Honoring the 120th Anniversary: André Leon Talley Shares His Vogue Story

When I was in high school, I made wallpaper from the fashion pages of Vogue for the Schiap-pink room I kept in my grandmother's house. In the early sixties, Vogue came out twice a month. I was so naive, I didn't think I could subscribe to the magazine, but in any case, every other Sunday after church, I enjoyed walking to the newsstand on the Duke University campus with my allowance to buy it. I would come home, tear out my favorite images, and pin-tack them to the walls. This was not my bedroom but a sanctuary, with a beautiful mahogany desk and modern sofa, that my grandmother had created for me—a place where I could read, listen to records, and escape to my own world. That world was papered with images from Vogue. 
One Sunday, on my way to East Campus, a group of white male students sped by, throwing rocks at me from the car. I kept walking—and it never stopped me from taking that walk to buyVogue twice a month