The first thing that one notices about the portrait of President and Laura Bush in the January issue of Vogue is its informality. The photograph was taken in the Oval Office by Annie Leibovitz and shows the president in his shirt sleeves. To be sure, his shirt has French cuffs and he is wearing a tie -- a blue one. But he has removed his suit jacket.
While it is always somewhat risky to read meaning into a facial expression, it would not be too much of a stretch to say that the president looks amused and mischievous, as if he is about to tell a tried-and-true joke. He is pushed away from his desk and is leaning back in his office chair. The president is some distance from his desk to accommodate the first lady, who happens to be perched on it. She is dressed in a grayish-blue suit by Carolina Herrera and is, as usual, wearing a restrained, inscrutable smile.
 
Friday's Question:
| | |
|
Vogue has been photographing first ladies since Mamie Eisenhower. The only exception has been Jackie Kennedy, who requested a sketch instead of a photo. And only Hillary Clinton, as first lady, has made the cover of the magazine.
There are two other photographs of the first couple in the magazine, including one from the family archives. And there is another portrait of the first lady alone in which she wears a navy Oscar de la Renta evening gown with a turned-up collar and belt. It is accessorized with a spectacular triple-strand necklace of lemon quartz from Verdura. It is, as they say, a significant piece of jewelry.
But it's the portrait taken in the Oval Office that is most striking: such informality in a White House that prides itself on its spit-and-polish facade. Only days after Bush's first inauguration, he made a big to-do of announcing that he was bringing rigor and formality back to the White House. He banished jeans from the Oval Office. No more business casual. Bush was drawing a visual distinction between his administration and that of President Clinton, which was known for no small amount of jeans-wearing. The formal attire would signify a White House that was efficient, prompt and not riddled with leaks and scandals.
But more important, after such a messy, contested election, the Bush administration was making a symbolic declaration of order and ownership.
The formal suit -- and nothing but a suit -- was a statement of presidential authority.
Even more surprising than the shirt sleeves is the sight of the first lady sitting atop a desk in the Oval Office. Laura Bush does not look particularly comfortable. (One can just imagine the persuasive Leibovitz coaxing her up there. Better the desk and not a bathtub filled with milk, which is where she once photographed Whoopi Goldberg.) Mrs. Bush is sitting on the edge of the desk; her legs are crossed at the ankles and her feet are dangling in the air. She looks as though she is primed to leap off the furniture at the first opportunity. It is as though she is trying to be respectful of the desk even as she has her bottom on it. Sitting on the desk immediately diminishes its prestige.
The president and first lady are not touching, so the desk-sitting lacks almost all of its usual coy or gentle teasing effect. And the desk is so tidy -- no top-secret documents, no piles of paper scattered about.
It looks like a Hollywood prop desk. But not a "West Wing" desk. President Bartlet always has paper on his. The image does not have the naturalness that one might see in a candid picture of a wife leaning over a husband's shoulder while he is at work.
And it doesn't have the strict formality of a presidential portrait. It lies somewhere in the middle. It announces informality without quite being informal.
This is a pictorial display of easy confidence. Of a two-term president who just won the majority of the popular vote. And its posed nonchalance is just as symbolic as any suit jacket.
