We think you'll love Glamour. Like Jane, it's packed with everything smart, sexy women want to know - about your body, your beauty, your relationships...and more! If for any reason you choose not to receive Glamour, please contact us at (800) 219-5924 for a full refund of the remaining issues still due on your subscription. If you are already a Glamour subscriber, the copies due will be added to your current subscription. Sincerely, Charles Simpson for Jane

I am dorky enough to have gone to one of the "dinners with Jane!" things at their offices just when Brandon [Holley] took over.

When I got the invite, I assumed we'd be going out to dinner. Instead I arrived at their messy office and was offered shitty pizza and my choice of canned soda. There were as many Jane staffers as there were dinner attendees, and they hovered around us not eating and looking freaked out. Then they asked us for story ideas for about an hour. Brandon came in trying to look in touch and cool but she looked old-ish and uncool.

All the readers who turned up were big dorks and blog-obsessed. I think this was the first of these "dinners" - could this have been where things went wrong? It seemed to me they got that we all love celebrity gossip but what they didn't get was that no one wants to read month old celebrity gossip. The funniest thing was about a week later I got an email from a Jane staffer asking me for info on the location of some all boys ranch college thing-y that another girl at the dinner had mentioned. She thought I had suggested a story about it, and was asking me further details about its location. A Google search of about three words would have turned up the same info. Excellent reporting skills!

Heh, "some."

Where a typical sentence in the last issue of Jane goes: "The conversation was our normal patter—cremation versus burial, a friend's recent abortion and the convenience of peeing in the shower," a typical Nylon sentence goes "Stockholm isn't just a music capital — it's also home to some of the most exciting fashion anywhere" — accompanying a fashion spread in which every single model is wearing a T-SHIRT. Berlin! Peter Bjorn & John! A story on Dani Stahl's trip to Seattle to customize Microsoft's "cool new media player" the Zune! A four-page ad spread for Zune! A clothing line called "Illionaire"! In our favorite feature, wherein the magazine attends a party at Cinespace and interviews some attendees, "Sam" is quoted saying he is there "To see Steve [Aoki] and D.J. A.M. spin. So talented." Are you a hipster? the magazine asks. "I don't know. I haven't been defined yet." Well Sam, actually, the Nylon marketing department probably has defined you, and though they're smart enough not to put their media kit online we'd bet they have a douchebaggy corporate term they use to sell the fact you like CocoRosie and wear American Apparel slim slacks as some sort of evidence you are a "tastemaker" to the Microsoft guys. Too bad all those tastemaking classes never taught you to read!

*Oh no! Missbehave must have found our poll cause now they're totally winning. Um, we'll hate on them next. Though we actually sort of like them.

So, I propose we get away from these hateful comments and toxic blogging and just enjoy the summer.

The truth is, a lot of the ladies at whom Jane was initially targeted are maybe not the biggest fans of life. Not that we're living on the streets of Bombay or anything, just that it's not exactly like it was for our um parents. Some of them are the people whom Redbook is now exhorting to love their lives despite the countless reasons there are to hate them. Some of them are secretly mourning the fact they're too old to read Vice. A lot of them are probably uninsured. Brandon Holley once told me (full disclosure: I wrote a story for Jane once) that readers always told her they liked the magazine's funny features on personal finance: the one about different desperate ways to make $1000 in a week; the one about lucrative side jobs i.e. stripping; this month's about acing your credit check. (Ughhhh.)

Otherwise our favorite moments in Jane usually involved Jeff Johnson's jokes and Claudine Ko's voyeuristic skewerings of Club Med, the Peace Corps and American Apparel — institutions other magazines would never bother investigating.

All this adds up to a fair amount of negativity, which brings us to the subject of "toxic blogs." We're just guessing, but maybe one of the reasons blogs seem toxic sometimes is that some bloggers are embittered people whose fingers go numb too often for anything more sophisticated than another Lindsay Lohan joke. Another reason is that a lot of stuff sucks now, not least the mainstream pop culture fueling the internet misanthropy machine, and Jane appealed to women who medicate with celebrischadenfreude administered so regularly by the likes of TMZ and TheSuperficial and almost as a result, do not have the money or even the desire anymore to consider themselves "aspirational." Maybe Jane appealed to that class of women for whom, the more the stars became like "us", the less we wanted to be like them. Hence the painfully realistic current Jane ad page lineup: vagina medications, Flight of the Conchords, sunglasses. Add Alka-Seltzer, Prilosec and some cigarette ads and you'll have a group of advertisers that starts to represent a lot of the women we know. But you wouldn't call that group "aspirational," and you might not even call it "worth the paper it's printed on." Hence those damned toxic blogs.

They lie to their superiors about their circulation numbers and they make two sales calls on days their gracious editor makes twelve. They're rude to restaurant servers and they install their coke-addicted ex-subordinates in key editorial functions at the magazine. They spend most of their time jockeying and playing political games within "Nestrom Publications" and the rest of it going to fancy restaurants. But worst they don't really seem to understand at all what Jill — which is to say, Jane — is about. They don't care about pop culture. They don't care about indie rock. They try to woo all the wrong advertisers — a cokehead diva designer named "Graciella D'Alessandro," for instance — by forcing the Jane staff to write stories about them.

Falling Out Of Fashion is certainly not a tome of nuance or um much literary merit, but it highlights the unending problem of magazine publishing, which is why we're so obsessed with it: is it the fault of writers, or sales people, to sell a magazine? If producing a publication that is smart fails, is it the fault of the readers, or the advertisers? Was Jane itself too smart? Or too stupid?

This will um not be the last you hear from us on this topic.