The story is authored by Jonathan Van Meter who was embedded in the press corps on the Secretary's extensive and important trip through Africa this past August. He brings a fresh eye to the continuing saga of Hillary, and in doing so writes with an enthusiasm, clarity, and objectivity that so often is missing in stories about our lovely SOS. You can access the story online, so generously provided by Vogue. I, for one, will be laying out my bucks for the hard copy following my usual rule: read it where you cannot mess it up and treasure and preserve the glossy.
Here's a short excerpt, and I shall tell you why I love it on the other side.
It is a dreary morning in early October in Washington, D.C., and perhaps because Hillary Rodham Clinton is wearing a black Oscar de la Renta suit on such a colorless day, she seems somber. I had trailed her for nearly two weeks this summer in Africa and then again in New York during the United Nations General Assembly, and I had grown accustomed to seeing her in the vivid suits she favors. Africa is nothing if not colorful, and so not only did bright red or teal or periwinkle seem situation-appropriate, but her clothes somehow matched her demeanor, which was almost uniformly cheerful. Sometimes the color/mood connection was made overt: One morning, as her motorcade arrived at the U.N. for a panel on violence against women and girls, she stepped out of a shiny black luxury sedan in a red suit and was met by Esther Brimmer, her Assistant Secretary of State for International Organization Affairs, also wearing red. "Good morning, Esther," said Clinton. "I see you got the color memo."
Today's memo? Not today. When she walks into one of the many grand diplomatic reception rooms on the eighth floor of "the Building," as everyone calls the State Department, she is clutching a big mug of milky coffee and is wearing no makeup. She looks tired and cranky. She is about to tape three I'm-sorry-I-can't-be-with-you-here-this-evening videos for events she can't attend. This is obligatory drudge work, to be sure, but it's drudgery that requires her to suck it up and find that extra gear: She must be on. Clinton says hello to the group—not her usual effervescent eye-popping hello but a barely mustered blanket nicety. She sits where she is told, facing a teleprompter, and her ever-present and very chic deputy chief of staff, Huma Abedin, hands her a small case filled with cosmetics. Holding a compact, Clinton puts on mascara, lipstick, blush, and a little powder. She yanks her jacket straight, affixes her mic, and signals she is ready by sitting up and staring directly into the camera. And—click!—just like that, the public Hillary appears: upbeat, reassuring, in control, wide awake, means business. She nails all three videos in one take. Done. Next.
All women who work together know about the odd tendency to arrive at work all dressed in the same color/s. We do not know why this happens, but it has become known as "the color memo" and there is usually a woman or two who did NOT receive the "color memo." I LOVE that Hillary makes this remark so casually! She and Angela Merkel get each other's color memos, I have noticed.
I KNEW it! It is not a make-up artist working for an hour on her face. It's Hillary! And it's minimal! I could see it at the NYU commencement, there was hardly any makeup there! I'm not saying she never has a make-up person, but she does do her own, doesn't really need any, but she does it well. All women who sit in front of a mirror with a cup of coffee in the morning can wrap their arms around Hillary for this.
(Note to nitpickers: When
