I don’t buy fashion magazines. Ever. Somehow, I was signed up for a free year-long subscription to Nylon Magazine against my will, and it only served to remind me once again how cheap, exploitative, and useless they really are.
When Conde Naste has to make a big, self-congratulatory goddamn deal out of actually daring to include black models on the typically ubiquitously white pages of Vogue, can anyone really take fashion rags seriously anymore? Even an attempt to rationalize their value as art and inspiration is disappointing; when art is so doggedly committed to defining such a singular aesthetic with this almost eugenic enthusiasm, it soars long past engaging into flat out irrelevant—how long can you listen to something that isn’t meant for you?
Fellow Uber blogger Eddie posted a link to photographer Erwin Olaf, pointing specifically to a series called Mature. It’s totally incredible, rewriting classic cheesecake pinup poses using women whose bodies fall far outside of what Anna Winteur might dictate to be worthy of being seen. Yet, each picture is stunning and playful and sexy, way more successfully than any of the source material it’s recalling—the element of surprise, of defiance and vitality, make these legitimately interesting studies in beauty.
