Social media will save glossy magazines
There is a moment in former Condé Nast maestro Nicholas Coleridge’s memoir The Glossy Years where he recounts losing his magazine virginity. Aged 16 and ill in bed at home he picked up a copy of Harpers & Queen belonging to his mother and in an instant was spellbound: the wit, the glamour, the ‘understated snobbery’. ‘That first couple of hours with a glossy changed my life,’ he wrote. So I felt when Vogue was delivered to my school library each month: a sliver of high-end bliss among the daily-end drudgery. It was the start of a teenagehood marked by circles of shame in Heat and sticky ink on my thighs from reading Grazia on sweaty school coaches (temporary tattoos of gossip).
