. I’m already calculating how I can possibly afford the upkeep a year from now. I’m also hit with the realization of how thoroughly I had buried the disappointment of feeling defeated before I was even out of my pajamas, the bewilderment and sense of betrayal that my unintentionally morose expression was so completely out of sync with the energy and optimism I felt on the inside. Gravity had pulled down my psyche as well as my skin. My mother is right: It is painful to fade from public view, and it’s a potent hit of the crack pipe to discover that it’s entirely possible to slowly, steadily wind the clock backward. As my eyes range greedily over my face, I feel an almost sickening sense of hope as I begin a C O N T I N U E D O N P A G E 1 1 1 97


MOMENT OF

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PAN TS ON F IR E The Moment Skirt and dress lovers, avert your eyes (or, better yet, join the long-legged party): Pants are what’s talking and walking right now, whether they’re skinny, wide, cropped, or flared. The detail is in the hemline, and the guiding rule is an exposed ankle or a showcased shoe—and in case you have any doubts about the new dress code come late night or date night, take a cue from Mugler creative director David Koma. “Of course pants can be sexy,” says Koma of his resort collection’s snapcuff style, which goes from polished to playful in seconds (“I call them transformer trousers,” he adds). Throw a minidress or a tunic over the top and strut your stuff.

The Details

On model Karlie Kloss (OPPOSITE PAGE): Mugler silk pants, $1,950; net-aporter.com. Ports 1961 top, $1,198; farfetch.com. Proenza Schouler ribbed top; Proenza Schouler, NYC. J.W.Anderson earrings. Céline shoes. On Vanessa Axente: Dior dress and trousers ($1,550); select Dior boutiques. Céline earrings and pumps. Proenza Schouler clutches. On both: bracelets by Céline, Dinosaur Designs, and David Yurman. Hair, Akki; makeup, Dick Page for Shiseido. Details, see In This Issue. Photographed by Patrick Demarchelier. Fashion Editor: Alex Harrington.


What to Wear Where

LIME LIGHT Vivid electric-green slides and graphic sixties-inspired prints are perfect for taking in Hidden Figures, which stars Taraji P. Henson and Janelle Monåe as NASA’s glass-ceiling-shattering mathematicians. Model Vittoria Ceretti wears Miu Miu sandals ($690), sleeveless top ($745), knit top ($990), and pants ($1,675); select Miu Miu boutiques. Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses. Fashion Editor: Sara Moonves.


MOVER AND SHAKER A mega-ruffle dress gets the party started; the crimson stripe at the base of these Art Deco T-straps stops the show. Wear them both to see the charismatic singersongwriter Joseph Arthur create his usual loopedguitar spectacle at City Winery in New York. Gucci shoes ($1,690) and dress; select Gucci boutiques. Jennifer Fisher earrings. Details, see In This Issue.

I F

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S H O E

F I T S FROM BRIGHT-BLUE PLATFORMS TO RED-HOT HEELS, THE SEASON’S MOST EXCITING FOOTWEAR IS STEALING THE SPOTLIGHT. PHOTOGRAPHED BY THEO WENNER.


What to Wear Where SHAPING UP Slide on these crafty crocheted kitten heels and slip into this geometric-print dress—with matching shawl, no less—to see Ireland’s Druid theater company’s revival of The Beauty Queen of Leenane at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. Loewe sandals ($750), dress with shawl, and earrings; Loewe, Miami. Céline bag.


P HOTO G RA P HE D AT P E T ER PA N DO N UT & PAST RY S HOP, G RE EN P O I NT, B ROO KLYN .

SLEEP ON IT The loungewear-asdaywear trend shows no signs of abating. Proof positive: these richly embroidered slippers and this printed silky set. It’s a laid-back look for a visit to the Whitney Museum of American Art for “Fast Forward: Painting from the 1980s.” Model Grace Elizabeth wears Alberta Ferretti mules ($1,090); fwrd .com. Burberry shirt ($895) and cropped trousers ($895); burberry.com. Details, see In This Issue.


What to Wear Where

IN BLOOM Take these pretty botanic boots and this girly dress back to the garden at the Manhattan premiere of new work from Justin Peck at the New York City Ballet. Model Frederikke Sofie wears Fendi boots, $1,050; Fendi, NYC. Simone Rocha dress and cardigan ($975); Simone Rocha, NYC. BEAUTY NOTE Punch up pastels with a vibrant stained lip. Revlon’s Ultra HD Gel Lipcolor in HD Lava delivers hydration with pigment-rich payoff.

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RED DAWN Why wait for summer to try out your sassiest hot-pant—or your sportychic platform sandals? It’s a bold combination tailor-made for a stay at the newly opened Villa Marie hotel in St. Barth’s. Model Yasmin Wijnaldum wears Prada sandals, feathered top ($1,065), shirt ($1,205), and shorts ($1,065); select Prada boutiques. In this story: hair, Didier Malige; makeup, Aaron de Mey. Details, see In This Issue.


Index EDITOR: EMMA ELWICK-BATES

BEST IN S HOE O N

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1. Model Vittoria Ceretti wears Proenza Schouler sandals ($1,095), jacket, and skirt ($1,495); Proenza Schouler, NYC. 2. Rosetta Getty clogs, $1,100; modaoperandi.com. 3. Salvatore Ferragamo sandals; select Salvatore Ferragamo boutiques. 4. AGL sandals, $581; agl.com.

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1 , 5, & 15: TH EO WENNER . FASH ION ED ITOR : SARA MOONVES. H AIR, D ID IER MALIG E ; MAKEU P, AARO N D E MEY. S E T D ES IG N, N ICHO LAS D ES JAR D IN S FO R MARY HOWAR D STUD IO. PRO DUCED BY PATR I CK VAN MAANE N FO R MOX IE PRODUCT IO NS. 2 : M ODAOPE RAN D I.CO M. 3, 4, 7, 8, & 14: LUCAS VISSER . 6: COURTESY OF BCBG MAX AZ R IA. 9: COURTESY O F O RIBE . 10: COU RT ESY O F FRAT E LLI ROS E LLI. 1 1 : COU RT ESY O F FWR D.COM. 12: COURTESY OF PH ILOSOPH Y D I LOR ENZO SERAFINI. 13: COU RT ESY O F BOTTEGA VE N E TA. D E TAILS, S E E IN T HIS ISSU E .

F L E E T



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5. Model Frederikke Sofie (NEAR RIGHT) wears Versace sandals, $995; select Versace boutiques. Koché dress; select Nordstrom stores. On model Yasmin Wijnaldum: Prada sandals, top ($1,065), shirt ($1,205), and shorts ($695); select Prada boutiques. On model Selena Forrest: Maison Margiela sandals ($990), top, and jacket; select Maison Margiela boutiques. Givenchy by Riccardo Tisci skirt, Givenchy, NYC. 6. BCBG Max Azria clutch, $178; bcbg.com. 7. Dries Van Noten sandals, $700; Barneys New York, NYC. 8. Brunello Cucinelli sandals; Brunello Cucinelli, NYC. 9. Oribe the Lacquer High Shine Nail Polish in The Nude, $32; oribe.com. 10. Fratelli Rossetti sandals, $600; fratellirossetti.com.







 C O L O R R I O T S 11. Brother Vellies boots, $1,395; fwrd.com. 12. Philosophy di Lorenzo Serafini bag, $690; Capitol, Charlotte, NC. 13. Bottega Veneta clutch; (800) 845-6790. 14. Dr. Martens boots, $145; drmartens .com. 15. Forrest wears Alexander McQueen boots; Alexander McQueen, NYC. Marques’Almeida jacket ($953) and pants ($627); marquesalmeida.com.

 

C H EC K O U T VO G U E . C O M FO R M O R E S H O P PA B L E L O O K S






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the government? The uncertainty made the terror worse. And it came gradually closer: explosions in metro stations in distant Istanbul neighborhoods, then in the Old City, then on Istiklal Avenue. The reaction was a mix of fear, heartache, and detachment. Everyone in the city moved on so quickly after bombings that you yourself barely noticed how many had gone off. What I did notice was the increasing frequency of emails from friends at home: When are you getting out of there? Isn’t it time to leave? This is insane. What do we mean when we talk about safety? A year ago, I began reporting a story in an unfamiliar neighborhood on conservative Muslims and the influx of Syrian refugees. My American acquaintances, even the tolerant ones, thought such a place might be forbidding because of its strict Islamic traditions: Many women were covered, some in black chador; some men dressed like imams. The area also was famous for drugs, mafia, guns, and thieves. Yet it had not occurred to me to worry. In these old Ottoman neighborhoods, people rush by on narrow streets, engage in daily exchanges—of commerce, of greetings, of complaints. If you come up short a few lira at the deli, the shop owner insists you take your goods anyway, not because he is generous but because he knows that you have to come back. Everyone is up on everyone’s business, everyone is watching, and, of course, they were watching me, too. Little can happen to you when the neighborhood is an organism in and of itself, something that must be loved, fed, and protected. That’s the feeling of security I’ve carried with me in Istanbul. For years I’ve left my purse, phone, or laptop at tables in restaurants when I go to the bathroom, and I’ve always walked home by myself late at night. I am comforted by the most ordinary community rituals: the groups of men lumbering up the hills after Friday prayer; the boys bringing tea on trays from a café to a deli employee; cats stretched across a coffee-shop counter; hipsters too respectful of Istanbul cat culture to disturb them. Once my 65-year-old mother came to visit and, while walking on the dark back streets of Beyog˘lu, tripped on the cobblestones and fell. The area had been empty; it was late at night. Before I could bend down to help her, seemingly ten men were at our side, as if they had been watching from the windows or sensed her pain through the walls. “Oh!” she exclaimed, more stunned by the reception than the fall.

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“Oh, my goodness! How nice. So sorry to bother you!”—a deeply American reaction to standard Turkish operating procedure of social obligation and reciprocity. This is what the recent political unrest threatens to unravel—and my friends and I have begun wringing our hands. One thinks of moving back to Athens; a Turk married to an American I know is considering the United States. Another Turkish friend has become so distraught over her country’s politics—the persecution of dissidents, the war against the Kurds, the arrests of democratically elected politicians—that she has developed a mysterious illness and rarely wants to venture out of the house. Turks who do not support the government live ever more circumscribed lives. Many have fled the country, and many more are in jail. The only people moving to Istanbul these days are journalists, who can’t help expressing an unseemly excitement about all the new and grim prospects for work. Throughout my neighborhood, for rent signs hang in the windows. After the airport attack, the tourists stopped arriving completely, and rich Turks in their SUVs no longer “come downtown” either. Even a Starbucks has closed its doors. The day before July’s military coup, I said goodbye to two American friends who had decided to move to Lisbon after fifteen years here. For them, the city had changed in ways they could no longer accept. They told me that the French consulate had issued a terror warning for Istanbul, and reflexively I wondered why we were sitting outside. Later that night, I saw on the news that a truck had rammed into a crowd in Nice. Twenty-four hours later, the military coup began. It seemed that enormous, horrific events were happening everywhere, and whether to leave Istanbul was beside the point—nowhere was particularly safe. A few months ago, just before seven in the morning, an apartment across from mine had a gas explosion, the force of which was so strong that shattered bits of glass blew clear across the roof of a mosque and into my own fifth-story windows. I was jolted straight out of bed and onto the floor. It sounded like a bomb. It didn’t really matter, to my rattled psyche, that it wasn’t. I have begun to believe that a price one pays for living in an unstable place is a failure of imagination. I have had a couple of serious relationships over my decade here, but I am unmarried and have often thought about whether I want a child. My answer used to have to do with things like how much money I make, how much I like babies. Now I look out the window and

am confronted with the world out there, the world I would be bringing a child into, one that often feels chaotic and bleak. But all such calculations are speculative and to some degree irrational. They are about wondering if someplace would be better, some time, some future, will be safe. Many of us from the U.S. grew up believing security was our birthright. When that is threatened, our impulse is to withdraw or lash out. In Turkey I learned that the future will never be predictable and that mutual dependence in daily life is the truest form of safety. When I am confused about whether to leave Istanbul, I think about those tight-knit Ottoman neighborhoods and take my cue from the Turks, many of whom would never abandon the communities they have created, and who, like most of the world, don’t even have the extraordinary privilege of leaving. A Turkish artist who recently returned from living in New York for ten years told me that it had been a difficult place for him. “The city is a grid, designed to get you from place to place quickly,” he said. “It’s a strange concept of time for me. I missed Istanbul, where I can look at something 600 years old and know it will always be there. There is something reassuring about that.” Being surrounded by history—what I craved when I moved abroad—does offer its comforts. When I wake up in the middle of the night and look out my living-room windows to a wide view of the city, I see the fourteenthcentury Galata Tower brilliantly lit, a huge stone column that has survived all manner of war and atrocity. The tower is strong, permanent, and proud. And it is a reminder that far more important than plotting an escape is learning how to preserve and honor the life that we love—and to stay. 

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actresses that were taller,” says writercreator Daisy Goodwin. “It was central to Victoria’s character that she was tiny and surrounded by a forest of men.” Goodwin’s show casts a dark shadow over Victoria’s early years. We first meet the young princess, semi-imprisoned by her mother, the Duchess of Kent, and the scheming courtier Sir John Conroy, in a dilapidated Kensington Palace. The royal residences were, contrary to the luxury one might imagine, crumbling and infested with rats by the end of the reign of William IV (Victoria’s uncle). Victoria’s only sources of love were her governess, Baroness Lehzen, and her spaniel, Dash. “Victoria was an unlikely character,” says Coleman when I meet her at

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London’s Covent Garden Hotel for tea. “She grew up very isolated and then became the most powerful woman in the world overnight. She was so inexperienced, so inconsistent—apparently she even threw scissors at her governess! But through all her flaws her core was good. Her diaries show that there was a pureness to her, a will to do a good job.” I watched the series with one eye on the screen and another stuck into a fascinating new biography—Victoria: The Queen (Random House), by Julia Baird—that reflects Goodwin’s view that while Victoria was “the first woman to have it all,” she could also be “a mean girl. She was very troubled and tempestuous,” often lashing out at those close to her. A fascinating episode covers the scandal of Lady Flora Hastings, a lady-in-waiting whom court rivals accused of becoming pregnant by Sir John Conroy after she developed a swollen abdomen. The queen insisted that Hastings, who was a virgin, undergo a humiliating series of medical examinations. When she died soon afterward, it was revealed she was suffering from a horribly enlarged liver. Still, with the dark there is light. Prince Albert is played by 31-year-old Tom Hughes, whose breakout role in Ricky Gervais’s Cemetery Junction anointed him as a cool young British actor. He cuts a dashing figure as the youthful prince consort. “There is a quiet strength to Albert,” Hughes tells me, “and a moral center that is unwavering.” Victoria was obsessed with him and after his early death, at age 42, was rarely happy. No one committed to her like Albert. (In fact, it has been widely reported that Hughes and Coleman are a couple, though each will admit only to being “old friends.”) The eight-part series—a second is in the works—covers just the early years of Victoria’s astonishing 64-year reign and stops when she is 21, with the birth of her first child (she would go on to have nine). But I read on to the end of her life story, which was marked by both great power and unimaginable grief. When Victoria buried her dog Dash, the epitaph on the marble effigy above his grave in Windsor Home Park read, “His attachment was without selfishness/His playfulness without malice/His fidelity without deceit.” A telling tribute from a girl who often felt alone in the world—even if she was the empress of most of it. 

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were between 22 and 25. It would have been very easy for all of us to go, ‘Yeah, we’re just going to fashion shows and

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taking free trips to St. Barth’s,’ but these women have made a really strong commitment to use their platform for something powerful. No one has used this new attention just to acquire handbags.” For her part, Dunham enlisted herself with the Clinton campaign to help galvanize the millennial vote. The next chapter will take these Girls in different directions, though they insist they will be better at staying in touch than their flaky doppelgängers. In February, Williams will appear in Jordan Peele’s Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner–like horror film Get Out; Mamet is slated to star as Patti Smith in the movie Mapplethorpe; Kirke plans to focus on her painting; and Dunham, unsurprisingly, has a stockpile of projects, including a new book, more time devoted to Lenny, and writing and directing film and TV to “make space for giving great roles to other women and diverse women.” (The boys of Girls are busy, too, with Driver commanding the screen in everything from Star Wars to Scorsese’s Silence, and Andrew Rannells, Hannah’s acerbic best friend, currently lighting up Broadway in Falsettos.) As for where these characters are going in life, Konner will say only, “I can tell you that the girls, in a very Girls way, do finally start to grow up. Our greatest hope is that the audience finds the end as satisfying as we do. But then if the audience was entirely pleased, it wouldn’t be Girls, would it?” 

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“I don’t like hobbies,” she says emphatically. In the little spare time she has, she says, “I read and travel and see my friends before they disown me.” She has just finished Patti Smith’s memoir M Train and is about to embark on Zadie Smith’s new novel, Swing Time. As for the future, she’d love to work with Jeff Nichols again and maybe do a biopic about the Irish writer Maeve Brennan. For now, though, she can’t think much beyond the second season of Preacher, which she’ll finish filming in July. “I really need a holiday after that.” When we next speak, Negga is in New York, on her way to the airport, and is shattered. She has spent virtually every waking hour since we last met promoting Loving. “My voice has dropped 72 octaves, and I sound like an emphysemic 80-year-old,” she says. She has found the whole process of being herself in public “terrifying.” She was once in a play in which she had to be naked every night for eight months, and claims that was “far easier” than a minute with Jimmy Fallon on The Tonight Show.

More seriously, though, she is all too aware that Loving has come at a moment of reckoning with America’s troubled history and current racial turmoil. In Hollywood, the lack of diversity has been “unacceptable for a long time, and it’s becoming clearly an embarrassment,” she says. Though she is beginning to see a shift, with the release of films like Barry Jenkins’s Moonlight and Ava DuVernay’s documentary 13th, there is still much more to be done. She is proud that Loving was the first full-length film to be screened at the new National Museum of African American History and Culture. As Negga explains, “The film is reminding us that there’s a conversation that we need to be having still.” Though restrained in its style, Loving gestures strongly toward something much broader. “It does annoy Joel and me when people say it’s a quiet film,” she says. “Because it doesn’t feel very quiet to us. It feels really loud.” 

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yellow at the house’s entrance. The wild meadows were originally devised as a labor-saving strategy (“Gardens where you feel just free are really hard to come by,” says Tania. “There’s just too much work in too many gardens”), but Tania now exults in the insect life they nurture, as well as their everchanging visual tapestry. In spring the orchard is carpeted with bulbs—snowdrops and Crocus tommasinianus, and then double-white Camassia lilies, species tulips, narcissi, Scilla siberica ‘Spring Beauty,’ and Chionodoxa. By autumn the lower fields are a blaze of orange, pink, and red. “It’s like Jaipur comes to Wiltshire,” says Tania. “It’s fatal now that catalogs are online,” she adds, laughing. “Unfortunately, I’ve got obsessions that go from annuals and seeds and bulbs all the way up to bloody trees.” Tania knew what she wanted longterm, but “it all happened in tiny stages,” as she recalls, “with no plan. It’s so much the best way to go because when one bit starts to get established, then you can move on to the next. And you get things in the right place because you suddenly realize where the light is best, where you really are going to sit.” Not that Tania approves of garden seats; instead, hammocks are slung from ancient boundary oak trees so that she can admire their spreading branches overhead and not worry about what still needs to be done. Tania uses these gardens as a laboratory of ideas for her professional commissions, but they are also intensely personal—as C O N T I N U E D O N P A G E 1 1 0

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witty, stylish, and surprising as she is. Above all, the intention is to create moments of serendipitous discovery. “It’s not a usual garden of compartments, where there’s a sequential way around,” as Tania explains. “There are paths crisscrossing every which way, and you can get so many different perspectives.” The antique-rose walk, for instance, was planted far enough away that it becomes a destination during the short but glorious blooming season, but the messiness remains undiscovered during the rest of the year. The pond was created to satisfy Freddie’s childhood obsession with fishing, while the beloved olive groves of the Comptons’ Mediterranean holidays are now evoked by a willow glade, its layout inspired by the rigorous plant architecture of interior designer John Stefanidis’s Cock Crow Farm in Dorset, which Tania finds

unmatched “for chic and atmosphere.” In homage to her husband’s passion for Johnny Cash, meanwhile, Tania planted a “ring of fire”—a triple circle of Liquidambar styraciflua with upward-reaching branches that burst into brilliant ember orange in the depths of fall. In a diversion from exploring the secret lives of plants, Jamie spent a decade collecting and dealing in antique blue–and–white Chinese porcelain. A coveted triple-gourd vase, however, had always been beyond his reach, so Tania gave him one: a waving boxwood-hemmed triple border, shaped like that elusive vessel, that now links the “olive grove” with the “ring of fire.” The Playpen, meanwhile, reveals the intrepid plant sleuthing that began when Jamie won his preparatory school’s gardening prizes—having raided its compost heap to find discarded yuccas and other rare varieties. In the Playpen there is now

In This Issue Contents 16: On Ali: Dress, $1,995; select Saks Fifth Avenue stores. Michael Kors Collection belt, price upon request; select Michael Kors stores. On Julio Roche Pagan (far left): Jeffrey Rüdes suit, $2,000; jeffreyrudes.com. Theory shirt, $195; theory .com. J.Crew tie, $60; jcrew .com. On Lily O’Donnell and AnnMarie Geigher: French Toast Uniforms blouse ($22), pleated skirt ($24), and ties; frenchtoast.com. On Tristan Riza: Polo Ralph Lauren suit ($545) and shirt ($55); ralphlauren.com. Bonpoint tie, $130; Bonpoint NYC. Cover look: Shirt, $550; Alexander Wang, NYC. Ear cuff, price upon request; Curve, L.A. Beauty 37: Jacket ($3,390) and tank top ($490); Saint Laurent, NYC. PATA 42–43: Up Next: Leather jacket ($3,300), sweater ($780), and silk dress ($3,470); select Marni boutiques. Sacai sandals, $1,050; A’maree’s,

Newport Beach, CA. Design: Orange rug ($700) and purple rug ($1,400); sienandco.com. Talent: Trench coat, $3,325; select Versace boutiques.

RISE & SHINE 46–47: On Jenner: Skirt ($6,900), earrings ($695), and sandals ($1,050). Sandals, similar styles at Proenza Schouler, NYC. Faux-fur coat, price upon request; golfwang.com. On Bennett: T-shirt, $30; golfwang.com. On McLaughlin: Illegal Civilization T-shirt; store.illegalcivilization .com. On Alfred: Illegal Civilization sweater, $250; store.illegalcivilization .com. On Tyler, the Creator (far right): Zebra-print shirt, $100; golfwang.com. 48: Heels, $1,180; similar styles at Stella McCartney, L.A. On Tyler (seated): Golf Wang cardigan (price upon request), trousers ($125), and socks ($25 for three pairs); golfwang

.com. On Na-Kel Smith: Long-sleeved T-shirt, $40; fuckingawesomestore .com. 49: Earring, $425 for pair. On Alfred (far left): Illegal Civilization jacket ($50) and polo ($50); store.illegalcivilization.com. On Tyler: Golf Wang jacket, price upon request; golfwang .com. 50: Belt, $285. On Tyler (far left): Golf Wang hoodie, $80; golfwang.com. 51: Dress ($9,000), earring ($320 for pair), choker ($350), ring ($240), bag ($3,400), and tall sneakers ($1,600). On Bennett (far left): Golf Wang sweater, price upon request; golfwang.com. On Tyler: Golf Wang shirt (price upon request) and cap ($40); golfwang.com. 52–53: Dress, price upon request. Earring, $255; select Hermès boutiques. Choker, price upon request; ippolita.com. On Tyler: Golf Wang shirt ($110) and cap (price upon request); golfwang .com. 54: Skirt, $5,870. Belt, $800; select Maison Margiela boutiques. On Tyler: Golf Wang T-shirt ($30), pants ($125), and cap ($40); golfwang .com. 55: Shoes, $2,250. On

Eryngium pandanifolium and Glandularia platensis from Argentina, Berberis from the Great Wall of China, Ardisia crenata from Japan, Geranium harveyi from South Africa, iris from southern Turkey, and Salvia microphylla ‘Cerro Potosi’ found 12,000 feet up on a mountain in Mexico during an adventuresome trip that saw the couple dodging warring drug lords and swarming monarch butterflies. There are also a number of rare wisteria varieties—Jamie is currently reclassifying the plant using DNA. (He is also the consultant editor of the newly published Plant: Exploring the Botanical World, a ravishing survey of the history of botanical art from prehistoric times to 2016.) “Fifteen years in, the garden is sort of done,” Tania confides, not entirely convincingly. “I don’t want to keep on adding here anymore. It’s now a permanent edit, which is quite a relief, actually.

Bennett (far left): Golf Wang sweater, price upon request; golfwang.com. On Smith: Illegal Civilization sweater, $40; store.illegalcivilization.com. On Tyler: Golf Wang bomber, price upon request; golfwang .com. On Alfred: Illegal Civilization grid-print track suit ($425) and T-shirt ($30); store.illegalcivilization .com. 56: Dress, $5,490. Choker, $375; select Versace boutiques. Bag, $1,215; select Tod’s boutiques. Over-the-knee heels, $1,390; select Gucci boutiques. Golf Wang coat (over the shoulders), price upon request; golfwang.com. Right, on Tyler: Golf Wang polo shirt (price upon request), pants ($125), and newsboy hat ($50); golfwang.com. 57: Socks ($100) and shoes ($950). Socks, similar styles at Givenchy, NYC. Shoes, similar styles at Neiman Marcus, LA. On Tyler (midair, left): Golf Wang cardigan and cap, priced upon request; golfwang.com. On Bennett: Golf Wang sunglasses, price upon request; golfwang.com. 58–59: Leather top and dress, priced upon request.

Bag, $1,130; off---white.com. Sneakers, $1,225; select Hermès boutiques. On Tyler: Golf Wang cap, $40; golfwang .com. On Smith (far right): Fucking Awesome hoodie, $80; fuckingawesomestore .com. In this story: Tailor, Hasmik Kourinian for Susie’s Custom Designs, Inc. Manicure, Lisa Jachno.

HOME OF THE BRAVE 60–61: On Khepra: Dress, $1,795; select Saks Fifth Avenue stores. On Vargas: $790; The Row, NYC. On Moore: Dress, $1,975; select Michael Kors stores. 62–63: On Woodley: Shirt, $60; gap .com. Jeans, $70; levi.com. On Three Legs: Shirt, $50; gap .com. 64–65: On Wek: Dress, $695; select Tory Burch stores. On Mayen: $2,295; select Michael Kors stores. On Deng: A.L.C. dress, $795; Saks Fifth Avenue, NYC. On Bol: Top ($345) and skirt ($595). Top at shopbop.com. Skirt at revolve.com. On Majak: Dress, $2,600; Barneys New York, NYC. On all: Alexander Wang sandals, $525; similar styles at Alexander Wang,

VOGUE IS A REGISTERED TRADEMARK OF ADVANCE MAGAZINE PUBLISHERS INC. COPYRIGHT © 2017 CONDÉ NAST. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. VOLUME 207, NO. 1. VOGUE (ISSN 0042-8000) is published monthly by Condé Nast, which is a division of Advance Magazine Publishers Inc. PRINCIPAL OFFICE: 1 World Trade Center, New York, NY 10007. S. I. Newhouse Jr., Chairman Emeritus; Charles H. Townsend, Chairman; Robert A. Sauerberg Jr., President & Chief Executive Officer; David E. Geithner, Chief Financial Officer; James M. Norton, Chief Business Officer & President of Revenue, Condé Nast. Periodicals postage paid at New York, NY, and at additional mailing offices. Canada Post Publications Mail Agreement No. 40644503. Canadian Goods and Services Tax Registration No. 123242885-RT0001. POSTMASTER: Send all UAA to CFS (see DMM 507.1.5.2); NON-POSTAL AND MILITARY FACILITIES: Send address corrections to VOGUE, P.O. Box 37617, Boone, IA 50037-0617. FOR SUBSCRIPTIONS, ADDRESS CHANGES, ADJUSTMENTS, OR BACK-ISSUE INQUIRIES: Please write to VOGUE, P.O. Box 37617, Boone, IA 50037-0617, call 800-234-2347, or email subscriptions@vogue.com. Please give both new and old addresses as printed on most recent label. Subscribers: If the Post Office alerts us that your magazine is undeliverable, we have no further obligation unless we receive a corrected address within one year. If, during your subscription term or up to one year after the magazine becomes undeliverable, you are ever dissatisfied with your subscription, let us know. You will receive a full refund on all unmailed issues. First copy of new subscription will be mailed within four weeks after receipt of order. Address all editorial, business, and production correspondence to VOGUE Magazine, 1 World Trade Center, New York, NY 10007. For reprints, please email reprints@ condenast.com or call Wright’s Media 877-652-5295. For reuse permissions, please email contentlicensing@condenast.com or call 800-897-8666. Visit us online at www.vogue.com. To subscribe to other Condé Nast magazines on the World Wide Web, visit www.condenastdigital.com. Occasionally, we make our subscriber list available to carefully screened companies that offer products and services that we believe would interest our readers. If you do not want to receive these offers and/or information, please advise us at P.O. Box 37617, Boone, IA 50037-0617, or call 800-234-2347. VOGUE IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE RETURN OR LOSS OF, OR FOR DAMAGE OR ANY OTHER INJURY TO, UNSOLICITED MANUSCRIPTS, UNSOLICITED ART WORK (INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, DRAWINGS, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND TRANSPARENCIES), OR ANY OTHER UNSOLICITED MATERIALS. THOSE SUBMITTING MANUSCRIPTS, PHOTOGRAPHS, ART WORK, OR OTHER MATERIALS FOR CONSIDERATION SHOULD NOT SEND ORIGINALS, UNLESS SPECIFICALLY REQUESTED TO DO SO BY VOGUE IN WRITING. MANUSCRIPTS, PHOTOGRAPHS, AND OTHER MATERIALS SUBMITTED MUST BE ACCOMPANIED BY A SELF-ADDRESSED STAMPED ENVELOPE.

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I spend much more time just sitting with a book, watching dragonflies and the kingfisher that comes through here. I think gardening is really all about fulfilling a visual need for nature . . . birds nesting in trees that you’ve planted, insect life and butterflies everywhere. It’s therapy. It’s actually heaven.”

FACE ODYSSEY CONTINUED FROM PAGE 97

A WORD ABOUT DISCOUNTERS W HI LE VOGUE T HO ROUG HLY RES EA RC HES T HE COMPANIES ME N TI ON ED I N I TS PAG ES, W E CA N N OT GUA RA NT E E T HE AUT HE N TI CI T Y O F M ERCH AND ISE SOLD BY D I SCOUN T ERS. AS I S A LWAYS T HE CASE IN PU RC HAS I N G A N IT E M FRO M A NY WH ER E OTH ER THAN THE AUTHORIZED STORE, THE BUYER TAKES A RISK AND SHOULD USE CAUTION WHEN DOING SO.

cosmic bargaining that rarely ends well in Greek mythology: Please, please, just give me a few years in this hypnotic limbo, and I promise I’ll be more accepting of this whole age thing. I keep thinking of Dr. Macrene’s promise to zap away my jowls. “You’ll have your mandible back!” she said. I would give anything to glance down at my smartphone and not stifle a scream when I see the mocking reflection of my marionette lines.

NYC. 66–67: On Mckesson: Shirt, $195; Theory stores. Tom Ford pants, $970; select Tom Ford boutiques. On Ross: Suede trench coat, $1,998; ralphlauren.com. 68–69: On Burch: Dress, $495. On Lassair: Dress ($350) and shoes (price upon request). On O’Brien: Sweater ($325) and skirt ($350). All at select Tory Burch stores. On DeVane: Sweater ($175) and skirt ($250); torysport.com. 70–71: On Preston: Long-sleeved T-shirt, $100; hpcxdsny.com. On Bishop: Rain jacket, $600; hpcxdsny.com. Leggings, $125; torysport.com. On Camacho: Shirt ($110), long-sleeved T-shirt ($120), and hat ($75); hpcxdsny.com. 72–73: On Nef: Blouse, $895; select Marc Jacobs stores. In this story: Tailor, Laura Cortese for Christy Rilling Studio. Manicure, Gina Viviano for Chanel Le Vernis and Daria Hardeman. Special thanks to Creative Engineering and Oliphant Studio.

QUEEN V 74–75: In this story: Hair and makeup, Katharine Scott. Costume standby, Sabine Lemaître. Location equipment provided by gempe.co.uk. GIRL TALK 76–77: On Kirke: Blouse, $895; neimanmarcus.com. Jeans, $258; aritzia.com. Hermès ring, $1,325; select Hermès boutiques. On Williams: Sweater, $1,390; modaoperandi.com. Skirt, $1,395; select Barneys New York stores. On Mamet: Dress, $2,290; modaoperandi

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When I was in my 30s and wrote for Rolling Stone, I regularly interviewed some of the most famous women in music. If any of them happened to be over 50, I was instructed by my editors to ask them how they felt about aging (blithely not realizing at the time how incredibly annoying that unrelenting question is). I received the same succinct answer from Dolly Parton, Cyndi Lauper, and Cher: It sucks. (Or, as Cher recently expanded on Twitter in her inimitable Cher way, it “Sucks the Big 1.”) The hell with it. I’m taking the plunge. I have no desire to look like a 22-yearold—or at least a simulacrum of one— but the idea of being the best possible version of 50 is a heady one. I speed-dial the doctor and tell her that yes, absolutely, I’ll give her a year of my outer, 50-yearold life. And so it begins. 

.com. Vhernier 18K–rose gold ring, $5,100; Vhernier, NYC. On Dunham: Dress, $1,595; christopherkane.com. Alison Lou earrings ($4,115) and ring ($2,550); alisonlou.com. In this story: Tailor, Leah Huntsinger for Christy Rilling Studio.

RUTH ON THE RISE 80–81: Top (price upon request) and skirt ($3,995); christopherkane.com. Earrings, $345; rebeccaderavenel.com. Heels, $675; christianlouboutin .com. 84: Top ($4,300) and leggings ($2,890); select Gucci boutiques. 85: Jacket ($8,250), tulle top ($3,450), and trousers ($1,495). Jacket and tulle top at Givenchy, NYC. Trousers at Neiman Marcus, L.A. 86: Top, bodysuit, pants, and pumps (priced upon request); select Louis Vuitton boutiques. 87: Top, $1,695; Balenciaga, NYC. Ear cuffs, $155 each; paulamendoza.com. In this story: Tailor, Hasmik Kourinian for Susie’s Custom Designs, Inc. Manicure, Lisa Jachno. WILD AT HEART 89: Blouse ($950) and trousers ($1,140); select Roberto Cavalli boutiques. FACE ODYSSEY 96: Coat, $2,690; A’maree’s, Newport Beach, CA. Earrings, $447; matches.com. MOMENT OF THE MONTH 98–99: On Kloss: Ribbed top, price upon request; similar styles at Proenza Schouler, NYC. Earrings, $450; j-w-anderson .com. Shoes, $1,100; Céline,

NYC. On Axente: Dress, price upon request. Earrings ($680) and pumps ($910). Earrings at Bergdorf Goodman, NYC. Pumps at Céline, NYC. Proenza Schouler small leather clutch ($850) and medium leather clutch ($995); Proenza Schouler, NYC. On both: Céline flower-petal bracelet, $590; Céline, NYC. Dinosaur Designs cuff, $310; dinosaurdesigns .com. David Yurman bracelet, $8,500; David Yurman, NYC. In this story: Tailor, Laura Cortese for Christy Rilling Studio Manicure, Rieko Okusa.

IF THE SHOE FITS 100: Sunglasses, $270; sunglasshut.com. 101: Dress, $5,890. Earrings, $215; jenniferfisherjewelry.com. 102: Dress ($8,890) and earrings ($375). Bag, $3,100; Céline, NYC. 104: Dress, $5,030. 105: Sandals, price upon request. In this story: Tailor, Alexander Koutny for Christy Rilling Studio. Manicure, Maki Sakamoto. Index 106–107: 1. Jacket, $2,350. 2. Clogs; also at fwrd .com. 3. Sandals, price upon request. 5. Koché dress, $2,890. Prada sandals, price upon request. Maison Margiela top ($3,675) and jacket ($2,295). Givenchy by Riccardo Tisci skirt, $1,195. 8. Sandals, $2,295. 13. Clutch, $5,700. 15. Boots, $3,995. Last look 112: Kitten heels; select Dior boutiques. ALL PRICES APPROXIMATE.

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LastLook

D ETA I LS, SE E I N TH IS I SSU E

EDITOR: VIRGINIA SMITH

Dior kitten heels, $890 Maria Grazia Chiuri’s youthful, cheeky (but still eminently feminine) debut collection for Dior has set a new standard for shoe idolatry. The magic of these diminutive slingbacks with their ribbons tied in a bow has something to do with how handily they embody the wasp-waisted DNA of the house. But the graphic anti-logo logo—a double take–inducing J’ADIOR lovingly hand-embroidered on each strap—tells a slightly aslant, future-perfect story: “I wanted to mix the heritage of Dior with today’s pop culture,” says Chiuri of melding archive and innovation. Throw on her equally bold WE SHOULD ALL BE FEMINISTS tee, and you achieve a kind of apotheosis of power-pretty.  PHOTOGRAPHED BY ERIC BOMAN

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