THERE'S a streak so wicked at Vanity Fair that even Dorothy Gale's nemesis, the Wicked Witch of the West can't compete. When faced with the cold pail of water that was last month's sensational naked 15-year-old singer/actress Miley Cyrus photo shoot scandal, rather than melting anonymously into the shadows to lick its wounds for a while, the magazine is back with another little girl – this time aged 12. The headline reads "Abigail Breslin Keeps Her Shirt On!" as Ms Breslin poses demurely in black high collared frills.
It's this sass that makes Vanity Fair the place to be seen for celebrities.
While you may be forgiven for thinking that a publication featuring an unclothed and heavily pregnant Demi Moore on the front cover, or putting a child in nothing but a bed sheet might be the sort of magazine that usually doesn't even make it to the top shelf of the newsagents, Vanity Fair considers itself high art. It just needs some context, that's all.
Stepping in to help us understand is the National Portrait Gallery with an exhibition of the periodical's most iconic images taken by the past century's most iconic image makers.
Vanity Fair Portraits charts the magazine's life, from the early days as a chronicle of modern culture in 1913 to the star-studded celebration of all things opulent it is today.
The early pictures are austere portraits of artistic luminaries like Gertrude Stein and James Joyce, but as the decades progress so to does the experimental nature of the pictures and subject matter.
On its full colour return to news-stands in 1983 after an absence of almost 50 years, Vanity Fair becomes a riot of opulence and confidence, marked out by the fabulousness that is Jackie and Joan Collins reclining luxuriously in a limo.
The work of Annie Leibovitz, Vanity Fair's photographer-in-chief, dominates the second half of the exhibition.
She represents almost a complete return to the fixed, posed portraits of the early days, when the photographers took their cues from paintings before developing a new style of picture taking of their own.
Yet regardless of era, Vanity Fair does what no other publication has adequately achieved; it captures our gods at rest. A young Charlie Chaplin gazes at the camera, devoid of any of the hallmarks that made him famous as a silent slapstick tramp. Einstein's hair is almost kempt. Most profound is Karl Largerfeld's shot of Princess Caroline of Monaco and her children, staring out into an empty sea as if looking for their lost husband and father, Stefano Casiraghi. She is a Penelope waiting patiently for her Odysseus to return.
It is not the depiction of famous people in unusual poses that takes the viewer by surprise but the seemingly innocent moments of intimacy. Mario Testino's black and white picture of Princess Diana may be interesting but it pales into comparison when encountering a bemused nine-year-old Drew Barrymore ostensibly playing dress-up. Underneath, however, is a sad little girl being made to wear a life that's just too big for her.
• Until September 21
