I enjoyed walking though the American Vogue corridors where, amidst racks of opulent and diverse garments, you could bump into Cher, Mike Nichols, Marisa Berenson or Bibi Winklehorn, the bubbly accessories editor who presided over an enormous cupboard overflowing with jewellery, belts, hats, scarves, plumage, tinkling bells, even a bejewelled chastity belt designed by Erté. Just about anything could be found in there.
That summer, having graduated from high school, I flew to London to work in a publisher’s office as a reader. I wasn’t very diligent, seeing as I was out every night dancing at Sibylla’s or queuing for Top of the Pops, where I encountered the Rolling Stones for the first time. In those days, London was a much smaller place; the class system seemed to be dissolving as actors, artists, pop stars, photographers and the fashion crowd mixed freely with establishment figures and aristocrats. The synergy created by these different worlds intersecting for the first time was intoxicating. At some point, I bumped into Bea Miller, then editor of British Vogue, at a party.
Somewhat reserved, with a touch of the headmistress about her, she could not have been more different from Mrs Vreeland, though they both shared an eye for talent in all spheres. While American Vogue was geared towards a more affluent demographic, Miss Miller’s favoured fashion editors – Grace Coddington, Marit Allen, Mandy Clapperton – were all in their twenties and aiming at a younger readership generally.
Though the reception area was formal and fusty, and the editorial departments somewhat scruffy, Vogue House was a creative hub, buzzing with photographers, models, feature writers, archivists and illustrators.
When I first clapped eyes on the photographer David Bailey, he was sitting cross-legged on the floor of Bea Miller’s office working on layouts with Barney Wan, the brilliant, introverted art director of British Vogue. Bailey scrambled to his feet and peered at me closely. “Yes, she’ll do,” he said finally. However, the energetic exchange between us was far more interesting than his words. Before our first shoot together a few days later, Miss Miller warned Bailey not to flirt with me on account of my formidable parents. On my side, friends were upfront about it. “He’s married for the second time and has a girlfriend too, fuhgeddaboudit!”