Andy Warhol, Diana Vreeland Rampant, 1984
(June 1) Was previously interested in Diana Vreeland, but was astonished by the level of interesting she actually was. I loved Vogue in the '70s when it was high-art wacky, and never realized this was just specifically because of Diana Vreeland. It was her crazy, and her crazy only.This was a good biography, because the biographer is a responsible scholar who is also aware of what is interesting to read, and she can furthermore write beautifully.
Despite this goodness, you feel like you have gotten only the slightest taste of Diana, because you just want to hear a steady stream of her riffing off of things she liked, not just tidbits of it in between biographical facts.
