Happy Day-After-a-3-Day-Weekend to you!
Well, I think I finally figured out why I can’t seem to get back into reading Victoria magazine. I’d always rifled through the stacks of back issues at my local Half-Price Books outlet, happy to pay $1-2 for each, but lately I’ve been giving most of them away to the Salvation Army or reselling them right back to Half-Price. Even the annual Paris/French-themed issues with their gorgeous, pornographic-like close-up shots of flaky croissants and steaming cups of cafe au lait. I’d always been unable to resist the allure of the Paris issue, what with their pages and pages of lovingly decorated interiors and dreamy models sporting romantic clothes and equally romantic expressions.
So this weekend I picked up the latest issue at the newsstand, flipped through it quickly and tried to figure out why it was that it no longer held the same appeal, why it left me feeling cold and slightly, well, repulsed. Sure, I’ve long recognized that it really doesn’t fit my personality — Bitch and Bust do that perfectly, and sometimes Venus, too — but I always thought that there remained a teensy part of me that found some comfort and identity within Victoria‘s pink-hued, soft-focus pages. I mean, isn’t Victoria supposed to be the ultimate Francophile bible on the newsstands? An erstwhile Francophile newsgroup on Yahoo! had deeply lamented its demise a few years ago, before its most recent reincarnation, after all. Victoria was supposed to be the catalog of French-inspired dreams, the slim publication you took with you to your secret garden, your boudoir where you retreated for tranquil refreshment after a particularly difficult day.
I think I may have put my finger on it, and it’s not simply the often-poor quality of its photography. Rather, it’s the realization that Victoria really is a catalog, yes, but only in the really pedestrian sense. Perhaps it took this crippling recession to really illuminate the meaning behind Victoria‘s pages, but I realized as I scanned the pages of the most recent issue that the only thing I got out of it was this vague discontent that my life doesn’t mirror the expensive, conservative and very bourgeoisie life depicted on every single page.
The table of contents overflow with so-called “articles” that are really no more than extra-long advertorials of various retail establishments around the world that I have no hope of ever visiting or even ever being able to afford. (I should know — as a writer-for-hire I’ve written couple of hundred advertorials myself, although at least my publishers had the decency to mark them as advertising copy.) Of course, every magazine does this — fashion magazines with their analysis of the latest Louis Vuitton or Chanel runway shows come to mind — but Victoria especially seems to really practice the art of coddling their advertisers by kicking off each issue with pages and pages and pages of Favorite Things that are really no more than collections of products targeting the Victoria reader. Do I really believe that these “editorial picks” aren’t chosen precisely because of the staff’s relationship to the advertisers? Oprah’s Favorite Things is the most widely-known list of edited picks, but it receives so much media coverage that it’s clear that these are really things that Oprah actually likes, and not simply a rundown of the show’s (or magazine’s) most sought-after advertisers. How am I to know if Victoria practices the same ethical distinction between authentic editorial and shameless shilling?
Victoria peddles a gone-but-not-forgotten world of serene homes filled with lovely British antiques, French linens, Old World china, and $200 pens, not to mention cosmetics from high-end luxury brands. I can pinpoint exactly when I start getting restless as I turn the pages: right about the time I check out what follows after the table of contents. I long for the time and the resources to decorate my home with such class and understated sophistication (French) or even with cool openness and light (Swedish), without resorting to the As-Is section at my local IKEA.
But really, who doesn’t? Victoria may have re-entered the magazine industry at the most inopportune time, now that consumers have decided to scale back, retreat from the inflated expectations of the recent buying frenzy and stop comparing their quite-nice homes with the overly-styled, flawless models showcased in magazines like, well, Victoria. With many readers now deciding that a comfortable living room that their family will love no longer requires a trip to the bank for a home equity loan, and that style has little — if any to do — with a six-figure salary, devoting precious ink and writing talent to extolling the virtues of a $300 leather bag or a drawer full of antique, hand-sewn, monogrammed linens seems downright anachronistic, if not offensive.
Not that Victoria is completely devoid of virtues. I still have a couple of old issues hanging around the house. They serve as a quick escape and a symbol of beauty in an otherwise utilitarian world. But I’ve resisted the siren call of its pages to shop, shop, shop — to seek comfort in its promise of refuge from a troubled world via damask tablecloths and toile curtains. The awful events of the past year has taught us the terrible price we pay when we turn a blind eye to reality and believe that consumption, material goods, mere things, are what make life worthy of living. That we are what we buy. Since I can’t really afford to buy anything now that isn’t really necessary, save for a little luxury or two here and there, does that mean that my life is somehow lacking?
I’d be surprised if Victoria remains a viable concern as a magazine by this time next year. I certainly don’t wish for its demise — I do think that it serves a purpose, if only to provide inspiration for readers who can actually afford the kind of furnishings and textiles and holidays for which it provides such lavish photo-spreads. But I for one will continue to pass on it and its promise to impoverish my wallet, if not my hopes, and will move on to something that will instead enrich my mind.
Uhm, Bitch magazine, anyone?
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{ 4 comments }
I can't remember the last time I read a magazine and enjoyed what I read.
Bonjour, Bobbi Janay! Actually, I just picked up the latest issue of Geek Monthly at Fry's yesterday. That's a really good magazine, with lots of great writing and snarky commentaries on pop culture — always a good combo. I actually love magazines, even Vogue (which has beautiful articles, if you can get past the 200+ pages of ads!), but Victoria has never really impressed me too much.
Salut,
Marjorie
You really do not understand Victoria magazine, in either of its incarnations, at all; perhaps you should save the sarcastic, disparaging reviews for things where you actually have some perspective and expertise.
Bonjour, Anonymous, and merci for your comment. The review is my opinion, bien sur, as all reviews are, and I stand by every word of it. It doesn't require much expertise to review a lifestyle magazine, though, don't you think? One either likes it or one doesn't. Victoria is not Foreign Affairs or even The Economist. Those require perspective and expertise. Victoria simply requires an overwhelming consumerist desire and a healthy pocketbook. I have a bit of one but not the other.
Salut,
Marjorie
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