Ah, poor exiles of the timber-wasting empire that is Conde Nast. Subscribers to its now-shuttered ladymag for people who don't read ladymags Jane are now getting Glamour, which is sort of to Jane what Jane is to .... The Paris Review... and old Jane staffers are pissed that readers have yet to call up and complain en masse about the fact that, duh, the existence of Glamour is what made them appreciate Jane in the first place, as ex-EIC Brandon Holley points out:
"Glamour is not at all like Jane," says Holley. "It's the exact opposite. They preach fake empowerment of 'loving your flaws.' Jane doesn't point out flaws."
Which brings us, obvi, back to Jane's fatal flaw that will now haunt it for the entirety of this whole shiva-sitting thing we're doing right now. Magazine subscriptions are so oversubsidized by the purveyors of salves for your flaws — you know, how you're bipolar, small-chested, smelly and grossly in need of a right handed diamond to exhibit your sense of "independence" or whatever — that no one gives a shit about that $9.99 they spent on the magazine that failed because its readers have already fucking figured out the "best jeans for their bodies." Anyway, our plea to Jane subscribers is this:
The only Conde publication worth reading is the New Yorker, but it comes out every week and your leftover Jane dollars won't go that far. Vanity Fair and GQ are okay, and saving trees is even better, but the true Jane devotee will call up Conde now and demand a subscription to its ill-fated, ill-advised business magazine Portfolio, because it will be really fun to be able to have this conversation again in six months when Conde shutters that, and it will be soooo much less emotionally fraught parting with them on eBay for birth control money on eBay in five years. (And then you get to say, I paid for that abortion with my Portfolio holdings!)
Glamour Is Sooooo Not Jane [Jossip]