Vogue April 2026

Down Time PAPERBACKS BEFORE QUARTERBACKS. That was the idea behind the Vogue Book Club screening of Wuthering Heights held in New York on Super Bowl Sunday—complete with an onstage interview with director Emerald Fennell. A trio of comp-lit majors, down from Yale, were among the 150 who snagged tickets, and they told Emerald and me they were so happy to be in a room full of people who loved books but also loved getting dressed. We took that idea and ran with it in this month’s “Fashion Gets Lit,” in which models including Awar Odhiang, Bhavita Mandava, and Paloma Elsesser find themselves immersed in the pages of some of spring’s best new books. With them are assorted NYC literati—poet Frederick Seidel; Farrar, Straus and Giroux president Mitzi Angel; two sisters…

Island Time In “History Play” (page 80), Robin Givhan considers Rachel Scott’s start as creative director of Proenza Schouler, a job she’s balancing with her work at Diotima, the brand she launched in 2021. For the story’s imagery, photographer Don Brodie went to Jamaica, where Scott (second from left, with her wife, Chaday) was born and raised and her parents (seated) still live. Vogue’s fashion market director, Naomi Elizée Blue, who served as the sittings editor for the shoot (and whose own family comes from Haiti), found the scene on the island intimately familiar. “It felt less like work and more like being with family,” she says. Reader’s Digest “Fashion Gets Lit” (page 66), photographed by Sebastián Faena and styled by Stella Greenspan, pays loving tribute to the eclectic literary…

Before the pits and the scream-alongs, there was the shop on the Ocean City boardwalk with the punk CDs and records in the back. The main part of the store was so Jersey Shore generic, with its Day-Glo boogie boards and hermit crabs in chicken wire cages, that I don’t know how I knew to go in. But behind the beach kitsch a repository of knowledge and history awaited: Misfits, Dead Kennedys, and Bad Brains T-shirts folded logo-out on the back wall; crates of CDs labeled “Hardcore and Punk,” “Emo,” and “Indie”; pins and patches and other assorted band merch on top of a plexiglass counter, the inner shelves of which contained pipes and rolling papers. As a metaphor for a suburban aesthetic awakening, it was, perhaps, a little on…

I am sitting in a small room painted emerald green as a nurse counts vials she will need to fill with my warm red blood. I have no needle phobia, and I am a living, breathing woman in America, so I am used to being poked and prodded. Still, she and I exchange a meaningful glance over the 13 glass tubes. “It looks worse than it is,” she tells me. This assessment is taking place at The Lanby—a “holistic primary care” provider with annual fees starting at $5,000. Like most 30-somethings, I have the nagging feeling that I should be more committed to achieving optimal health. And like most 30-somethings who have stacked obligations like Jenga blocks, there is a limit to how much I am willing to do. I…

Suppose you are a woman. Suppose you are a woman who does things: directs movies, paints, runs a business, raises children, advocates for human rights, is a sound engineer, is a chef, etc. Now suppose you are in search of clothing that can take you through the day in comfort and style—low-fuss, non-basic fashion that helps you flesh out your taste and express your personality. If you are that kind of woman, you are likely a customer of Rachel Comey. The brand celebrates its 25th anniversary this year. That makes Rachel Comey something of a unicorn: a wholly independent, woman-led label that has expanded over the years from a microscopic business with a cult following into a flyweight empire—women’s daywear, denim, bags, shoes, jewelry, and more—with four stores split between…

It’s golden hour on the island of Agilika, where the ruins of the 2,700-year-old Philae temple complex stand proudly above the glassy waters of the Nile. The daily cruise ship crowds are gone, leaving just a few dozen visitors (and a litter of kittens) slinking through the structures. As we pass through a cavernous hall, the honeyed light falls across a relief of the goddess Isis: wings outstretched, the crown of the sun sitting atop her head. It is one of the most beautiful artworks I’ve ever seen—but a small part of me can’t wait to get back to our boat. If you saw the boat I’m talking about, you’d understand: Its name is the Nile Canopus, and when I embarked in January, the ship had been in service for…