We found ourselves a bit out of our element the other day, belatedly flipping through the February Vogue for reasons including, but by no means limited to, boredom, self-loathing, diet inspiration, social aspiration, Barrymore-boob fascination and the need to smell like a perfume counter. Within moments, however, we realized something was amiss. The magazine reliably had all the usual Vogue-ish elements: impossibly thin models and socialites, first-person accounts of living as a piece of Eurotrash, the typical, unafforadble luxury. So why did this Vogue feel so, well, off?

Then it hit us: WHERE'S JESSICA JOFFE?! After giving prominent coverage of the flame-headed ex-Observer "socialite" in December and January — oh, how she wore her Michael Kors like an old pro! — there is absolutely no Joffe-loving in the February Vogue. No wonder we felt so off-kilter while reading: we were unexpectedly adjusting to a rare moment of media desaturation.

We just hope Joffe's OK. This can't be an easy time for her.

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