Having so few models to emulate, Crowninshield’s Vanity Fair turned out something like its editor’s personality: tart and impertinent, particularly in regard to the very rich. Something—perhaps the sufferings of his brother, perhaps the clear fact that Crowninshield’s family had always possessed more prestige than money—had made him a critic of the well-off. But he was not much for fire-and-brimstone social criticism. His method, instead, was ridicule. Even his editor’s note to the first issue of the revamped magazine was sardonic:
For women we intend to do something in a noble and missionary spirit, something which, so far as we can observe, has never before been done for them by an American magazine. We mean to make frequent appeals to their intellects. We dare to believe that they are, in their best moments, creatures of some cerebral activity; we even make bold to believe that it is they who are contributing what is more original, stimulating, and highly magnetized to the literature of our day, and we hereby announce ourselves as determined and bigoted feminists.