Information is ubiquitous: so rang the death-knell of magazines.
It’s a bit like saying watches with hands should have sunk beneath the tide of Casios. But the least a watch does is tell the time, and the least a magazine does is vend information.
Magazines reflect the lives we like to imagine we’re leading, the conversations we’re holding, the company we’re keeping. They keep us part of a community while keeping the fret of the crowd outside the front door.
Amid the feast of information they have more relief work than ever among the famines of identity, time and taste.