Vanity Fair Snubs Melania (Again)

Staff threatens walkout over the world's most stylish First Lady

I was probably talking about a boy, or possibly a debauched night out. All I know is the elevator doors opened and a man got out and then the doors closed again and as soon as they did my friend and co-worker Val grabbed my arm and started shaking me violently.

“Jenna,” she hissed. “Did you not see the eye signals I was trying to give you? Do you actually not know who that was?”

“What eye signals? Who who was?” I stammered.

“That was Si Newhouse,” she informed me. “In the elevator. With us.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” I asked sincerely, trying to recall what I had been blabbering about.

“He’s our boss!” Val shouted. “No, actually, he’s our boss’s boss’s boss’s boss. He’s the [extreme expletive] Chairman of Condé Nast!”

Me, actually.

I was an associate fashion and beauty editor at Mademoiselle at the time (Val was our features editor) and that was my actual level of cluelessness about the inner sanctum at Condé Nast, the mega-conglomerate that owned nearly all of the planet’s high-profile magazines including Vogue, Vanity Fair, Allure, Architectural Digest, Bon Appétit, GQ, Details, and a half dozen more.

It turns out, I wasn’t the last birdbrain to be employed by the Condescending Nasties. In fact, as I type, an entire flock of them are squawking their liberal little hearts out about whether or not Melania Trump should be allowed on the cover of Vanity Fair.

You read that right. Should the First Lady of the United States, arguably one of the most fashionable and beautiful the world has ever known, be allowed on the cover of a magazine that exists solely to worship celebrities, socialites, and people with weaponized cheekbones?

Alas, when the rag’s new global editorial director, Mark Guiducci, floated the FLOTUS cover idea, the Vanity Fair bullpen morphed into a couture-clad version of a pack of toddlers melting down in the organic snack aisle at Target.

“I will walk out the motherf–king door, and half my staff will follow me,” one editor reportedly screeched. (Good Lord, do you promise? Like, pinky-promise?) “We are not going to normalize this despot and his wife.” “If I have to bag groceries at Trader Joe’s, I’ll do it,” another threatened, shaking her (his? their? zir?) pitchfork.

[Author’s note: If I have to fly to New York City to have this person bag my groceries, I’ll do it.]

Please note that working at Trader Joe’s is peak martyrdom to these people. Not prison, not exile, not even selling feet pix or plasma for rent money. No, bagging organic kale at a grocery store that plays indie music is their version of storming the Bastille. (If your TJ’s cashier seems suspiciously well-coiffed, maybe ask her what wine pairs best with despair.)

Of course, Democratic First Ladies historically get the cover treatment like it’s written into the Constitution. Hillary Clinton graced Vogue in 1998. Michelle Obama was their cover model three separate times during her tenure. Jill Biden’s been featured at least twice, most recently in 2024. Kamala Harris even got her shot (complete with Converse sneakers and all the sparkling enthusiasm of a DMV photo). Yet not a single modern Republican First Lady—Laura Bush, Barbara Bush, Nancy Reagan, or the current Commander-in-Chic who happens to be an actual former model—has been given the glossy, soft-focus honor. Unless you count Melania’s 2005 Vogue (pre-FLOTUS) bridal spread, the record is clear: Condé Nast is running a one-party beauty contest.

I didn’t make it, I’m just posting it.

The funniest part is, I’d bet my last Trader Joe’s tote bag that ninety-five percent of these editors are bluffing. One staffer said as much: “It’s all talk. If they put her on the cover, people will protest and gripe about it, but I don’t see anyone quitting such a prestigious job over that.” Translation: We’ll throw our little tantrum, then cash our Condé Nast paychecks and go back to moodboarding Gwyneth Paltrow’s next Goop spread.

Meanwhile, Melania herself has made it clear she couldn’t give a rodent’s rump about the slight, having reportedly laughed off cover requests in the past. She’s already smoldered, posed, and moved on to endeavors that actually matter. If cultural relevance were a war, FLOTUS would destroy Vanity Fair with both perfectly manicured hands tied behind her back.

Welcome to Wokeville, where fashion editors threaten to self-immolate if they’re forced to feature a woman whose biggest crime is being gorgeous and marrying their nemesis. This is what counts as resistance in 2025: abandoning your cushy magazine post in an indignant rage because the cover girl is prettier than your politics.

This birdbrain will sign your copy and everything!