Long before Vera Wang revolutionized bridalwear, she was a 22-year-old editor at Vogue. Here, she encountered Polly Mellen, the sittings editor, who, as a maestro of the magazine, orchestrated some of the 20th century’s most iconic fashion imagery. Plus, her no-nonsenseness was legendary. On her first day with Mellen, Wang was famously sent home to change. To Wang, Mellen was both a muse and mentor. Following Mellen’s passing, Wang reflects on the singular Mellen—a Halston-clad editor who didn’t just capture fashion; she defined it.
Back when I started working, fashion was for the very few, the very rich, and the very stylish. Polly Mellen bridged all those gaps. When she started, it was with Alexey Brodovitch at Harper’s Bazaar, and then she was brought over to Vogue by Diana Vreeland. I came to Vogue about two months after Mrs. Vreeland, and it is a true story about Grace Mirabella—how they say the office went from red to beige. I was in the beige part of it. But Polly was a force—a force that I can’t explain. Even at the young age of 22, when I was supposedly at my peak of energy, Polly was someone that I was just in awe of.
I did not work with Polly at the beginning. I was a rover for about the first three months, then I worked for Baron Nicolas de Gunzburg, and then I did a week with Elsa Klensch. Next, I worked in Grace Mirabella’s office for probably about four months. She had two major assistants, and I was the third one who ran to get coffee, but I had no complaints. I was happy to be there and easy to work with. All of this was before I was brought into the lion’s den, into Polly’s office.
On my first day with Polly, I was trying to dress as I thought a young woman, a Vogue editor, would dress in those days. I had no idea. I came to Polly quite proud. I’d been living in Paris, I’d done a lot of studies at the Sorbonne, and I had just finished Sarah Lawrence and Columbia graduate work. I walked in there, kind of pleased as punch with myself. I was in a Saint Laurent white crepe shirtwaist dress—he was doing the ’40s at that point—and I had royal blue leather semelles compensées sandals or, as Polly would say, se-melles compensées dearie! I’m doing a bad imitation. She looked at my red lacquered nails and my hair in a bob, and she said, “Go home and change. You should come back in jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt.”
