I come from the world of fashion and entertainment publicity. I worked with consumer fashion brands mostly which meant the price tags weren’t most often not “Vogue worthy”. I had very little reason to pitch the iconic pub and when I did, it was always a long shot. So while as a true fashion girl, I’ve loved the magazine for as long as I can remember, the thought of getting a client in was sort of laughable. 

Fast forward, I’m no longer a publicist but am now a… I don’t know, “public figure” of sorts. That’s bizarre to say but “influencer” is just as a ridiculous a title. Now media covers me from time to time and it’s always cool – I’m not jaded. I know the value of the space I take up in any article. Especially ones that aren’t just a round up of plus size people looking good. 

Let’s rewind to a few weeks ago. I was shooting with my sweet friend and photog Kaye McCoy and only now remember joking to her – “wow these photos are kind of sick, they belong in Vogue, Fat Vogue”. About a week after that I get an email. The alert popped up on my phone and I could see the subject: Vogue Texture Diaries. Umm… what? I kind of couldn’t swallow in that moment. Ok cool this must just be a brand sending info on a campaign or a new hair care brand? Nope! The email is from condenast. I’m frozen!

Cool, cool, cool. Vogue wants to do a feature on me. I’m fine, everything is fine, I’m not freaking out. Ok, I am! One thing my time as a publicist has taught me is to never get overly excited about a media opportunity until you SEE it. Things can be written, filmed, etc etc and then you have an A list celeb decided to do something bonkers and BOOM, all planned media coverage is killed. But we spoke, images where sent – you know…the one’s I’d just snapped with Vogue in mind. This is happening. Holy shit. This is happening. I don’t have a run date and I’m not going to ask for one. I’m just going to go with the flow and maybe it will never pop. 

I got a text from one of my best friends Rosa in NYC. I was sitting in my backyard with a friend for a little socially distanced human contact and my phone dings. “CONGRATS!” No idea why but I knew exactly what she was talking about. Rosa’s daughter calls me “Fancy Kellie” or “Aunt Fancy” lol. They were on the computer looking something up and Nyla says “Mom, there’s Fancy Kellie”. Me, Kellie Brown. A visibly fat, brown skinned, non celebrity. Feeling fancy AF, in Vogue magazine. Wow.

And THEN, they put me on the main instagram account. Color me shook.

ull article on Vogue.com

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