Blog Posts by Vogue Magazine

Courtesy of AFPas told to Florence Kane, Vogue

In honor of the upcoming summer games, we caught up with eight former U.S. Olympic champions. In this series, they share their fondest memories of everything it took to win the gold.

The summer Olympics of 1976 were the first games I can remember. I was eight years old and glued to the television set watching this girl, Nadia Comaneci, from a country I'd never heard of, Romania, doing incredible things with her body. It clicked for me. "That's it," I thought. "That's what I want to do." Gymnastics. My mother found a class for me at the university near our town, Fairmont, West Virginia.

See also: Vogue's Guide to Getting Great-Looking Legs

One of the coaches there saw potential in me and, so that I could get more personal attention, opened a little gym in a cleaned-out garage. It's crazy to think that that's where it all began and, not so long after, I made it to the elite level. I was at a competition in Reno, Nevada in 1982 and Bela

Courtesy of biography.comas told to Florence Kane, Vogue

In honor of the upcoming summer games, we caught up with eight former U.S. Olympic champions. In this series, they share their fondest memories of everything it took to win the gold.

I was walking up the stadium steps at a men's soccer game at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, where I was in college and playing on the women's team, when someone said, "Did you hear? They're making women's soccer a full-medal Olympic sport." (Up until that point, it had just been for exhibition). It was 1993 and I'd been on the U.S. national team since 1987, when I was fifteen.

See also: Vogue's Guide to Getting Great-Looking Legs

As an American who grew up watching the Olympics on television, playing in the games was all I wanted to do. And it would mean I could continue playing beyond the World Cup in 1995. I had a reason to keep going. There was no women's professional league in the States at that time, so once you got out of school,

Courtesy of Popperfotoas told to Florence Kane, Vogue

In honor of the London 2012 summer games, we caught up with eight former U.S. Olympic champions. In this series, they share their fondest memories of everything it took to win the gold.

See also: Summer Skin Fixes

Nobody was more shocked than I was when I made it to Munich in 1972. I'd only been doing the decathlon for two years, and I snuck on the team. My only goal was to see if I could make it into the top ten. I came in tenth, so I was very happy with my first Olympic experience. After the competition was over, I remember sitting on the side of the stadium, kind of in the shadows, and watching for the first time, in person, a gold medal ceremony. The Soviet Union's Nikolai Avilov had won the decathlon and broken the world record. It was right then that I decided to take the next four years of my life and see how good I could become. I couldn't sleep I was so excited-I went for a run at 1:00 a.m. on the streets of Munich and began my

Francesca Gilberti, Vogue

Pies and cupcakes beware: As Jeffrey Steingarten investigates in our August issue, it's the ice pop that's having a deliciously innovative moment. Below are our eight picks for frozen treats across the country that are as a pretty as they are refreshing. Whether it's a Mexican fruit paleta, a glorified Fudgsicle, or a dipped gelato version, what could be a better relief from the sultry days of summer?

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Vogue

As most of you already know (how could you not?), The Dark Knight Rises finally arrives in theaters last week. And while many are probably busy waiting in line for tickets, the overwhelming excitement surrounding the film (and all things related to superheroes) inspired us to find an easy way to channel our own powers-with just a quick trip to the nail salon. Pair a leather Helmut Lang jacket with a YSL Black Tulipe nail lacquer in honor of Anne Hathaway's Catwoman, go for a tantalizing polish of gold and green glitter inspired by the venomous villainess Poison Ivy, or opt for the primary colors favored by the Man of Steel-either way, there are plenty of bold new hues that cater to the fearless.

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by Emily Holt, Vogue

"It'll be a pony party," said Vogue's Beauty Director Sarah Brown when she called to ask me to assemble a gang of editors to preview the new Barrett's Ponytail Bar at the John Barrett Salon, which opens today in New York City.

"A good ponytail is like a good heel-it gives you a little lift," explained Barrett, who dreamt up the Ponytail Bar as a natural progression from the wildly successful Barrett's Braid Bar he debuted last summer. With a menu of six options, there was a pony for every personality, every hair type, and every occasion: the high pony (from tight and sleek to playful with a few loose curls); the mid-crown pony (think Duchess of Cambridge classicism); the sculpted pony (Olivia Wilde with a Mount Olympus-style Grecian twist); the braided pony (Blake Lively's red-carpet go-to); the low pony (ranging from casually messy à la Dries Van Noten's fall 2012 runway to sophisticated and tucked under, as seen at Carolina Herrera's spring 2012), and the top

On your mark, get set. . . go! In just three days, the opening ceremony kicks off the thirtieth Olympic Games, and if they're not already there, athletes from around the globe will be shipping out to London for the races, contests, and games they've prepared for their entire lives. So what does one pack when she's heading to the greatest demonstration of athletic prowess in the world? We asked four top contenders-Hope Solo, Misty May-Treanor, Marlen Esparza, and Carmelita Jeter-to tell us what's in their bags as they head across the pond.

Photo: Courtesy of alltheprettybirds.blogspot.comby Plum Sykes, Vogue

I've never been afraid to admit that I have the legs of a long-term-­unemployed supermodel. Being blessed with a 34-inch inseam is something I am endlessly grateful to my ancestors for. In my dating days, my elongated pins were essential weapons that distracted potential boyfriends from another family inheritance-my wonky teeth.

In my 20s I believed there was nothing more of a man-magnet than a dress with a split. I have a photograph of myself about age 29 at a party in the Hamptons, wearing an acid-yellow chiffon Ungaro dress. The hem reaches mid-thigh on one side and is slashed almost to the hip on the other, showing more leg than a can-can dancer. I'm happily waving a martini and a cigarette (both habits long since abandoned). I look like a character from an early episode of Sex and the City, and to my great misfortune attracted boyfriends to match. I died for Versace cocktail dresses because they generally featured a strategically placed slit. I