The beef-chewing scarecrow editor of American Vogue is on her way out, according to recent reports. Various reasons are given for Anna Wintour's expected exit : she's knackered, she's bored, she's past it. The Observer - about a month behind on this one - repeated various cliches about Wintour yesterday: her "bobbed, barbed style", her "draconian" rule, etc. I don't know why writers bother: why not just cut and paste other writers' cut-n-pastes and add a courtesy credit in brackets. It's as if the sheer gravitas of the subject cannot be appreciated without haystacking the auto-repeat adjectives and stories and pretending the piece is a self-contained first.
What must pain Wintour the most is the suggestion that she's not with-it anymore. The moment-royalty of bloggers and other commentators have robbed her stale obita dicta of authority - they arrive weeks or months after ignition in redundant glossy pages. Was it only 20 years ago that she muscled her way to the Vogue editorship to the cry that predecessor Grace Mirabella had been old-fashioned in the face of teensy Elle? The poetic justice of Wintour's situation now is exquisitely perfect and just.
I can scarcely believe the story that Wintour will become a Barack Obama ambassador. What to? The meat industry? Anti-bullying organisations - in North Korea perhaps? Articulacy? Long ago she came to resemble a stiff in a pyramid - let the mummy of fashion catalogues rest in peace.
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