The esteemed writers of the Sassy book have finally eulogized, all gravitas-y and "dying publications are like leaking balloons" and shit, the magazine we once called Jane. Marisa Meltzer and Kara Jesella subscribe, as a lot of Janeeologists have, to the notion that Jane was the casualty of readers' love-hate relationship with it, which we don't really get because, duh, love-hate relationships are sort of the engine of late capitalism. (Or wait, are we the only ones conflicted about refreshing TMZ 69 times a day?) Anyhow, then we came upon this.
The sassy youthful readers Jane meant to address are still out there. Some have gravitated to blogs like Feministing and Jezebel...
Wait, Jezebel=us, right? Are we even six weeks old yet? We are so flattered! But we totes do not deserve credit for putting Jane out of its er, sorta fun brand of misery! The credit is allllllll Conde Nast's.
A Woman's Magazine That Tried To Be Otherwise [New York Times]
Related: Jane Bites Dust [Girl With A Satchel]