Vogue June 2017

THIS JUNE BRINGS TOGETHER TWO OF MY FAVORITE things in one issue—gardens and the theater. When we began discussing last year some new and original ways we could celebrate our 125th anniversary, Features Director Eve MacSweeney had the rather brilliant idea of creating a Vogue rose. As you will read in Nathan Heller’s ode to our very own flower (“First Blush,” page 112), it was handy that we like to plan well in advance at this magazine: Our creation took months and months to blossom, quite literally, and involved crisscrossing the country several times to work with farmers, breeders, and gardeners to develop it. (I spent many a features meeting inquiring about its condition and when it would finally be able to be photographed. Major Hollywood stars need less cultivation.)…

Last year, a man in Australia came across a round, rubbery object on the beach, about the size of a small tortilla. In a panic, he scooped it up into a plastic bag and hurried to the local police station, convinced a woman had been mutilated by a maniac who had prized her breast implant out of her body. The police had a good laugh when they saw the object. It was a jelly fish. That’s what I have implanted on the right side of my body—a silicone disc that’s a dead ringer for a jellyfish. I discovered I had breast cancer the way a lot of women do—a routine mammogram revealed a lump in the right breast. One out of every eight women in America will develop breast cancer…

I RECALL, AS A GIRL OF EIGHT OR NINE, discovering a photograph of my mother taken a few years before I was born. In the image, my mother stands in a white room. She is laughing as I had never seen her laugh in life, completely taken by elation. Surrounding her are large-format photographs, presumably waiting to be hung on the walls. Some are still wrapped in paper, but two—showing beautiful women—are visible. One of the women is also laughing, almost as much as my mother. I later learned that this long-haired, gently disheveled, smoking and ring-wearing figure was the singer Janis Joplin—though for now she was just an anonymous subject who reminded me a little of myself. When I brought the picture to my mom, she told me that…

CERTAIN HOLLYWOOD COUPLES debut their romance with a tabloid shot heard round the world—and then there are those who casually slink onto the scene and into each other’s arms. Consider Zoë Kravitz and Karl Glusman, poster children for the latter. Last fall, the pair were spotted hand in hand at a private Kings of Leon concert (Cara Delevingne, Lily Aldridge, and Dakota Johnson also attended), and soon after came a stream of couples Instagrams. In October, the Nocturnal Animals star quite literally cemented his relationship status with Kravitz by posting a photo of her standing beside fresh pavement with her name scrawled on it. Together, Glusman, ethereal with wide-set eyes, and Kravitz, a downtown goddess, make for a duo with serious fashion chops. At Saint Laurent’s last show, they appeared…

Le Bon Marché, with its iconic orange bags, has been unleashing shopping endorphins since it opened its Rive Gauche doors in 1852, and this month the department store, armed with the luxury might of the entire LVMH group, which owns it, launches a global shopping site called 24 Sèvres to build on its legacy. In addition to Bon Marché’s famed curation, 24 Sèvres will be stocking both Louis Vuitton and Dior—two titans that have until now been largely absent from the e-commerce space. The site (and a corresponding app) offers everything from a Laura Mercier compact ($75) to an Yves Salomon mink bomber ($13,000) with a singular focus. “We wanted to make this visually based,” says Ian Rogers, LVMH’s chief digital officer, “with an elevated social-media presence.” (There’s also a…

Everyone but Thomas Monet has gone to Tahiti or the Caribbean or some other sunny clime. It is the day after the Faith Connexion fall 2017 show in Paris, and the rest of the design collective responsible for putting vast bejeweled cardigans, minuscule punk-lace frocks, and Easter chick–yellow faux-fur coats on the runway have flown the coop for parts unknown. Which is why the bearded Monet, who is leaving for Bali next week, is the sole representative available to describe this dynamic, street-infused line. But he makes it clear he is speaking for the entire gang—a young, multinational crew who specialize in such arcane tasks as deconstructing tailored pieces and piling froufrou upon once-simple knitwear. We are seated at a small table next to the incredibly busy showroom, where buyers…