SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL… Vogue editor Anna Wintour must be an insufferable boss. But as The Devil Wears Prada, a movie based on a former assistant’s vitriolic roman a clef, hits screens, l hope Wintour doesn’t have a proverbial bad hair day. Last year, in reviewing Jerry Oppenheimer’s unauthorized bio of Wintour, I came to sympathize with the devil. (If y’er curious why, read the review; I’ll be quick here.)
Most women’s magazines, in the guise of trying to help a gal get her life straight, introduce a dozen more things to start worrying about, from how your date ruins your diet to how your haircut is holding back your career. And then there’s Vogue. Unlike its glossy peers on the newsstand, it at least isn’t fully saturated with tips to flatten your abs, flaunt your cleavage, or squeeze into your thin jeans by Friday; it assumes you need no help mastering love moves no man can resist.
While Vogue surely exists to sell ads?which it does remarkably well?it does so more by exploiting women’s ambition, than insecurity.
