Like me, you probably don’t read Vogue. So you probably are under the misunderstanding that it is a glossy magazine dedicated to frivolous fashion. Wrong: it is a left-wing propaganda outlet sprinkled with photos of dresses and purses.
The magazine’s relentless leftism can be hilarious. Like this article: “Step Aside, Idris Elba and Chris Hemsworth: Robert Mueller Is America’s New Crush.”
[A]s Chelsea Handler bluntly put it on Twitter: “I’m starting to have a real crush on Mueller.”
She wasn’t the only one who’d felt a tingle while reading The Wall Street Journal breaking news alert. Handler’s tweet about the 72-year-old grandfather was met with responses like, “Intelligence is sexy”; “It’s Mueller Time” (there are now even T-shirts and trucker hats to this effect); #SilverFox; and from one man [sic], “I wanna have his baby.” Kindly step aside, Messrs. Idris Elba and Chris Hemsworth, because America has a deeply passionate, totally red-hot new crush, and it’s on Robert Mueller.
This is not parody, it is how Democrats write for a rather weird slice of their base. Since it poses as a fashion magazine, Vogue includes a picture of Mueller looking (I guess) “sexy”:
Of course, Mueller isn’t America’s only “new crush”:
This hot pursuit of the truth has made Mueller hot, but he’s not the only one. On the day of his much-watched testimony before the Senate Intelligence Committee, James Comey drew swoons on Twitter, including suggestions he be the next Bachelor. (It seems we all have a type: former FBI directors.) And hard-charging CNN host Jake Tapper, too, has become a journalistic crush among the resistance.
Vogue features a lot of dresses and accessories, but does it normally do swimsuits? I’m not sure, but it hired famed photographer Annie Liebowitz to photograph one bathing beauty: the traitor
Bradley Chelsea Manning:
The picture illustrates the magazine’s lengthy paean to Manning:
A Lambda host guides Manning down a flight of steps. The party is just starting. At one end of the space, a platform, slightly raised above the dance floor, is marked off with velvet rope. A plate of crudités awaits; Manning orders a gimlet. She’s extroverted, she says: “I love being around people.” While living as a man, she often went to clubs and parties, even in stodgy Washington, D.C. …
Music pounds through the room, which is dim and bathed in blue and fuchsia light. As the space fills, a few brave souls approach Manning, then a few more. Soon the platform is packed with people hoping to take a flash-bleached selfie.
“I just wanted to say hello. You’re, like, a perfect hero.”
It’s a June afternoon, and we are sitting in a park along the Hudson River, a short walk from the sleek Tribeca building where Manning has been living since arriving in New York. Today she is dressed with a mixture of straightforward elegance and function: a casual black sleeveless Marc Jacobs dress with playful paisley lining, a small purse from The Row, Borderline boots by Vetements x Dr. Martens, and—the cinching touch—a black utility belt from 5.11 Tactical, a gear company that supplies law enforcement and the military. “I’ve been a huge fan of Marc Jacobs for many, many years, even going back to when I was wearing men’s clothing,” she explains. “He captures a kind of simplicity and a kind of beauty that I like—projecting strength through femininity.”
There is much more, including enough biographical information to raise the question: how did Manning, whose life was a complete mess, manage to get top secret clearance?
Vogue’s tribute to Manning concludes with credits not usually found at the end of a news story.
In this story:
Fashion Editor: Phyllis Posnick.
Hair: Jimmy Paul for Bumble and Bumble; Makeup: Alice Lane.
Tailor: Maria Del Greco for Christy Rilling Studio.
Set Design: Mary Howard
If you don’t think there is a culture war going on, think again. And virtually every institution, including ostensibly nonpolitical niche players like Vogue, is on the other side.