Image: Karl Lagerfeld for V Magazine

I adore fashion and I have never been thin. My size has taunted and tormented me for as long as I can remember, not because I necessarily wanted to be thin as much as I wanted to look different in clothes. It’s difficult to trust someone who says they love fashion when their appearance screams comfort, practicality or negligence, so in many ways I have always felt like something of a fraud. Even today, few things intimidate me more than a skinny, well-dressed peer. (Ed. note: WHA? For the record, Streib is fashionable and beautiful.)

But the never-ending and nauseating discussions of whether the idolization of super-skinny models and celebrities is ruining our culture—brought to light most recently with V magazine’s current size issue, which includes plus size models—is absurd. I’ll be the first one to admit that any issues I have with my size are fueled by my own insecurities, not because fashion magazines are beckoning me to fit some fabricated ideal. I’m never going to feel more comfortable with my body by seeing Crystal Renn in a bikini. Why? Because she’s just as gorgeous as any size two professional model.

Fashion magazines are not a celebration of the Everywoman, just like cooking magazines don’t include images of frozen TV dinners. Aspiration is part of the editorial appeal, it’s all about what’s new, what’s different, whatever can convince you to buy the magazine. V is getting tons of publicity because of this issue, which is great for them. But pretending that this is suddenly going to revolutionize the fashion industry or make women more accepting of their bodies is ludicrous. It’s the same thing in a different package.

Fashion is a business. Publishing is a business. Self-confidence, health, personal style…these are not things that can be purchased.

Lauren Streib is a journalist living in Brooklyn. She’s written for Forbes, The Daily Beast, Marie Claire and of course, The Fashion Beat.

Another ed. note: Magazines don’t give girls anorexia, their parents–pushing them to be perfect in every way–do. Growing up, I was certainly not a size O and I loved fashion magazines. Yet I’ve always been self confident because my mother was constantly telling me how beautiful and smart I was. While I commend V for its effort, I do think this is going to have a similar effect as the Italian Vogue “black” issue did: very little. Someday, I hope to see women of all sizes and colors in every magazine. Not because it’s politically correct, but because it’s more beautiful.

Between those two experiences, I’ve worked at Hallmark, the Gap, a now-shuttered store in Williamsburg called Landing (R.I.P., I still miss you!), and even Victoria’s Secret (although I quit that job one month in as I couldn’t take the pressure of selling people credit cards that they didn’t want). In general, I really loved working retail. I like selling products that I actually believe in. Although I always knew I wanted to be a fashion writer, owning my own shop is still a pipe dream. I think that’s why I was drawn to the business side of fashion in my journalistic endeavors.

Anyway, my point is: I think I have a pretty good handle on what excellent customer service means. And these days, most mass retailers–heck, retailers in general–aren’t cutting it. I’m not saying it’s not hard. Uniqlo, for example, has an excellent product. But the staff at its New York City SoHo store knows jack about what’s available, what’s not, and when certain items will arrive. (A lot of this has to do with the fact that they’re not paid much, which means it’s a transient position.) If you ask for a specific type of denim, they return your inquiry with a blank stare. Of course, I still shop at Uniqlo because I know quite a bit about the company and the product–I can overlook their ignorance. I don’t need them. However, I’m not a “typical” consumer. If my Aunt Barb, an accountant from Pittsburgh, walked into Uniqlo and they weren’t able to help her find jeans that were long enough to accommodate her sky-high legs, she’d simply leave and high-tail it to J.Crew, where the salespeople show real love and appreciation for their workplace and the products their shilling.

Spending the last week on the West Coast got me thinking about the importance of customer service. While I hate it when salespeople are “too friendly,” nothing makes me happier than coming across someone whose passionate about the brands and products he or she is paid to sell. For example, on Boxing Day, my significant other and I popped into a lovely store on Hayes Street in San Francisco called Nida. I immediately got excited because there were plenty of customers, plenty of my favorite brands–Steven Alan, Isabel Marant–and I heard one shop girl say that everything in the store was half off.

“Everything?!” I exclaimed. “Everything!” She responded.

I noticed a herringbone wool belted coat from Isabel Marant that I had spied at Bird back on Smith Street in Brooklyn. A salesperson named Atsushi came over and complemented my choice, asking if I’d like him to put it in a changing room for me. He also picked up a pair of Etoile trousers that he thought I might like. When I tried the jacket on, he helped me “style” it the way Marant did on the runway. Let me be clear: none of this was obtrusive or offensive. I actually enjoyed the subtle attention. And yes, I bought the coat.

I had similar experiences at Minimal on Hayes Street, Maison Reve in Mill Valley and of course, the Apple store on Chestnut. Apple proves customer service can work on the mass market level–you just need to hire employees that are passionate about the product.

Last night, while researching another story, I looked up Chicago boutique Hejfina, run by the lovely Heiji Choy Black. I’d interviewed Heiji for a piece I did at Forbes about two years ago, and I thought she’d be a good fit for this other story. However, I soon found that Hejfina had closed in September. Why? Heiji said that it was mainly because of the economy. But when I looked up Hejfina on Yelp, I found several angry reviews stating that while the clothes were great, the salespeople were cold and offensive. I thought Heiji was a wonderful person when I chatted with her, but I also understood what the Yelpers were saying. The few times I got a chance to enter the store, Heiji was not there and the salespeople were less-than-friendly. I didn’t buy anything. I do wonder if the poor customer service had something to do with Hejfina’s demise.

American Vogue revels in accessible glamour, while Vogue Paris wears exclusivity on its sleeve. (Editor Carine Roitfeld to U.K.’s Observer in 2007: “I think the rest of the country don’t like us, and we don’t know them.”) Its cover subjects are primarily models, not celebrities. Its editorials use clothing as props for the avant-garde and eccentric tangents of the photographers.  American Vogue more closely resembles a Spiegel catalog.

The Vogue brand was created to cover what’s new and what’s on trend, and to serve as a who’s who guide to the beauties and the creative brains in fashion. But Roitfeld and her staff go a step further, transforming each issue into fantastical art.  For November 2009, Lady Gaga is literally put on a pedestal, a model with the legs of a Doberman reclines across two pages and Michael Jackson graffiti serves as the backdrop for couture. It’s striking but silly. As a result, a reader is able to both peek inside the fashion world and feel a part of it.

Roitfeld has tested taste in the name of creativity without end since she adapted the title to her liking in 2001. In December 2007, feminists attacked after Karen Elson was featured in bondage in a Vogue calendar guest edited by John Galliano (the calendar was included with the issue). This year she’s drawn ire for featuring a sexed up, smoking model with a baby bump, an editorial depicting cannibalism, and, most recently, model-of-the-moment Lara Stone in blackface.

She’s incredibly smart for courting debate, because in the business of publishing and fashion, controversy is currency. She acts as an artist, not as a journalist or publisher­­–hinting at instincts that were developed during her time as a stylist (notably for Gucci before landing atop Vogue’s masthead). I almost wonder if she’s trying to please the reader or herself, and if it’s the latter, than I (the reader) am infinitely lucky.

And I’m not the only one thankful for Roitfeld’s second career. Since her arrival at Vogue Paris, circulation has increased 36%, from 102,000 in 1999 to 139,000 today. Of course that’s tiny compared to American Vogue’s stagnant count of 1.2 million, but at least it’s growing. And for that, the fashion world is lucky.

Lauren Streib is a Brooklyn-based writer and reporter at the The Daily Beast.

Related:
Vogue’s Covers Might Be Boring, But They Still Sell

A beautiful dress from Brian Reyes, available to borrow on Rent the Runway for $200.

The fashion blogs have been abuzz since yesterday regarding new e-Commerce Web site Rent The Runway. Designed in the same vein as Bag Borrow or Steal (now renamed Avelle), RTR allows users to rent their favorite in-season fashions for $50 to $200. Think of it as Netflix for clothing. Like the founders of online sample sale site Gilt Groupe, the two women behind RTR met at Harvard Business School. Also like Gilt, the site is “invitation-only,” which really means you have to request access via email.

I hate to beat an idea down before it’s had a chance to prove itself. But here’s why, from a consumer’s standpoint and an investor’s standpoint, I don’t like this concept. Not one bit.

Consumers: In an era when cheap is chic and sample sales are rampant, why spend $200 renting a Brian Reyes dress when you can buy one on Gilt Groupe or Shop Bop for not much more? Sales are easy to come by these days. In the past, I’ve scored a Balenciaga blouse for $60 (Barneys Warehouse sale), a Helmut Lang blazer for $100 (Gilt) a Lanvin dress for $40 (again, Barneys Warehouse sale) and Rachel Comey heels for $85 (at my favorite local shop, Bird). Yes, I am an avid shopper, but really, it’s not that hard, people. Plus, who wants to wear the same dress that everyone else has? If fashion journalism has taught me anything, it’s that women like to look unique. Thus far, the pieces on the site are beautiful (like the $2,100 Brian Reyes stunner shown here). But they’re not “it” items.

Consumers: If you’re the type of girl who goes out on the town so often that you need several different party ensembles–so as not to offend your cohorts by wearing the same thing twice–you can probably afford to pay full price for these dresses.

Investors: I have not been briefed on the complete financials of Bag Borrow or Steal, but I do know that the Seattle-based company raised a round of venture capital in 2006 that amounted to $8.25 million, according to The Deal. Since that glorious time, the company has changed its look, its name and who knows what else. I feel like the name-change in September 2008 is the biggest indicator that something wasn’t working.

Investors/Customers: What was that something, you might ask? It’s sad but simple: Most consumers aren’t responsible enough to use a service like this. (Including yours truly.) Think about how many Netflix DVDs get ruined per year. DVDs are made of plastic, not delicate fabrics! While DVDs are cheap enough to replace, clothing is not. Even though RTR does charge a fee for damaged goods–think about all the red wine you’ve spilled on silk dresses over the years–the number of torn, discolored and sweat-stained garments is going to eventually run up a very large tab that damage fees will not supplant. Plus, if consumers are constantly paying fees for damages, they’re going to get frustrated quickly.

Think about it this way: Every time you’ve borrowed a special garment from a friend, it’s ended badly. And so will this.