V is for V

In a far, far away LAnd at a not so good noihsaF loohcS (hold mirror up - - you get the point) was a cafe that sold overpriced sandwiches to underfed girls. Too poor for bologna, this under-privileged boy from two valleys east found the treasure of a lifetime. Stuffed between Marie Claire and Harpers Bazaar was V, a glossy wafer of fashion, art and culture. At that moment, my 19-year old brain sashayed into magazine nirvana and never turned back.

It's true. I am addicted to ready-to-wear, music with a cashew twist, and naughty films - - all in two-dimensional form, of course. My passion for magazines, particularly V, along with Flaunt, Eye and Butt (yes, you in the knows, it is technically a zine - but tack on a "mag" and we can both be happy) started unexpectedly, as most things should. My fascination with magazines of this nature is that they capture the essence of "what can be,” those things we call trends. However, unlike many other fashion magazines, V profiles musicians, artists, typographers, art schools, writers, directors and wannabe models; all done with crisp layout and beautiful photography. Above all, V offers an imaginative prospective into an all too archaic industry that frequently ignores the Mr. & Ms. No Names.