We got a lot of questions about this cover when we were in Boston, and we realized we accidentally hadn’t posted it. So here is the remedy:

Facially, Emma looks pretty as ever, but the zombie eyes are really distracting. Emma Stone is pretty much brimming with personality. She’s overflowing with it. So it’s unfathomable to me that Vogue found a way to suck out her spark. It’s further disappointing that they felt compelled to sex her up by sticking her in glorified lingerie (or whatever the heck that is), because Emma Stone is someone who has proven she can carry off more advanced fashion. She can be a lot more interesting, overall, than this cover is allowing her to be. And that is a shame, because — and this is an old refrain — isn’t the benefit of having Emma Stone on your cover the ability to play on people’s fascination with how spunky and inviting her natural personality is? Why not magnify that instead of making her look like somebody’s bored, bland mistress?

Problematically, too, I am not crazy about the garment. It’s super disturbing to me that the negligee (or dress, or camisole, or whatever it is) has that flesh-toned satin piece that I keep, at first passing glance, thinking is her rib cage. It is NOT, and I am not getting into body-shaming here; Emma Stone is lovely, and that is fabric, not her body. But if you’re, say, a nine-year old girl, or even a twenty-year old one, and you’re meandering past the checkout line with your mom and you catch a glimpse of this but can’t stop to stare, you might think, “Oh, look, that girl’s ribcage is on the cover of Vogue,” and that could end up in a bad place. The whole thing seems… well, I would say tone-deaf, but I don’t think they did it on purpose. Perhaps unfortunate is a better word.

Look how much better Vogue UK did:

It’s not super snooty Important Photography, or anything — it almost looks Seventeen-esque, which is not by definition a bad thing; it’s just younger than Vogue skews — but there’s a fun sense of mischief in her eyes, and I kind of dig that sweater, and basically, the whole thing makes diving into her mind and her world seem a lot more sassy and appealing. This Emma is the one I’d want to get coffee with after we’ve spent all day creating our own shopping montage — you know, where she would probably try on a hundred things only she could afford, and I’d be the friend sitting on the fancy white leather ottoman outside the changing room of Fancy-Pants Clothing Store, shaking my head or laughing or nodding with surprise approval and then occasionally surprising her by donning a hilarious hat. I’m sure this is a very gauche association for Vogue, but whatever. It trumps Boudoir Zombie.