Blake Lively is launching her latest venture, a website called Preserve, with a Vogue cover and feature, as one does. We have added the Vogue cover and some absolutely stunning photos by Mario Testino to the gallery …

Blake Lively brings her unerring eye, Southern roots, and love of storytelling to her latest venture—a Web site called Preserve. Jonathan Van Meter heads West to meet up with the Gossip Girl turned Internet entrepreneur.
Jackson Hole, Wyoming, is one of those startling American places where “purple mountain majesties” becomes gloriously real, no longer a patriotic abstraction from a song learned in grade school. But it is also home to some of the most expensive real estate imaginable—great, logged-up monuments to show-business wealth and fame. Oh, give me a twelve-bedroom, fourteen-bath home, where the buffalo still sort of occasionally roam!

Blake Lively has never been here until today, but when I meet her in the soaring lobby of the Amangani resort one evening in late May she is dressed as if she has taken the landscape into consideration. Not many women can wear denim overalls, strappy Louboutin stilettos, and a Navajo-blanket poncho and get away with it, but Blake Lively can. When I compliment her, she describes the look as “if Sling Blade and Pocahontas had a baby.” Lively has a tendency toward deadpan humor, often delivered with a laconic stare that can make it difficult to figure out whether she is joking or not. “When I say something funny, I don’t laugh,” she says, “so my friends are always like, ‘Hahahahaaaa!’ so people know. When I’m not with them, I always think, This person doesn’t know I’m funny; they just think I’m a jerk.”

Lively, who is back from Cannes, where she was obliged to make appearances as a L’Oréal “ambassador,” as well as stroll the red carpet with her husband, Ryan Reynolds, for the premiere of his film The Captive, is both jet-lagged and feeling unwell. “I ate some mystery meat on the plane, and I feel poisoned,” she says. As we head out to the car that will take us to dinner in town, she says, “Do you mind if I sit in the front? I get motion sickness.” Pause. “God, I’m like a toddler. I hope you have Cheerios in your bag.” And then, once in the car: “Now, to be triply annoying, I have to make a work-related call. I’m so sorry.”

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