I think Marion respected my opinion, and she did listen to my concerns sometimes. I could see it was difficult for her. Both she and Alison worked around the clock. Marion seemingly had been told nothing about budgets, so costs were going through the roof, and she was surrounded by quite a few toadies who were more interested in advancing their personal careers. Nobody would question her decisions, even if they privately thought she was wrong. Many times I thought people were taking advantage of her.
There was a particularly disastrous moment when it was decided to fly in a top US photographer to shoot several stories for a big issue. Business-class tickets were booked and a five-star hotel was arranged, not only for him but also for his assistants and his preferred hairdresser and makeup artist. If someone had mentioned it to me beforehand, I would have rung the alarm bells. Why fly in an entire team? It’s far more controllable to sprinkle in some staffers and local freelancers that you already know and trust, otherwise a cliquey international crew will generally ignore your brief and do anything they want, while you sign the cheques and fret over the mini bar charges.
As it transpired, the photographer had clearly regretted his decision to come to Sydney en route over the Pacific. When he arrived he made limited contact with the editorial team, shot one quick fashion story, and was then asked if he would like to see locations for the next stories that had been planned. He demanded a limousine, and spent a day being driven to various scenic destinations in and around greater Sydney. It was debatable if he in fact saw anything at all because he never removed his dark sunglasses, but upon his return to the hotel he declared there wasn’t any location in Australia worth shooting, and he and his team flew home, leaving charges that the CFO never fully recovered from. It was a debacle, and I felt badly for Marion.
Sales were plummeting, management was circling and the international advertisers were leaving in droves. I could feel the downhill spiral. Marion put a great deal of focus on the local Australian designers, who loved all the attention at the beginning until she dared to criticise some of them in print. What, a Brit telling us we’re not good enough? The press, who were fawning when she arrived, then turned on her.
Designers also stuck the knife in, stating—probably disingenuously—they had been ‘thinking’ of advertising in the magazine but now they wouldn’t. Marion was used to being an outspoken critic; she was accomplished and she was fair. It was what her reputation was built on. But it’s a newspaper mentality. In magazines we criticise by omission. If we considered that you weren’t good enough to be in Vogue, then you simply weren’t in Vogue. An editor-in-chief whose main mission is to create a luxury environment is not expected to point out anything substandard or ordinary. Like Pollyanna, we concentrate only on the wonderful. And don’t even think about writing or saying anything remotely negative about an advertiser. Even a potential one. It’s a minefield that’s best managed with your mouth shut.
One fraught afternoon, when Vogue’s last watch client had just cancelled their forward ad bookings because their editorial in the latest issue was so ugly, my phone rang. It was Karin Upton Baker. Mode magazine was about to morph into Harper’s Bazaar and Mode (the word Mode would drop off after a few months) and Karin was putting together a new team for the launch. Would I like to be the associate editor? I didn’t even go in for an interview, or ask about the salary. The conversation was, ‘Yes please! Yay! When can I start, shall I tell management now, can I, can I?!’
I’m not a very savvy negotiator when it comes to my own salary. My motivation has always been the job itself, and the people I would be working alongside; never, ever the money. The nine months I had spent back at Vogue had been fraught and disorganised, and I was thrilled to be going to Bazaar. I had always liked working with Karin, and my great friend Eric Matthews, who had moved from Vogue Australia to take up the art directorship of Vogue Singapore, was now the new art director of Bazaar. I knew Karin would be a first-rate editor-in-chief, and that we could, especially given Vogue’s current state, make Bazaar a success. It was a dream offer, and very timely. It is always preferable not to go down with a sinking ship.
When you resign from a magazine to go to a rival company you are sometimes instructed to leave immediately, depending on your position and how many company secrets you possess. It’s all very dramatic in fashion. I once saw an advertising rep get marched to the elevator, and as the doors were slowly closing, her manager threw a potted plant at her. I didn’t exactly have the company profit and loss statement at my fingertips, so my departure was relatively cordial, although I did leave the same day that I handed in my notice. One of the fashion editors strolled into my office as I was packing up my desk and I thought, how sweet, she’s come to say goodbye and wish me well. But no. She asked me if she could have the keys to the beauty cupboard, where all the free products were kept. It really had turned into Lord of the Flies and I was relieved to be leaving the island.
Karin and the team had finished their first issue of Harper’s Bazaar and Mode by the time I arrived in late 1997, and were in the midst of organising the launch party. Nicole Kidman was on the cover, dressed in Dior couture, art directed by Eric in London and styled by Charla Carter, who had joined as a contributor. Tory Collison would soon come on board as fashion editor. Everything felt right again.
Karin has great personal style, and was famously fastidious about details, so the gala launch was a supremely elegant affair. At the end of Karin’s speech thousands of miniature paper covers of the launch issue fluttered down from above, and in a lovely Surrealist touch, with a gesture to the heritage of the masthead, guests were handed the issue by gloved arms protruding from a large white box. The crowd, consisting mostly of advertisers that were pulling out of Vogue, were clearly delighted to now have a classy alternative option.
The months I spent at Vogue working under Marion, and the time I would spend at Harper’s Bazaar under Karin were, in retrospect, when I learned some of my most valuable lessons in publishing. My greatest understanding, in respect to what was happening at Vogue, came mainly from observing what not to do. Working for brands as esteemed as Vogue and Bazaar highlighted how crucial it is to maintain a standard: a consistency and an integrity of purpose that flows through every element of the business, from the stationery to the sales presentation to the crucial September issue. There has to be a longterm vision that is shared and understood by every staff member, rather than ‘this will do for now’, ‘this will be great for me personally’, or a quick sell-out to make budget. As is true for any business, it can only be achieved by employing the right people. Luxury brands are precarious, and while everyone likes to think they know exactly how to run one, very few people do.
While super-brands like Vogue may appear to be unassailable, I had witnessed first-hand that they are not. They also act as an irresistible magnet to frauds, wankers and wannabes.
The Bazaar editorial team was talented, as was the sales department, led by commercial dynamo Lynette Phillips. Everyone was on the same mission, and the magazine made an immediate impact on launch. The managing editor, Louise Upton, didn’t like me very much for some reason, but she was very good at her job and I knew how to do mine, so we coexisted. I’m not of the belief that everybody has to love you, and socialise with you after work. As long as you treat everyone with respect, and vice versa, then I think office politics are something to avoid wherever possible. Of course I can bitch along with the best of them—part of that is just office camaraderie—but you know when a line gets crossed and it becomes pure nastiness. I worked with some snakes later in my career, and in my experience they never last. Eventually—although it does take longer than you would hope, and they may topple some good people on the way through—the torch will shine on them and they will be exposed. Whereas those who concentrate on the task at hand and on doing their best work will always have a career.
In one of the early Harper’s Bazaar issues we decided to feature modelling great Lauren Hutton, who was in Aust
ralia for David Jones. Tory was styling and I was to interview Ms Hutton. I was absolutely thrilled at the prospect of meeting her, as she is one of the true trailblazers of the industry and from what I’d read, a real feminist ballbreaker. She was, but unfortunately it was my balls she was going to break.
She disliked me intensely on sight, but then it seemed she didn’t like any of the women on the job. She refused to let the makeup artist do her makeup and snapped at everyone except for the male photographer. By the end of what was a long day she turned on me and said she was far too tired to do the interview, which was more than fine with me because I had lost interest.
We did end up putting her on the cover, thinking that featuring a beautiful, mature woman would make a powerful statement, but sales were terrible. It is a truism in the magazine business that what women say they want to see on a cover, they don’t always follow through and buy.
A better experience was a shoot with another supermodel, the inimitable Jerry Hall, who had been brought to Australia by designer Charlie Brown. She was going through her divorce with Mick Jagger at the time and was clearly preoccupied, but she was a sweetheart to the whole awestruck team. I met her again many years later with her daughter Georgia May Jagger, in 2010, when we judged Fashions on the Field together at the races in Melbourne. She had the same easy, friendly manner and was just as stunning. I didn’t mention it to her on either occasion, but when, at age fourteen, I saw Hall in the Bryan Ferry video for ‘Let’s Stick Together’, I cried myself to sleep because I realised I would never be as glamorous as her. Clearly I got over it, but Jerry Hall is certainly one-of-a-kind, old-school fabulous.
Things had gone from bad to worse over at Vogue, and by late 1998 Marion was out. The press had been giving her a relentless beating prior to her sacking, but conveniently forgot all that when she was fired and began righteously speculating on the reason she was dismissed, suggesting it was because of her forthright opinions on Australian designers and the fact that she had put a ‘black girl’—Naomi Campbell—on her first cover. A fictional moral and intellectual showdown between Marion and the suits was now invented, by the same hypocrites who had previously ripped her to shreds. The point was entirely missed that her departure was about declining profit and circulation. Marion was replaced by another Englishwoman, Juliet Ashworth, who had been recruited from tabloid magazines.
It appeared management had decided that in order to stop the free-fall, Vogue should cast off some of its elitist notions and move into the area of middle and mass market. Do it all in fact, so it could cover every area: luxury and mid-market and mass. Think how lucrative that would that be! It’s a theory I would hear over and over again from various newcomers (and, my special favourite, their wives who don’t in fact read the magazine or own a nice handbag) during my career at Vogue, and it’s a giant mistake. It’s a dangerous move to drastically redraw the borders of an iconic luxury brand.
Harper’s Bazaar was steadily gaining traction in the minds of both consumers and advertisers. The previous year, as editor of Mode, Karin and the publisher Patricia Connolly had established an invitation-only hospitality space at Australian Fashion Week in 1997, and it became the place to be, serving champagne and chicken sandwiches to the buzzy fashion crowd all day and into the evening. Apparently, Karin’s standards were so exacting she had the chicken sandwiches tasted four times before she approved them, which I loved. Even though I was with Vogue then, Karin knew it was through circumstances beyond my control given Nancy’s abrupt removal, and was gracious enough to let me station myself there between fashion shows. By May 1998 it had turned into ‘Bar Bazaar and it was an early masterstroke of branding. It was standing room only most of the time, providing a chic retreat where everyone in fashion and society could gossip, be interviewed, be filmed or be seen. Harper’s Bazaar Australia was on the map, and I was very content to be one of the team.
Owned by the Hearst Corporation in the US, and published as a joint venture by Australian Consolidated Press, Bazaar’s impressive performance had obviously registered with its international management. In April 1999 the influential and much-admired editor-in-chief of American Harper’s Bazaar, Liz Tilberis, sadly passed away after a battle with ovarian cancer. Karin was invited to take the editor’s chair in New York for an unspecified period until a replacement was found. She was also a contender for the permanent role. It was an incredible honour for an editor from Australia, and we were all thrilled for her.
Louise and I held the fort and Karin would call in each afternoon to check on things and supply us with the most delicious gossip from the US Bazaar offices. Australian Fashion Week rolled around and, as Karin was still away, I became the unofficial host of Bar Bazaar. During a quiet period, when the blowdryers were off and the manicure stations empty, I was standing at the bar eating yet another chicken sandwich when Robyn Holt walked in.
I had known Robyn for many years, and admired her enormously. We first met at Vogue when I was on reception—she and I always laugh when I remind her that she was pregnant with her daughter Hannah at the time but I never realised, because everything was hidden under the layers of her uber on-trend Katie Pye dresses.
Robyn had been the beauty editor of Vogue, the editor of Vogue Living and for the past few years, the managing director of Yves Saint Laurent Beauté. Chic, funny and smart, she was also one of Nancy’s best friends. I offered her a glass of champagne and as we were chatting she said quietly: ‘How would you like to be the editor of Vogue?’
I’m not entirely sure, but I probably spluttered in amazement. Robyn then confessed that she had just accepted the role as managing director of Condé Nast. I was to keep it confidential but she felt I was the right person to replace Juliet. She asked me to prepare a document outlining my vision and what I thought I could bring to the magazine, and we agreed to meet again in a few days to discuss the role.
Not once, in what had been my fourteen years in publishing, had I considered editing Vogue. I had never thought about what came next or coveted someone else’s job. I had no desire in particular to be on top. I loved what I did, and was always happy in the positions that I had held. Certainly, throughout the years, I have witnessed a number of people enter the business with teeth-gnashing career ambition, but that type of person unnerves me. I have generally found that the very ambitious make terrible decisions, because everything is about them. When Robyn offered me the role I did not in all honesty think: ‘Yes, yes, at last, finally the job I deserve, editor of Vogue!’ I was not interested in the status; I never have been. I just liked making magazines.
I went home and thought, ‘I think I could do it. I’ve worked in every part of the business. I know good staff when I see them.’ From my long experience I knew that making Vogue a success was, ultimately, not going to be about me and how marvellous and clever I was. It would depend entirely on the team we put together. From reception upwards.
There was more good news. In a wonderfully ironic twist, Nancy Pilcher was going back to Vogue in a senior editorial position that covered Condé Nast’s interests in both Australia and Asia Pacific. She was going to be installed in Guérin’s now vacated office. The former workspace of the same man who had unceremoniously fired her two years before. Nancy moved in and promptly painted the wall behind her an Hermès shade of orange. The colour of intelligence.
Rumours were flying around the marketplace that Ashworth was about to be replaced, and the most persistent conjecture was that the editorship of Vogue would be given to Karin. No one suspected that I had the gig, and it was agonising trying to keep it secret. I can’t be sure, but I think someone at ACP began to have their suspicions.
Karin was due back from New York imminently, and I suddenly received an out of the blue offer from Harper’s Bazaar management. The idea was that I would become editor of Bazaar, as Karin was going to be promoted to editorial director of both Bazaar and Belle magazines.
I was feeling slightly overwhelmed at this point with two offers on
the table, but in my heart I was committed to Vogue. I needed to stall. I didn’t want to accept the position at Bazaar and then go back on my word. Yet if I declined, they would sense something was up. It was a matter of mere days before Juliet was to be informed her services were no longer required at Vogue. As soon as that happened, Robyn was going to ring me in the Bazaar office and I would then immediately hand in my notice. I disliked feeling so underhanded, but legally this is how things have to play out. I had not planned or executed any ideas that I intended to take to Vogue, or approached any staff. It was an honour to be offered the editorship of Bazaar and I was grateful for my time there, but the idea of rebuilding Vogue was too enticing.
It was amazing to me that with no real preconceived notion of where I was heading, I should be offered the editorship of Australia’s top two luxury titles simultaneously. But I would never have considered returning to Vogue if I did not believe in the new management. The best masthead in the world means nothing without the right people in charge. I believed in the power of Vogue. But I also knew things were not handed to you on a platter. When you edit Vogue, you are under a microscope. You had to be smarter and faster than the competition, and I wanted to accept that challenge.
7
FASHION FIXATIONS
Looking back at my performance in sewing classes at Sylvania Heights Primary School, it seems ludicrous that I would end up working in the fashion industry. I’m surprised I wasn’t put off fashion for life by my teacher Mrs Smith. A spiteful, dour woman who always had pins between her pursed lips, Mrs Smith delighted in skewering those students who weren’t quite up to par with their needlework.
The Vogue Factor Page 9