LADY GAGA’S OFFICIAL VOGUE SPREAD

Taken from nymag.com:

 

Photo: Mario Testino for Vogue

 

“The cover and at least one image inside the magazine has leaked, but today Vogue officially revealed its March cover story on Lady Gaga. Gaga wears Haider Ackermann on the cover and a lot of Alexander McQueen plus more Haider inside the issue, but what’s surprising is the hair and makeup. Her pink cropped-bob wig came with bleached eyebrows and dark lipstick, which were probably meant to give her that signature sinister effect, but the look is surprisingly unflattering. She looks so hot in the art for her new single — why didn’t that manic, cat-eyed energy translate here?

But what’s better than the pictures — and this might be a rare thing to say about a fashion magazine — is the article. “Because, as funny as it is that I am on the cover of Vogue — and no one is laughing harder than I am — I was the girl in school who was most likely to walk down the hallway and get called a slut or a bitch or ugly or big nose or nerd or dyke. ‘Why are you in the chorus?’” Gaga tells Jonathan Van Meter.

“The fashion community in general got me much earlier than everyone else,” she says. “But actually, I felt truly embraced by this London cultural movement, that McQueen, Isabella, Daphne Guinness wing of the English crowd. I remember when I first started doing photo shoots, people would say, ‘My God, you look so much like Isabella Blow, it scares me.’ And McQueen used to say, ‘Oh, my God, your boobs!’ He actually grabbed both of them and said, ‘Even your boobs are like hers!’ ”

Van Meter got to trail Gaga for a while while she was touring in London and Paris, which sounds like a big tedious exercise in waiting around. When she was an hour late to a meeting they had at the O2 arena in London — probably because she has to, like, get dressed — she swept into the room carrying a glass of wine because, “I don’t like the idea of you having to drink wine out of a plastic cup,” she tells him. So very Vogue of her, unlike her boyfriend with the mullet. Or, maybe, this:

“I don’t know if you knew this,” she says, “but the other night, in London, I had food poisoning. I was vomiting backstage during the changes.” I had no idea, I say. “Nobody knew,” she says. “I just Jedi mind-tricked my body. You will not vomit onstage. Because I was also thinking, If I do, they are going to think I’m drunk. And I don’t want them to think I am human, let alone drunk. I certainly wouldn’t want them to think I had something so ordinary as food poisoning.” She laughs.”

 

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