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The Trials of Fash-Mags

I suppose that when a sartorial sycophant such as myself blows $15.00 on an imported fashion mag (Vogue Italia or Paris, for example) the justification for such a purchase is a burning, dutiful dedication to the industry itself. The masses, I assume, would scoff at blowing nearly a Jackson on something that usually runs someone $3.50 and has B-Spears' mug plastered on the cover. THESE ARE VALID POINTS, YES. Just hear me out. In the last month or so, I've picked up the following:

Grand total: $58.00

It really is rediculous, is it not? I don't need these. I can look at the editorials online, and the writing only goes so far. I suppose there's a thrill in buying fashion magazines, something far less superficial than the glitz and glamour of what lies splattered upon the pages inside. It feels to me like a ticket aboard, a way of enriching your level of "fashion-awareness" if not only for a month. It really is a community, however diverse and separted its inhabitants are. These glossy pamphlets feed my glamorous longings, well as inspire me to explore and further cultivate my tastes. I've got design school on the list for next year, after all. Seeing the clothing you love displayed and fussed over in such a high-octane way VALIDATES the hours you spend obsessing over it (guilty...)!

It's the keyhole us fashion-plebians possess to look through into the circus inside.

It's worth it, people.


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