I worked for Wired magazine in 1997 in San Francisco, just before it was dubbed the "Rolling Stone of the digital age." Wired is now owned by Conde Nast -- and that company's influence is seen in both bad and good ways.
Fitness seems to be among the handful of mass-market titles that has developed a consistent and compelling events strategy, whether four-mile runs/sampling smorgasbords in Central Park or demonstration-happy editor meet-and-greets at Nordstrom's. Forgive me, then, if I wonder aloud (er, in print) about who's minding the shop back home.
Crossing Main Street in East Hampton this past summer, an insightful friend noticed that the sadness of the rich in this town was palpable. There was something about the way the residents, all swathed in designer beach clothes, passed the brand-name stores, that felt oppressive on what was supposed to be a carefree summer day.
When Britney Spears Federline popped out her little Cheeto earlier this month, it should have ranked among the greatest moments in lowbrow celebrity journalism.
I know a lot of stay-at-home mothers who are offended by the title Working Mother . They would say: "Hey, we're working mothers!" And they would be right.
I like food ("too much," sez Ms. Cardiologist). I like wine ("too much," sez Mr. Parole Officer). So it would stand to reason that I'd like Food & Wine, a stylish bible for foodies and oenophiles alike. But I don't.
The music magazine embodies the earnest, anti-hipster attitude of the generation of new indie rockers. The tag line is "good music will prevail."
I feel massively gypped by the October issue of Men's Health. You see, the cover promises me "759 Ways to Improve [My] Life," yet my thorough examination of the issue reveals a mere 748.5 self-betterment hints. That's false advertising in its most noxious, hurtful form.
American Elle magazine is 21, and the editors are celebrating by putting a pregnant Britney Spears on the cover. It's ironic that this former middle-America sex kitten with her signature exposed belly is now covering her bump with an Empire-waist gown.
There is little about the Oprah Winfrey media empire that I don't find inordinately entertaining. Her magazine, however, seems to have taken her worshipful and easily led audience for granted. O, The Oprah Magazine relies on the tried and true--as well it should, given the brand's beyond-reproach status--meaning that we're treated to recipes and book lists and what I'll elegantly describe as "a really big photograph of Idaho." But while that might be a smart business decision, it doesn't exactly make for scintillating reading.