Innholdsfortegnelse for June 2017 i Vogue

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.)…

TEXAS STOLE MY HEART, OR MAYBE I JUST DROPPED it somewhere whizzing along those arrow-straight roads, wind in my hair, that extraordinary light bathing everything in a golden hue. I took the plunge with Lacey Dorn, a seventhgeneration Texan whom I had met at my cousin’s art opening in London, and our first stop was her uncle’s ranch near El Paso. There were red mountains on the horizon, a few wonky signposts . . . and nothing else. The emptiness made me gasp. A proud West Texan, her uncle gave us the grand tour. From his jeep we spotted coyotes, longhorn sheep, and quail before stopping for a delicious mountaintop picnic. Then he let us try out his elegant white-gripped revolver, which, he told us, “won the West.” Turns out…

i’m a country girl, from North Somerset,” admits Stefanie Martini. “When I was seventeen, I went to the National Youth Theatre in London and it was like in The Hobbit—the first time I’d been out of the shire. I realized there was this whole other world I could be a part of.” So she jumped in: Two years ago she was an unknown drama student at RADA; a year later, she was starring as the immaculately virtuous heroine of Julian Fellowes’s Doctor Thorne (“She was too nice and had no flaws; I struggled with that”). From there, she went on to play the vengeful Lady Ev in Emerald City. Now the 26-year-old is enjoying her highestprofile role yet as the lead in Prime Suspect: Tennison (PBS’s Masterpiece), the prequel to…

On the top floor of a small building on a quiet lane in central Delhi, the writer Arundhati Roy greets me at the door of her apartment, accompanied by two eagerly barking dogs, whose names, she tells me, translate as Mrs. Filthy Darling and Beloved of the Earth. “Filth and Dirt,” Roy says cheerfully as she welcomes me into her large, sunny kitchen and starts making coffee in an Italian moka pot—“It’ll be weak, South Indian–style, OK?” she says with a laugh. With its high ceilings, bookcaselined walls, and political posters (one shows a bobby with a beat stick: sedition protects democracy), her apartment has the airy yet livedin feel of an artist’s loft. I take a seat at a farmhouse table, near a vase of exceedingly tall, brightorange lilies.…

Oh, stripes. Considered “demeaning, pejorative, or clearly diabolic” in the Middle Ages and restricted to prisoners’ garb in the nineteenth century, they needed some combination of Breton sailors and Coco Chanel (an early adopter) to resuscitate their respectability. And judging from the winning streaks that surfaced on the fall runways—from Phoebe Philo at Céline and Jonathan Anderson at Loewe to Alberta Ferretti—stripes in bright, bold, and wildly optimistic Pop Art palettes are clearly the stars of the season. “Stripes are a powerful flag of female confidence and power,” says designer Duro Olowu, who took his unwavering love of lines to the trench coat. “In these trying times, that’s quite the statement.”…

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…

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…

Once the domain of health-food stores and hippie aunts, essential oils are spilling over into the mainstream, with dedicated workshops being held everywhere from Los Angeles to New York. At a dinner party I recently attended, the chic woman sitting next to me whipped out a tiny rollerball and twirled it on her temples. “Cannabis oil, mixed with peppermint and sage,” she explained. “It makes me less tense around the jaw.” When applied topically to the pulse points, inhaled, or even ingested, these superpotent plant extracts pack a one-two punch: The scent affects mood, while the plant medicines can have an impact on physiology. An increasing number of peer-reviewed medical studies have shown that certain oils—cinnamon, eucalyptus, and rosemary, for example—have an antibacterial effect, and a study published earlier this…

The ethically and environmentally focused travel group Time + Tide welcomes two properties—both plunged deep into local African ecosystems—to their portfolio of luxury lodgings. King Lewanika Lodge, the first permanent campsite in Zambia’s Liuwa Plain National Park, a mecca for rare birds, features six luxury villas designed with a nod to 1920s safaris (old-school sink basins, steamer trunks, khaki linens). Off the Madagascan coast, meanwhile, is the private island resort of Miavana. While guests’ first impressions are formed from above (the island is accessible solely via helicopter), on the ground the ocean gives way to fourteen beachfront villas constructed with local honey-pink limestone. Explore the area on a marine-based Blue Safari before heading to the beach piazza, where things get lively on the breezy rooftop dance floor and culminate with…

It’s a warm spring evening in London’s West End. Dodging tourists and excited theatergoers, Sonia Friedman is attempting to visit the casts of at least some of the plays she is producing before curtains rise in 90 minutes. “Wait, I need a cigarette—who’s got a light? Have you got a light?” she asks looking around. Happily, a nearby Spanishspeaking tourist does, and, cigarette lit and held between clenched teeth, we’re off again. Even though she flew in this morning on a redeye from New York, Friedman is lively and brighteyed, energized by doing what she loves most. She has been making preparations for the Broadway transfer in 2018 of the mammoth twopart show, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, about (and I’m tiptoeing around spoilers here) the adult Harry struggling…

Marni’s expansive, columned show space on Viale Umbria in Milan was dense with expectation on the morning of February 26: After 22 years, Consuelo Castiglioni had retired from the house she’d founded and nurtured, one with an almost cultishly devoted fan base, and her assembled fans and the attendant press were gathered to see how Francesco Risso—a 34-year-old designer barely known outside Milanese fashion circles and the newly appointed creative director of Marni— would add to her legacy. Castiglioni made Marni by translating her own instinctively hewn, unconventional femininity into modernist, faintly bohemian, and utterly anti-bourgeois furs, florals, extravagantly casual silhouettes, and accessories that subverted the gaze of the male eye. These were pieces for women who didn’t look to define themselves by sex appeal—who were sophisticated enough to play…

It used to be that an outdoor workout meant going for a jog or rustling up a tennis partner. Thanks to an array of inventive new offerings on the fitness scene, you can finally get your grade-A instruction along with some vitamin D. Manhattan stalwarts Sky Ting Yoga and New York Pilates are pairing up to stage Abs Arms Ass and Grass classes in Nolita’s Elizabeth Street Garden. Across town, on the West Village’s Charles Street Pier, Bandier’s editorpacked Studio B offers cardio and sculpting classes. All about props? Look no further than San Francisco’s Kokoda, a mobile boot camp whose trainers set up rowing machines and squat racks in Crissy Field and Oakland’s Lake Merritt, rain or shine. In Los Angeles, head to VeniceBeach, where cult studio Love Yoga’s…

Just after the Public Art Fund brought Anish Kapoor’s spellbinding work Descension, an endless spiral of dark water that leads to nowhere, to Brooklyn Bridge Park comes their artful intervention at City Hall Park. This month, Estonian artist Katja Novitskova installs seven otherworldly sculptures in the downtown green space. Embossed on sheets of aluminum, each work depicts celestial and terrestrial imagery that plays into our collective picture and technology obsessions. Meanwhile in midtown, Josiah McElheny creates a haven for spontaneous expression in Madison Square Park with three pieces in painted wood and prismatic glass: a curvilinear wall to enhance music, a reflective floor for dance, and pavilions for poetry—public art for public consumption.—…

Movies are suddenly in love with women who make trouble. In the uproarious Rough Night, a gender-flipping riff on guy pictures like The Hangover, Scarlett Johansson plays a politician whose Miami bachelorette party gets way out of hand. While Lucia Aniello’s feature directorial debut doesn’t quite scale the heights of Bridesmaids, it’s carried by Kate McKinnon’s off-kilter Aussie and Jillian Bell’s hardcore girl crush. You’ll be squirming during Miguel Arteta’s Beatriz at Dinner, a Trump-era comedy starring Salma Hayek as a holistic healer who gets roped into a 1 percenters’ dinner for an Earthdespoiling real estate tycoon (John Lithgow), then can’t hide her righteous detestation of him. A sly film that questions how to battle a monster without becoming one yourself.—…

DENÉE BENTON, 25, plays a lovelorn Russian aristocrat in the War and Peace–inspired musical Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812. The show’s color-blind casting is fast becoming a hallmark of the Hamilton age. “It’s telling a universal story of love and loss and war and regret,” Benton says, “and I think because of that you can put any person of any shade in it.” EVA NOBLEZADA is only 21, yet she has already played Eponine in Les Misérables in London and now brings her clarion singing voice to the Broadway Theatre’s Miss Saigon. “I’ve learned how necessary it is to have someone like Denée expose the hidden talents of minority performers,” says Noblezada, who is of Filipino and Mexican descent. “We work our asses off to be seen…

My first memories of my mother are redlipstick memories: her smearing it on as we headed out the door on a Saturday night to an art opening, the color so bold against her slate-gray Yohji Yamamoto pantsuit; her cleaning out the cupboard under our sink where she kept her lipsticks (all varying Chanel and Revlon reds) and nail polishes (same); and the time she let me draw it on my face in concentric circles like a Yayoi Kusama installation gone deeply wrong. My mother’s style wasn’t overtly feminine. She was one of a group of women (Cindy Sherman, Sarah Charlesworth, and Marilyn Minter, to name a few) whose emerging presence in the male-dominated art world in the late seventies and early eighties signaled a tidal shift. Being a woman wasn’t…