I cancelled my subscription to Vogue’s American edition several years ago because the content became so ridiculously irrelevant and nonsensical that it wasn’t even fun to make fun of it anymore. That’s why you haven’t seen my annual critique of the once-fabulous “September Issue” on BoomerBroadcast for a few years. I do, however, still get newsletters each week from Vogue U.K., which has turned out to be almost as silly—in fact I burst out laughing when I read the ad to the right. I am not making this up. Google Jo Malone if you don’t believe me.

Now, I do realize that Vogue depends on advertisers for its existence and desperately needs the revenue, regardless of what they’re hawking, but can you imagine the man/person of your dreams nuzzling the sweet spot in your neck in raptures over the essence of beets and fresh dirt? And, this is from someone who loves nothing better than freshly cooked sliced beets smothered in salt, pepper, and melting butter to accompany a meal. In fact, Jo Malone offers an entire smorgasbord of veggie flavours for your seductive pleasure: Velvety Butternet, Carrot Blossom, and Green Tomato Vine. We should all feel insulted. What’s next? Motor Oil? Lawnmower fumes? Football scent?

Maybe I should renew my subscription because I’m obviously missing out on an endless stream of hilarious and shame-worthy products being pushed at us by people who have no understanding of the real world, or even the merest conception of what real women want in style and fashion. Products like beetroot fragrance are about as appealing to me as Gwyneth Paltrow’s vaginal jade eggs, or her $550.00 red light shower filter.

Against my better judgment, I decided to drop $11.99 Cdn. of my precious senior boomer’s income and buy a print copy of the September 2026 issue of American Vogue. In the glory days of The September Issue, it often contained more than 800 pages of fall previews and editorial material. Its heft resembled the old Eaton’s and Simpson’s catalogues we used to love perusing. In my working days, I enjoyed browsing the fashion pages of Vogue for inspirational outfits I couldn’t afford to buy on my Hudson’s Bay budget—coincidentally, another company that went tits up after neglecting their core customer to concentrate on their real estate assets.

There is an entire slice of the fashion industry that is insensitive, ignorant, and oblivious to what women want today. It seems to me that the target market for fashion magazines is the fashion industry’s self-congratulating insiders—not us, the buyer and customer. To be fair and give credit where it’s due, however, the U.K. edition of Vogue included an excellent list of books to be read. As I scanned their recommendations, I found many titles to add to my already overflowing “To Read” list. The Brits are always a bit more discerning in their tastes and don’t focus on “beach reads”.

While the September 2026 issue has shrunk from more than 800 pages (banner above) to less than 400 (still significant), it still had its share of fashion clunkers and more than a few absolutely ridiculous articles and promotions. Surprisingly, I did manage to find one or two things worth flagging. The cover featured Cindy Crawford’s gorgeous look-alike daughter Kaia Gerber, and Richard Gere’s equally gorgeous son, Homer. Frankly, I would have preferred the more age-appropriate and relatable Cindy Crawford and Richard Gere, the originals—even though I don’t know a single boomer who can match their genetically freakish gorgeousness.

I do enjoy scrutinizing the Chanel ads for something remotely inspirational, on the off-chance I could somehow manage to replicate their tasteful style within my own pitiful, real-life budget. Annie Leibovitz photographed Simon Howell (whoever he is) sitting on one of the outcroppings at the top of the Chrysler Building in New York. The image was mind-blowing and caused my stomach to do a bit of a lurch when I considered the mechanics of getting him out there. I also enjoyed the brief two-page spread “My Last Interview With David Hockney”.

After perusing the 2026 September Issue of Vogue, I will not be reinstating my subscription. It was reassuring to know that I find it is still irrelevant and often ridiculous, even with the improvements implemented by the new editor, Chloé Malle, daughter of Candice Bergen and the late French filmmaker, Louis Malle. Since I retired, my interest in fashion has diminished, although that doesn’t mean I’ve lost interest entirely. We don’t necessarily want to wear athleisure wear when we go shopping or meet our boomer gal pals for lunch.

I miss a good print fashion mag, but these days I get my inspiration from online influencers who are my age and at my stage in life as a retired boomer. I was a dedicated follower of fashion in the glory days of print magazines, as evidenced by the years’-old hard-copy file folder I still have containing pages ripped from various now-extinct publications. It doesn’t seem to matter that baby boomers are a huge demographic with enough spending power to turn the business around, if we weren’t deemed invisible.

Print fashion magazines lost their glow around the turn of the century, especially over the last decade. Did they also lose sight of what their readers expect and enjoy reading? Vogue will never be known for touting comfortable shoes with arch supports on its anorexic, pubescent models, makeup that minimizes lines and wrinkles, or wearable, drapey fashion with elastic waistbands. Is there a middle ground? More’s the pity, but that’s life as I see it, and I doubt I’m alone. I’ll still opt for my little bottle of Chanel’s Mademoiselle over Jo Malone’s Beetroot any day!