At the start of the 1960s, Vogue threw out the polished, distant poses that had defined its covers through the 1950s. Photographers like Irving Penn moved the camera in close — extremely close. Entire frames were filled with a model’s face, often cutting off the hair and neck completely. The effect forced every reader’s eye straight to the subject’s gaze.
Makeup artists reinforced this new look with heavy black eyeliner, thick false lashes, and pale lipstick. The result was the “doe-eyed” aesthetic that became the decade’s signature. It was a deliberate signal: Vogue was no longer speaking to the drawing-room set. It was speaking to a younger, bolder generation.
For decades, the masthead was untouchable. The word “VOGUE” sat at the top of every cover, fully visible, never blocked. Art directors broke that rule in the 1960s. Models’ heads, hats, and hands began overlapping the letters — covering the “V,” the “O,” or the “G.” The brand was strong enough that readers recognized it even partially hidden.
This design move merged text and image into one unified piece of art rather than treating them as separate elements. It was a quiet but radical shift in how magazine covers were constructed.
No face owned the 1960s Vogue newsstand more than Jean Shrimpton. The British model, nicknamed “The Shrimp,” appeared on 19 covers throughout the decade. She was the face of the “Youthquake” movement — a term coined to describe the cultural explosion driven by young people.
Unlike the stiff, statuesque models before her, Shrimpton looked natural and approachable. Windblown hair, minimal jewelry, and a relaxed expression replaced the rigid studio portraits. Her covers felt like stolen moments rather than carefully staged photographs.
Richard Avedon brought kinetic energy to the cover slot. He refused to let his subjects stand still. He directed models like Veruschka to leap, run, and twist mid-frame. Covers produced under his lens showed blurred edges and garments caught mid-flight.
A 1965 cover featuring Marisa Berenson showed bright green, feathered accessories whipping around her head. The motion was intentional. It reflected the fast-moving energy of the “Jet Set” era, when the pace of modern life was itself a fashion statement.
By 1967 and 1968, the covers shifted again. Solid background colors gave way to swirling, psychedelic patterns. Neon greens, pinks, and oranges clashed on purpose. Some covers featured models with flowers or geometric shapes painted directly onto their faces.
In 1969, a cover showed a model with her eyes closed, her face covered in trippy, multicolored makeup. It captured the dreamlike state of the counterculture that closed out the decade — raw, vivid, and nothing like the covers that had opened it.
