Say it ain’t so! The New York Post reports Anna Wintour may be ready to hang up her shades. Impossible! I mean, A-Dubs basically needs to die in order to depart Vogue. But just in case she leaves to join an ashram or something, I have some advice for SI Newhouse about a replacement: Forget international-edition editors of Vogue, and look to your history. The Brits have saved your magazines time and again, and right now, Katie Grand is the most beloved fashion editor across the pond. Now, I know Katie is starting a new mag with Conde Nast UK, and it’s got the best name ever — Love — but we need her. She’s a stylist — think Carine! — and she’s enough of an outsider to fire Vogue’s dumb club of interchangeable social X-rays while being enough of an insider to freshen up and subversify the thing without scaring advertisers. Come to think of it, she might actually get advertisers excited! And — POP! — just like that we’d all be like, “Anna who?”

I am confused by Amanda Fortini and her evolving tenure as New York Mag’s resident feminist. For the uninitiated, here’s the background: As a practical unknown, the former New York Review of Books staffer burst on the scene as the scribe of the magazine’s justifiably notorious LiLo-as-Marilyn shoot, in which a bunch of grown-ups took advantage of a troubled young actress desperate to see her star glow again, and asked her to pose nude for a magazine that does not publish nudie photos otherwise. A couple months later, Fortini penned “The Feminist Reawakening,” about how Fortini and her friends somehow only discovered the existence of sexism during HRC’s run for the nomination. See? Before “The Feminist Reawakening,” Fortini had no idea that the unnecessary recreation of “The Last Sitting” was kind of sexist because it was basically pornographic. Then, this week, “The ‘Bitch’ and the ‘Ditz’: How the Year of the Woman Reinforced the Two Most Pernicious Sexist Stereotypes and Actually Set Women Back.” Pernicious stereotypes? Definitely. Women set back? I don’t think so. This election simply made everybody hyperaware — remember “The Feminist Reawakening”? — of the massive presence of American chauvinism. And isn’t acknowledgement of an issue the first step toward change? In any event, Fortini may feel like women have taken a step back because she didn’t realize how far behind we were in the first place. But now that she’s starting to get it — ugly truths can be difficult to embrace! — maybe she’ll argue a little more forcefully next time a colleague proposes some bright idea, like, I don’t know, an Amy Winhouse centerfold. Meanwhile, when do we get Emily Nussbaum back?

Robert Downey Jr., may have staged the most hoped-for cinematic comeback, like, ever, but I still don’t understand how he beat out Tina Fey for the number-one spot in Entertainment Weekly’s “Top 25 Entertainers of the Year” feature. Mr. Iron Man certainly oozes adorability and talent, but Tina Fey clinched the election for Barack Obama!

p.s. Don’t these over-the-hill-by-Hollywood-standards stars both look fantabulous?

I am in love with this man! No, I haven’t gone all Padma Lakshmi, and suddenly developed a thing for middle-aged, pudgies in favor of fit and handsome Mr. MILF. But as one with a creative endeavor that exists more as an outlet than an earning platform, I love how Lewis Hyde lends scholarly justification to my vain existence. According to a deceptively skippable profile in The Sunday Magazine, Hyde is revered by David Foster Wallace, Margaret Atwood, Bill Viola and tons of other major talents for the same reason — even if those people buy Hampton houses with their book advances, while I spend Mr. MILF’s hard-earned paycheck on things like a YSL Matisse dress at the Vintage Show over the weekend (yes, it’s to die). In his 1983 manifesto, “The Gift,” Hyde set out to explain why he devoted so much energy to something as nonremunerative as poetry. Based on the idea of ancient gift economies, in which the person of greatest consequence gives away the most goods, Hyde’s masterpiece argues that “unlike a commodity, whose value begins to decline the moment it changes hands” — think clothes — “an artwork gains in value from the act of being circulated — published, shown, written about — from being, at its core, an offering.” So, not to get all pukey, but by that measure, you and I, dear reader, are participating in a Hydean gift exchange. I blog, you read. How high-concept, holiday-season recessionista is that?