In the early ’90s, I wrote for Vogue. But as a freelancer based in San Francisco, I didn’t have to worry much about being fashionable. The only thing I had to dress up was my telephone voice. “This is Laura Fraser with Vooooo-gue,” I’d say, making calls from my kitchen table while wearing sweatpants, a Ramones T-shirt, and cowboy boots. My highlights in those days looked like a starfish had landed on my head. “If they could see you now,” my then-boyfriend would snicker.
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