September Issue

After a long work week in LA, I got back yesterday.  The bf and I went with friends last night to the Kabuki for the film September Issue, the documentary of the production of the 2007 September issue or Vogue – the largest issue in history at something like 800 pages.

The Kabuki is in SF’s Japantown.  I had gone from one Japantown (LA’s Little Tokyo) to another.  We had dinner beforehand at the Sundance Hawaiian cafe – – which I guess is part of the theatre complex itself.  Featuring dishes like Spam and Eggs and Kahlua Pig (which was rather good, by the way!) the atmosphere is a bit sterile for what they seem to be attempting.  But it is convenient if you want to drop by and eat before a film.

The Kabuki offers assigned seating so we then went to meet friends at the upstairs bar rather than waiting through commercials in the theatre itself.  Our bartender happened to be this dreamy surfer-vibe guy who reminded me of the tall surfer doofus character in Scooby-Doo.   His girlfriend must make him spend a small fortune on hair products and styling.  And he must practice his head-flick because he never actually had to touch his hair to get it out of his eyes, although it was that long and straight.  He was wearing my John Varvatos v-neck cocoa brown tee which I got back in July at the Nordie’s sale.

The movie was fun – kind of Project Runway meets Big Brother.  I noticed that basically only one of Anna Wintour’s employees felt free to talk – creative editor and photo stylist Grace Coddington.  She being either (or both) so near retirement or so instrumental to Vogue that she doesn’t have the same level of fear for her career as everyone else.  Not that she had anything terribly nasty or even juicy to say about Anna Wintour.  It was clear that Wintour does not run a democracy – but what big company does?  Vogue is a creative endeavor – but it’s the creative vision of apparently very few people with a lot of help.  She didn’t seem to go about making outrageous demands, but you did see the obvious low-level assistants scurry about like cockroaches on crack whenever something was needed.  Its NYC and my impression is that people take their career ambitions quite seriously.

Devil Wears Prada it did not seem to be.


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